#and then eventually i start to go fuck it. i’m just drawing it in whatever style i feel like now.

[karvviie]

are you drawing the Trinity comic from now on?

yeah! almost everything will be illustrated by me now!

originally i wasn’t able to work on it because i was super busy and burnt out from my old job but since i have more free time now i will be working on it as a chill side project

also here is a little faye i just doodled <3

[kuiinncedes]

blanking so hard for the second half LOL

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 64

part 1 | part 63 | tumblr masterlist | ao3

cw: angst, big gooey feelings

—

When Steve gets back to the boathouse, Eddie’s shaking like a leaf; has to touch Steve like a blind man, pat his hands all over his face and down his arms and across his chest. “Know I’ve— got no right to a-ask this of you,” he says through chattering teeth, “but… would you—?”

…Goddammit.

“Get over here,” Steve says. He draws Eddie into him; squeezes as hard as he can, one arm around Eddie’s waist, the other cupping the back of his neck — skin to skin beneath a mess of matted hair.

He says nothing.

There are things he could say; probably should say right now — things like ‘you tried to kill me’ or ‘I almost let you,’ or ‘you just left without saying anything, Eddie, how could you do that?’ — but it feels like treating a wasp sting when someone else needs a tourniquet.

Eventually, the shivering stops.

Eddie pulls back with a bashful expression. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They move to sit down on the floor — side by side, shoulders touching, toes over the edge of the hole in the floorboards. The water moves like ink beneath them, and Eddie looks so beautiful it makes Steve want to die. His hands twitch at his sides, the small, lovesick part of him begging to know why they stopped touching; wants so desperately to press his fingers to the dark circles under Eddie’s eyes. To sink them into his hair and never let go again.

Even though Eddie doesn’t want that.

Even though he left.

Pain zips behind Steve’s eyelids like lightning, leaves the taste of copper on the back of his scorched tongue. He reaches up and pulls his hair — sharp at the root; needs the distraction. Can’t let himself think about his stupid heart right now.

Whatever, or whoever, this Vecna thing is, Steve knows it feeds on grief. Feasts on it; scents sadness in the water like a shark chasing blood. He can’t just swim into the ocean and cut himself for sport. Not unless he wants to end up like Chrissy.

Eddie opens his mouth and offers Steve another knife. “You can say it, you know.”

His tone is gentle; probing — eyes earnest, chin tucked.

“Say what?”

“Ohh, y’know.” Eddie puts his chin in his hand; clucks his tongue. “Whatever’s got you all, uh…” He furrows his brow and pokes his tongue into his cheek, licking back and forth over the smooth skin inside. “I can take it.”

Steve schools his expression. “What if I don’t want to say anything to you?” It’s quiet. Level. Less heat than he intended.

Eddie’s hand comes up to his heart. Chin dipping lower, psychic damage sincerity in his ridiculous Bambi eyes, he locks Steve into his gaze.

Holds him there.

Holds him; nearly makes him squirm.

“Then I’d say I deserve that, too.”

The faintest flicker of a smile; a spark of flint in a pitch black room.

Steve can’t help but catch the flame.

His lips land on Eddie’s with all the delicacy he can manage, hummingbird wings beating away inside his chest. The kiss is soft. Almost timid. Fucking perfect when Eddie starts kissing him back; just feels right; memory slotting into place after weeks of amnesia. Fervent noises, pressing harder, every movement like an oath, Steve pours himself into Eddie — gets his hands back under his hair, tangles his fingers behind his neck and nestles his thumbs in the hollows behind Eddie’s ears. Lets himself come home.

Eddie pulls back enough to whisper, “Jesus Christ, I missed you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

They both feel it — the bubble bursting. The prolonged whine of a balloon deflating to the floor.

Steve slips from the embrace, hugging his arms around his legs, listening to their harsh breaths in the stale hush that follows.

Eddie mirrors his pose. Taps his fist against the top of his other hand, rings clacking. “Shit, Steve,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so fucking sorry. For all of it. For everything.”

“It’s fine,” Steve lies.

It isn’t.

Nothing ever is, these days.

—

part 65

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[neteyamkink]

cold neteyam meeting the clan’s sweetheart and having a soft spot for her but tries not to be obvi with it (everyone can lowkey tell though through the little gestures he does) that ends in smut when theyre alone and he wants to corrupt her innocence and reputation👀👀

OMG I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCHHHH THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!! sorry this took me so long i’m so slow 😭

paring: aged up!neteyam x metkayina reader

warnings: mean neteyam :( (he’s in love though), my first time writing smut in veryyyy long >.<, degrading, use of “slut”, “princess”, “sweetheart, lil corruption kink?, swearing ofc, disgusting smut idfk

At first, you thought it was the new environment making him so distant and rude. Eventually, you started to think it might've been just you, he had no problem talking with anyone else in the clan. Just you. Little did you know the reasoning behind that was that he was in deep denial about his feelings towards you. He hated the way you made him feel so vulnerable and helpless. So he had to hate you, right?

You'd try to reach out to him and try to start a conversation, but he would always turn you down with a, "I'm busy," or, "leave me alone." You couldn't lie it kind of hurt your feelings. everyone loved you, how could he not?

One afternoon most of the young adults and teenagers were hanging around a fire, the sullys and all of your friends included. You sat there crushing up herbs to make spices and listening in on the conversation everyone was having.

"Y/n stop being so quiet," Kumi spoke, you didn't like Kumi very much only because he was a part of ao'nung’s little bully crew.

"I'm busy, I'm listening though," You smiled still trying to be nice to him even though you really just wanted to tell him to fuck off. What can you say though? You were minding your business obviously focused on something else.

"Oh come on since when were you anti-social," Kumi laughs, now he has interrupted the group's conversation and everyone's attention was on you two.

"I'm not, sorry I'll chime in," you quickly said realizing this whole thing was interrupting the group. You hated yourself for apologizing for being busy, but you didn't want to disturb the group and make a big deal out of the whole situation.

"Why are you making her apologize? She's obviously busy dumb ass," Neteyam suddenly chimed in. Your eyes shot up to him, but he was already looking at you. He scrunched up his face and looked away crossing his arms.

"oh no it's okay, neteyam," you scrambled to find the correct words and suddenly your heart was running miles a minute.

"Whatever," he scoffed not bothering to look in your direction. Suddenly your heart felt like it was dropping into your stomach and the frown that was on your face was inescapable.

Later in the day after the fire, you decided you would figure this out. No one is allowed to not like you. Neteyam usually would go into the trees to practice archery late after dinner. Even though he had to learn the ways of these new people he was determined to not forget the ways of his own. How did you know this? Kiri is your new best friend.

Determined to befriend the forest boy you set out into the forest to find him, and of course, he was exactly where Kiri said he would be. You decided to sit back and watch before going up to him. He set up a practice station with a bunch of fruits hanging from trees. You watched him draw back his bow and arrow, His back and arm muscles flexed and his blue skin looked so glossy and smooth under the moonlight. fuck y/n, focus. He released his arrow and it went straight through the fruit and into the tree behind it.

"Impressive," you spoke up slowly walking out of the tree and bushes you were behind. His head snapped in your direction and once he saw who it was he rolled his eyes and took a breath.

"I didn't mean to scare you," you smiled sweetly, attempting to use the charm that had worked on others on him.

"You didn't," he scoffs grabbing an arrow from the group and pulling it through his bow. You thought archery was so cool... and he looked so hot doing it. focus, y/n.

"what are you doing here? how did you find me?" he asks releasing his arrow and landing it perfectly in the middle of the fruit. damn, he's good.

"I came to talk to you about something. Kiri told me where you might be," You spoke stepping a little closer towards him. He didn't look away from his targets.

"I hope you know earlier today was not me defending you. I just don't like kumi," though his tone was even and calm his words were harsh and hurtful. Does he really not like you that much?

"Why are you so mean to me?" You randomly blurted out with a pout formed on your face. Your mouth moved before you could think about what was coming out of it and as soon as the words came out you wanted to shove them right back in. You usually were never this straightforward or harsh with anyone. He turned to you and quirked his brow like he was shocked.

shit was he being too harsh? he thought. He just couldn't stand the way you made him feel. The way the innocent look in your eyes made his insides all tingly. The way that one look made him want to get on top of you and ruin those innocent eyes. fuck those eyes that you're giving him right now. Why do you have to torture him like this?

"Am I really?" he said dropping his bow and taking steps closer and closer toward you. Suddenly your throat was dry and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You took steps back as he got closer, too scared of what you might do if he got any closer. Too scared of what those yellow eyes burning through you might do to you.

"mhm," you hummed, heart racing as if you had just run to the moon and back.

"I can show you mean," he smirked. a gasp left your mouth when your back suddenly bumped into the bark of a tree, he had you cornered. And fuck you don't know what he meant by that but whatever he did you wanted it so badly. He looked as if he was going to eat you alive and my eywa you were begging he would.

"teyam..." you stuttered, putting your hands up to rest on his chest. "Teyam, please," you wrapped your arms around his neck. You were practically begging him to ruin you. your eyes looked up at him through your eyelashes, bottom lip slightly jutted out in a pout. Fuck you drove him crazy.

"Say it," the smirk plastered on his lips makes your knees grow weak and you almost buckle over.

You can speak so you just push his neck down and smash your lips onto his. He wastes no time responding and kissing back. His sweet lips were rough against yours and the only thing you both could think about is why you didn't do this sooner. Everyone saw the tension between you two except for you. In the back of your mind, you knew you had been waiting for this moment.

"jump," he mumbles against your lips. You're quick to follow his instructions and jump, his strong arms catch you his hands have a firm grip cupping your ass. The tree you are pushed up against rubs against your porcelain skin.

"All you do is act so sweet and innocent around the others. I know what you really are," he speaks in between sloppy kisses. His words go straight to your brain and suddenly your head is all fuzzy and wonky. He moves from Your lips down to your neck, and your neck down to your collar bone, and your collar bone down to a little above your breast. then he repeats kissing, sucking, licking.

Your hands tangled in the back of his hair, and his braids felt rough in your hands. Your lips parted slightly to make way for the small hums and moans falling from them.

"need you right now, mk?" neteyam backs away from your neck to speak. you nod without hesitation, fuck you are so ready. The pool between your legs had been forming ever since he backed you into the tree.

"use your words, princess," The nickname darted straight to your pussy.

"yes, I need you," you spoke trying to pull him closer to you. He let out a low groan and reached one hand down to your loincloth, His big hand dragging across your wet slit.

"fuck," you gasped and bit your lip.

"All this for me?" he questions his lips curving into the stupidest grin. You simply nodded and tugged his hair tighter. He circled his finger around your clit a couple of times, making sure to get you nice and wet. small moans escaped from your mouth as you pawed at his loin cloth ready for more. You could feel him painfully hard against your palm.

“need you teyam,” you choked out, practically begging him to fuck you. He stopped his movements around your clit and looked you in the eyes. He was ready too. You looked up at him and batted your eyes, your eyes begged him for something- no… anything more.

“fuck, okay,” he quickly gave in undoing the knot of his loincloth with his free hand and letting it drop to his feet. He grabs his cock and lines it up with your entrance rubbing it up and down your slit. His hands practically shook with excitement.

“you sure?” he asks pausing before he goes any further. Without hesitation, you aggressively nod your head.

“words, ma ‘evenge (my girl),” the nickname drove you crazy causing the pool between your legs to get bigger and bigger.

“yes, teyam please,” you pleaded hands gripping the hair on his neck tighter. Immediately he was bullying his cock through your walls. When he entered you, you both gasped out of pleasure. The feeling of you being filled up makes your head go spinning, and the feeling of your warm walls around Neteyam makes him dizzy.

“oh, my eywa,” you whimper as he slowly pulls out and quickly snaps his hips back into yours. Your head swings back into the tree behind you and he uses both of his hands to cup for ass to support you. Back aching from being forced onto the rough bark behind you.

“Fuck baby,” he groans increasing his pace with every thrust. His nails dug into the plush of your ass and he couldn’t help but bury his head in the crook of your neck. Kissing, sucking, licking, and sometimes sinking his sharp fangs into your collarbone.

“You feel so good,” you whine bucking your hips up at him to meet him halfway, your body was begging for more.

“I need more,” you pleaded pushing his neck closer to you and shoving his body against yours, leaving sloppy kisses all over his shoulder. You needed to be closer to him, you needed to feel every movement he made, hear every breath he took, and kiss every inch you could.

“I know you want it so bad, huh baby?” his voice sounds sympathetic but he’s just being a meanie. His thrusts grow faster and faster, harder and harder. Your eyes roll into the back of your head due to the amount of pure bliss you were in.

“Fuck I been waiting to fuck you for so long. Ruin that pretty little innocent act you put on,” he practically growls into your neck. Your nails dig into his back.

“Please ruin me,” You begged, he scoffed at how needy and pathetic you were for him. He knew you weren’t as innocent as everyone made you out to be, so he was gonna fuck you like you weren’t.

“You’re all mine now,” he smirks against your collarbone as he sucked and bit marking you up so everyone would know he was yours and you were his.

“Say it ma ‘evenge,” he demanded.

“‘m all yours teytey,” you choked out through your moans. The knot in your stomach was growing tighter by the second and any second now you would cum.

“Please can I cum tey?” you begged, scratching up his back and marking him in your own way.

“Admit it, admit you’re a fucking slut,” His stern voice pulsated throughout your whole body sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m a slut,” you manage to choke out through your pants. His thrusts are becoming sloppy but his pace is still quick. You know he’s close.

“who’s slut are you?” He questions biting into your neck, his fangs so deep they feel like they’re going to draw blood.

“yours, teyam. All yours,” you breathe, his breaths quicken with yours and he throws his head back unable to take the pleasure anymore. You have to cum before him.

“cum, princess,” As soon as the word leaves his mouth, your a mess crumbling underneath him. Pleasure takes over your body and causes your head to throw back and your back to arch off the tree. The way your walls tighten around him sent him over. His thrusts became sloppy as his white ropes shot into you.

“I know, baby. I know,” He shushed you as you both came down from your high caressing your face with one of his hands and holding you up with the other.

“everyone’s gonna know you’re mine,” he smirked admiring the attacks he left on your neck.

[c0kitty]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ....  𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 w/ bakugo katsuki x gn!reader              « 0:00 ─〇───── 0:00 ⇄                             

summary: two times you crocheted katsuki something + one time katsuki realizes something so painfully obvious. (⛦) content: fluff! kissing. reader tears up. reader crochets. comfort!! love confession. sickeningly sweet. i'm a lil bad at summaries. gn pretty sure. (⛦) w/c: 1.6k+

i. your first project, 

the first time you’d crochet him something,  it was a pretty shitty day for katsuki. he had spent a little more than an hour meeting with his friends who, in the most kindest words, were spawns of satan. the constant teasing left him a little drained, the food he left in the dorm fridge was gone, and he was left with a headache throbbing at his temples.

to add on, he hadn’t seen you all day.

so, he goes to your dorm, finding it already open. something he’d always given you mouth on. (what if a stranger comes through? even if it was a little impossible with the amount of security that roamed the halls.) inside, he pauses at the entrance, finding you sitting on your bed, holding a long slender stick with a hook at the tip.

it looked like a miniature murder weapon. “... what the hell is that?” 

seemingly startled, he guesses by the reaction of your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, widened eyes, and a small gasp that left your lips. “fuck me, why the hell are you so silent.”

“hello to you too, princess,” katsuki sarcastically remarks, stepping further into the room. he comes closer til’ he was just about hovering over you.

you pick back up whatever the hell was in your hand. you could still feel his stare, which you quip. “it’s crocheting, tsuki’. i’m trying to pick up a hobby to get off my phone more. its kinda fun.”

katsuki grunts as a reply, moving to sit next to you. it causes the mattress to slightly sink to his weight, whilst he goes to take off his shoes, methodically, all while watching you. 

with your teeth catching your bottom lip, you looked so focused, engrossed, not paying a mind to him. his gaze eventually drifts towards what was hanging from the stick. it’s long and narrow, with a soft-looking material, colored a deep-shade of red, and black. it was a scarf.

it’s edges weren't perfect, a little bumpy and not entirely straight, but it still looked pretty damn good. his crimson eye’s go to meet yours, but he finds you already looking at him. “i was gonna make it a surprise. but i made it for you.”

a nervous smile plays at your lips, “do you like it?” 

nobody has ever really taken the time to create something personal for him — the warmth in his chest, made him just want to crumble, n kiss your pretty lips. it was nothing short of perfect, even the imperfections.

he'd forgotten you were waiting for an answer and a flicker of insecurity hints in your eyes, your words hanging in the air. 

but, he quickly reassures you, his hand traveling,  holding at your chin. “it's perfect, okay?” drawing nearer to you, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “perciate’ you so much baby.”

ii. just for him,

it starts to become a thing every other week. you would crochet him a piece – either something that fit his, in your words, “grunge” style, or something from the colorful yarn leftover from your old projects. and regardless, he would proudly wear it.

over time, people start to notice. seeing him wear a cute black cat beanie was a little out of the norm for him. and the following week, he would wear the same-stitch, fingerless mittens. everyone knew he wouldn’t buy those by choice. someone had to be giving it to him, someone he cared about. someone, like his girlfriend.

being in a school full of smart heroes had its many downsides.

people start to ask, or he would say, "harass you," to make them things. it starts to piss him off after a while — hearing your continuous no’s, and then them trying to ask again like your answer was gonna change after a minute. plus, it’s not like any of those broke assholes were willing to pay, they were just planning to mooch off you.

and, maybe there was a selfish reason for it.

he didn’t want you to share something you were so passionate about with people you gave no shits about, or lov–  liked. because it would lose its value — lose the stupid special feeling he got.

this surge of events eventually leads to him cursin’ them out for you, because you were just a little too nice to yell, give murderous glares, or deliver creative death threats. which after, they wisely never approach you about it again.

iii. your last gift, for the year of course,

its a cold new year, katsuki watches as a snowflake falls delicately onto your nose. you guys were huddled on the balcony of his parent’s home, thanks to his mom's desperation, and persistence to meet you. and to his embarrassment, his mom and you got along very well, so well in fact you guys exchanged numbers, planning to meet with each other without katsuki himself.

despite his loud protests, you’d forcibly ushered him out in the shitty-ass cold because you wanted to see the snow.  the frigid air embraced you both, his breath left white in the air. katuski’s body pressed the balcony handle, you’d positioned yourself in front of him, his arms encircled your body, his hands holding at your waist.

“you happy princess? m’ freezing here just for you to see the same old snow we see every year.” he complains, even though his crimson-red eyes held warmth, ones that matched your growing smile. you raise your heel pressing a short kiss at the corner of his lips, before retreating. 

“quit being dramatic; it’s so beautiful out here.” you insisted, before your eyes widened, like you’d remembered something, and abruptly, you leave an inch of space between the two of you, reaching for something in your puffer jacket.

there’s a slight furrow to his brows, not understanding why you had to pull away — leaving you out of his grasp. til he puts it together, as you pull out a terribly wrapped item, a gift.

“i told you we didn't have to give each other anything.” 

“yeah, like the $100 dollar gift you gave me today. see, i knew you would do that so i came prepared.” you say, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“now open.” you shove the present in katsuki’s hand, and shaking his head in disbelief, he grabs it, tearing the wrapping off. 

“i know i already made you one. but i saw how … worn out it was.” 

holded in his rough hands, was a scarf. reminiscent of the colors to the one you gave him months ago — the one he had worn all the damn time, sometimes even in the hottest of weather. with how much time he wore it, after a while, the color of that scarf started to fade, with the yarn unraveling.

“here let me put it on for you.” you take it from his hands, draping it around his neck. you watch as he glances down, just admiring it. “looks so pretty, baby.”

this scarf looked more intricate, with the stitch pattern on the scarf resembling daisy blooms. he’d noticed how your crochet skills seemed to improve, the scarf had a cleaner, straighter edge than the other one. 

and for some reason, as he looks down at your gift, a flood of memories of the moments with you, seem to be all rushing to him — your sweet, drawn kisses, the stupid arguments, and your laughter that seemed to always ring in his ears.

moments like those, that laid ahead for the both of you, made him want to look forward to the future, your guys’s future. to wake up next to you, morning breath n’ all, to lazily lounge on the couch and havin’ to forcibly cuddle because of you, to possibly sharing each other's last name. it all swelled katuski’s stupid heart. 

it was so obvious why. with your soft gaze on him.

“i love you.” he blurts out, his eyes fixed at your parted lips.  

“i love you so damn much, it’s so fucking stupid. you turn me into a sap, y’know. everytime i look at you i just can't help but want to smile, want to hold you. everything I do, every thought that crosses my mind, somehow, it goes back to you. …i ” he sighs, his bravado faltering for a moment, red eye’s averting from yours. 

“you don't have to say it back, i just wanted to tell you.” katsuki grumbles, the tips of his ears red as it can be, as he does his best to maintain his ‘i could care less’ facade.

“look at me.” and katsuki does, he’s met with your glistening eyes, stars reflecting. “i love you too, you idiot.”

he couldn’t help but release a soft, incredulous laugh — he was really rubbing off on you. somehow the space between the two of you closes again, your hands fit in his warm jacket. tightly hugging him, as if he was going to leave any second.

“and of course, you had to one up me with a grand ass speech.” you relent, looking up at him, a small pout forming over your features.

“m’ always two-steps ahead. catch up princess.” he replies, a smug smile spreading across his plush lips. his mittened hand moving to hold at your face, thumb brushing along your cheek.

his eyes flicker to your lips, watching as your tongue glides against it. “... can, i?” your lashes flutter at him, weakly nodding. and then your being kissed, slowly, and sweetly. his tongue brushing your bottom lip, savoring you, savoring this moment.  

[hqbaby]

four — not not serious

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.6k content. swearing, just a bunch of fluff

“I don’t get it,” Osamu says, face pulled into a frown. “Ya haven’t slept with ‘er yet?”

Atsumu kicks his brother in the stomach, eyes trained on the screen as he pulls the lead in Mario Kart. “Fuck yeah!” he cheers. “And, yeah, ya pig. Not everythin’s about sex y’know.”

“Ya fuckin’ cheated! That doesn’t count!”

“Yer just a sore loser.” It’s Atsumu’s turn to receive an elbow to the ribs. “Asshole!” he hisses, throwing the controller to the side when he still somehow finishes first. “Serves ya right.”

The twins both lean back into the couch, the adrenaline washing away. Atsumu adds another notch under his name on the tally they’ve been keeping of their wins and losses. The score so far is 3-12 in Osamu’s favor (but Atsumu swears he’ll beat him over the summer).

“Ya serious ‘bout the girl?”

Atsumu groans. His brother has been trying to know more about you for whatever nosy reason and he finds it nothing short of annoying. “What does it matter to ya, scrub?”

“Just wanna know if I’m gonna have t’make more food at Christmas, s’all,” Osamu says in faux innocence. “So? Is it serious?”

The golden-haired twin wrinkles his nose, the face he always makes when he’s in deep thought. “It’s not serious,” he says eventually, then adds, “But it’s not not serious.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… nice. She’s nice.”

Osamu snickers at the look on his brother’s face. He’s clearly more interested in this “nice” girl than he lets on. He already figured as much when his brother started being all quiet about it, because if there’s one thing he knows about Atsumu, it’s that he’s never quiet. So there’s bound to be something going on.

“When am I gonna get to meet her?”

“Fuck off."

“You look nice,” Kiyoko says, leaning against the door of your room. A smile plays on her lips as she watches you fix your hair in the mirror. “That dress in particular is really pretty. Where’d you get it?”

You give her a sheepish look, glancing down at the green ensemble that is definitely not yours. You wonder if she’s noticed the shoes yet. “All my clothes are dirty.”

She rolls her eyes fondly and makes her way over to her dresser. Opening a drawer, she produces a pair of earrings with a dainty flower motif and hands it to you. “Here,” she says. “It goes with the dress. And the shoes.”

You take the earrings and launch yourself at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “Thank you, thank you, I love you!”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” She chuckles. “Where’s your laundry? I can throw it in with mine.”

“I will marry you and have your children and serve you every day of my life.”

She ponders for a moment then says, “I’ll settle for cake.”

You nod earnestly, holding her hands in yours. “Whatever you say, my lord and savior.”

Your roommate helps you finish getting ready. She does your hair when you get stuck not knowing whether to put it up or down and tries to clear some of the mess you’ve made in your room. You swear she’s a saint. Why else would she be this great?

“What’s with all the date jitters?” she asks eventually as the two of you sort through the pile of clothes on her bed. At this point, you can barely tell who owns what.

“What do you mean?”

She gestures at you, drawing your attention to your appearance. “You never put this much effort into dates.”

Your mouth drops into an “O” as you shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “‘Tsumu said he had something fun planned and to dress a little fancy. So here we are.”

“‘Tsumu, huh?” Kiyoko gives you a teasing look. “That’s been going on for a while.”

“Just three weeks,” you say. “Not even a month yet.”

“Yeah, but that’s like a lifetime for you,” she points out. “When was the last time you dated someone for that long?”

You frown. “I’ve been with Rin for like a year now.”

“That’s different though, isn’t it?”

You never thought about it really. You never thought of Suna as anything like a boyfriend, but you knew he wasn’t exactly just a friend either. It wasn’t even that you fooled around with him. There was always something more there, something deeper. A genuine care for one another at the very least.

You wonder if he thinks that too.

“Text,” Kiyoko says, passing your phone to you when it buzzes.

tsumu: am outside :D 

“He’s here,” you tell her, putting your phone in your purse. You stand up and strike a ridiculous pose, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your hip, lips pouting. “How do I look?”

“So fuckable.”

“Thanks.” You grin, opening the door. “Love you! See you later!”

You find Atsumu at the entrance and he… looks nice. He’s ditched his usual clothes for a crisp white button-up and nice pants. Even his hair is styled a little better. Not that you ever thought that he looked bad, but he clearly made an effort today.

You realize you’ve been staring at him for so long that you haven’t even noticed that he’s been looking at you too. His eyes are wide as he gapes at your figure.

“Ya look…” He let out a little chuckle. “Yer beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as you look down at Kiyoko’s stolen shoes, unable to look him straight in the eye. Something inside you erupts. Well, that’s new, you think to yourself. What even is that?

“Thank you.” You smile at him. “You look great too, you know.”

Now it’s his turn to get all embarrassed. “Thanks.” He takes your hand in his and gently leads you closer to him. “Ready to go?”

You squeeze his hand. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you make your way through the courtyard. It’s a nice summer day and people are out and about, talk and laughter filling the air around you. Some students have gone home to visit their families so it isn’t as crowded as usual, but more than a few of you are still on campus for the summer semester. Everything is warm and bright and perfect, like it can stay this way forever.

Atsumu leads you past the benches and the trees, taking a turn before you reach the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” you ask, expecting him to lead you to his car like he usually does and wondering why you went the other way.

He turns to you with a grin. “It’s a surprise.”

You end up walking into one of the buildings near your residence hall, the science building. It’s empty save for a few members of the maintenance staff mopping the floors and airing out the rooms. They don’t even look your way as Atsumu leads you up the stairs, all the way to the top of the building on the third floor.

Your brows furrow as he lets go of your hand and goes to push the door to the rooftop open. It’s usually locked (you know this because you and Oikawa once tried to sneak up there when you were wasted), but this time, it opens and Atsumu nods his head for you to step outside.

When you walk through the door, you’re met with the vast concrete expanse of the rooftop. Except it isn’t as empty as you expected it to be. In the middle of it, there’s a screen and a projector and a blanket and a bunch of pillows. You notice a basket lying nearby beside a cooler that looks like it’s been through a lot.

“What is this?” you ask, eyes fixed on the scene before you.

Atsumu shrugs, that boyish charm of his seeping through. “I wanted to do something nice.”

You peel your gaze away from the little theater on the rooftop and turn to look at him. “Something nice?”

His eyes go big, panic taking over him. Is it too much? Do you not like it? This probably wasn’t what you expected at all. He should’ve just taken you to a nice restaurant. He didn’t have to do all of this.

“Fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya ‘bout it. If ya don’t like it, we can just—”

Before he even realizes it, your lips are on his. He’s still gawking when you kiss him softly, deeply. It takes him a moment, but soon he’s kissing you back, his hands going to your waist and yours wrapping around his neck.

You pull back and he finds you smiling at him, all toothy and giddy like a kid in a candy store.

“I love it,” you tell him, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you.”

He leans down and kisses you again. “Don’t even mention it.”

When you separate, you’re still clinging to his hand as he shows you the whole set-up. In the basket, he reveals pizza from the place you kept telling him about, some popcorn, and a bunch of sweets. There’s a few cans of your favorite soda in the cooler and a tiny tub of ice cream (he tells you that he was supposed to get wine but his brother blew through their allowance for the week). You sit down on the blankets while you pick which food to eat first while he goes to set up the movie: Pulp Fiction, because you once swore he had to see it.

He sits down beside you and you give him that smile again, curling into his side. You turn to watch the movie as the sun sets around you, and Atsumu finds he can’t look away from your face. He notices the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips, the way your hair falls just right. He decides he could look at you forever and he’d never get bored, he’d always find something new and beautiful about you.

It’s not serious, he tells himself. But it’s not not serious either.

notes. and so it begins ;)

[cordeliawhohung]

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Healing never comes as fast and easy as you want it to, but you try and adjust to your new life as best as you can. The thing is, there is no going back, there is only going forward, no matter how much you wished it was otherwise.

warnings: PTSD, angst, minor comfort, panic and anxiety attacks, spook and simon are going through it.

wc: 6.6k

A gentle breeze danced through the open window of his therapist’s office, bringing the scent of spring with it.

Moist grass, a hint of rain, freshly bloomed flowers; all hints of something new being born. Except this wasn’t new for Simon. Sitting in an overly calm and quiet room in a chair that was too soft as a man who looked too ancient for this earth flipped through notes of their previous sessions. 

This wasn’t Simon’s first time in therapy, and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. After everything he had endured over the winter, he was required to attend sessions before he would be allowed to return back to active duty. He had only started a few weeks ago, as most of his energy and time had gone into taking care of you, but once you were well enough to go back to work, well, it was time to take care of himself. 

“How was your week, lieutenant?” the man spoke up after finally putting his notes down. His name was Gus, and was ex-military. Or, at least Simon assumed he was, judging by the deep and long wrinkled scars that littered his face and the unceremonious use of his rank. “Anything new?” 

“It was alright,” he answered bluntly. He was never quite good with the awkward small talk that came with therapy. Something about how he was supposed to bare his darkest secrets just to talk about the weather was unnerving. “Spook started physical therapy this week.” 

Usually, Simon never used that nickname Johnny coined for you, but ever since you were taken, he felt as if he couldn’t use your real name. That sharing anything about you was forbidden. Or maybe he was just being selfish, wanting to keep you, even your name, all to himself. 

“At least she’s in some sort of therapy,” Gus said dryly. “She still refusing counseling?” 

He nodded solemnly. “Says she doesn’t think she can talk about it yet.” 

Gus grunted a little as he sat forward in his chair. A pair of frail and shaky hands reached up to remove the oversized glasses on his face before he settled his foggy eyes back on Simon. “Does she talk about it with you?” 

“Tries,” he responded sourly. “She used to talk so much about everything; everything except for whatever was hurtin’ her. Always thought she’d tell me eventually, whenever she was ready. But after this shit? I’m fuckin’ lucky to get anything out of her. Even the good stuff.” 

Instead of prompting him with another question, Gus stayed quiet as he stared at Simon, and he knew what it meant. That man must have been in the business of fixing broken soldiers for quite some time because it never took him long to figure out what was bothering him. Always struck gold on the first shovelful of dirt. Might as well make things easy and give up the rest. 

“Everything that I’ve learned about her past I’ve had to piece together myself,” Simon explained. “Her moms passing she told me herself, but I know her previous partner was a right piece of shit. Judging by the way she hardly ever talks about her father, he probably was no better. She hasn’t told me anything about when she was taken, or what they did to her. There’s some stuff I can figure out. God, there was fuckin’ photographic proof on the damn floor.” He paused for a moment and shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts back in order. “She tries but then just shuts down and I… fuck, I dunno.” 

“And what have you told her?” Gus asked as he leaned back in his chair. 

Eyebrows drawing together and cheeks scrunching under his mask, Simon tilted his head to the side. “What?” 

“I mean, what have you told her? About your past, or your family? Are you making her play the same guessing games?” Gus pressed. 

A lump formed in Simon’s throat so thick he thought he would choke on it. He wanted to say that sharing his past was different. How was he supposed to talk about the torture he endured, the hook tearing through his ribs, the slaughter of his family? How their deaths were pinned on him, and he burnt away the evidence of them; what would you say to that? Or if you knew about his revenge, how he traversed a jungle just to kill a man? 

He grimaced. Hadn’t you already seen his revenge? 

“You’ve been pretty open with me so far, lieutenant, and that’s a lot more than I can say for most of the men I see in here,” Gus continued, “so tell me; what is it that you’re really afraid of?” 

Really, therapy wasn’t all too different from being interrogated. In both circumstances, there was someone trying to poke and prod around inside of his head. And in both circumstances, it was never fun when they poked the right spot. 

“I don’t want her to think I’m like them,” he finally admitted. 

“Her abductors?” Gus clarified. “Why would she think that?”

“I broke a man's arm and shot him as I had him pinned to the ground. Right in front of her,” Simon explained as if he saw Bukin dying all over again. Heard the bone snap and the crunching sound of his flesh grinding underneath his boot. Watched as his head jumped dully against the ground as the bullet tore through his skill. 

“You saved her life,” Gus countered. 

“I was violent,” he spat. 

“So were they.”

“I’m supposed to be better than them.”

“If you were better than them, she’d be dead, son.” 

Silence. The breeze continued to drift through the open window, attempting to kiss Simon’s flesh through his clothes, too kind for him to be deserving of it. He continued to stare through the old man as he waited for him to explain himself. 

“You brought her home alive. You know better than anyone that being soft comes with consequences. Some good, some bad. Be violent, be a monster; be Ghost in the moments when you’re doing your job. When you’re protecting the ones you love.” Throughout his last few weeks of therapy, Simon hadn’t heard the old man speak with such conviction until that moment. Like the man spoke from experience. “Be soft when you’re with her. Share the stuff that hurts. It sounds like you’re the closest person she has. Certainly the strongest. How is she supposed to be vulnerable with you when you’re the one who’s scared?” 

The thing Simon hated the most about therapy was hearing things he already knew but was trying to ignore. Everything would have been so much easier had he let you ramble that night the oxycodone had scrambled your brain. But it was his fault things had gotten that way in the first place. That picture of you that he kept despite his better judgment, leading Bukin right to your door; that was his fault. Selfish of him to hope that you’d be the one vulnerable first as if he didn’t have something to atone for.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he looked down at his hands. The old man was right, and it was frustrating. “Christ,” he muttered. 

“Start with the small stuff. You don’t have to air everything out all at once. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor girl,” Gus assured him. “Remember, she’s a civilian. She didn’t have the resources and training that you did going into that.” 

He didn’t spend much longer in that office before Gus sent him away to do his homework: figure out a memory to share with you. Sounded easy enough, but when he had spent countless years keeping things to himself so as to keep others safe, it was near painful. But he tried his best to think of something as he made his way back to the apartment. 

You weren’t there when he got home. Not that he had expected you to be, though it still felt wrong. As soon as your wound was no longer needing constant attention, you instantly hopped back into work. He tried to dissuade you from doing so, saying that he’d still have more than enough money to pay for everything, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. Claimed you were tired of being locked up in the apartment all day, even if he was there with you. Though it worried him, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything that had happened there. Every now and then he still found a small, green bead somewhere on the living room floor. 

A sigh left him as he stood in the entryway, staring at Boo who watched him curiously from the couch. The window had been left cracked open, and it looked like the little guy had been enjoying some fresh air. Simon tried to tell you that leaving the blinds open was just asking for someone to snitch that you had a cat in the apartment. You had retorted by saying boarded up windows made for a shitty home. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled to himself. 

This was going to be a pain in his ass. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“This guy is getting on my fucking nerves.” 

That was the fucking understatement of the year. Méabh lazily leaned against your desk as she glared over at the new branch manager they had hired during your absence. His name was Jace, and he liked to spend his time at work micromanaging all of his employees, including Cheryl, who was able to wire money with her eyes closed after so many years in the business. The poor woman looked like she was one more annoying comment from smacking the overbearing manager. 

“He told me I didn’t ask enough security questions on the last transfer I did as if I didn’t ask all the ones that popped up on the screen,” Méabh continued in a droning grumble. “I wish Anna was still here. She did her job and wasn’t a complete cunt about it.” 

“Just be glad that you only work part time,” you teased while trying to focus on your paperwork. 

“Yeah, for now,” Méabh whined. “I’ll be going full time over summer holiday. Means I’ll get to see this prick twice as often.” 

Really, it wasn’t Jace’s hawk-like gaze, or even his annoying nasally voice that got on your nerves. It was his shoes. While most of the girls at the bank wore flats to save themselves from achy feet, Jace wore terribly loud dress shoes. Whenever he walked, it sounded like he wore high heels with the way they clacked on the floor, and with how much he stomped around it was impossible for him to sneak up on anyone. 

“Are you almost done?” Méabh then prompted. “I wanna get out of here.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” you chuckled. 

“Thought I’d do the noble thing and keep you company. You know, unless you want Jace to read over your paperwork before you submit it,” she retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. 

“How kind of you.” 

Luckily for Méabh, or perhaps the both of you, you had just typed up the finishing touches to your work. Not even a minute later the whirring of your computer died down as you shut it off for the night and stood from your desk. However, you made the mistake of pushing with both your hands, and you winced as a zapping pain shot through your left shoulder. Even after all those months, your wound hadn’t fully healed. 

“You alright?” Méabh asked as you gathered your items. 

“Yeah,” you said, slightly winded. Glancing quickly over at Jace, and poor Cheryl who was still stuck listening to his ramble, you looked back at the young girl before nodding towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Without saying goodbye, or saving your co-worker, you and Méabh slipped out of the building unnoticed and into the fresh spring air. Or, at least as fresh as it could get in the midst of London. It had been months since you last smelt real fresh air. When had it been, back at the end of August when you and Simon had gone on holiday? With the beautiful seaside and mist that tasted like salt? Or was it…

No. No, that couldn’t be right. 

“Need a ride?” Méabh prompted. 

You pulled your head out of the frigid water, dusted the sand off your knees, and smiled politely as you adjusted the blazer that perfectly complimented your pristine work clothes. You always had a way of bringing yourself back to reality if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. Always so calm and put together, even with fragments of a bullet still stuck in your body. 

“No, I’ll, uhm, just walk home. Thanks,” you excused as your eyes glanced out at the busy streets ahead. 

Saying goodbye was awkward. Hell, everything was awkward those days. But like you did with all things in your life, you gritted your teeth and bared it before starting your walk home. 

It was strange trying to remember how you used to fit into the world before everything. Sure, you never quite fit in beforehand, squeezing into places too small for you to exist in, but it had become home. But not then. Your edges had become warped, curling in on themselves, retracting into your body. Your piece of the puzzle had shrunk, but everything else stayed the same size, leaving you stuck with a gap that separated you from everyone else. 

You were a watcher; a stranger to the very earth that nourished you. You could hear the seagulls rummaging through a pile of rubbish left beside the bin, and you could see the vibrant valley flowers that took up the window of the florist's shop on your left, but it was… blurry. Fuzzy, like the tingling sensation that plagued your arm every now and then when the blood flow was bad. You tried to focus, do anything to make the imagery around you feel sharper, but the faces of pedestrians were empty, like nobody around you was real, least of all yourself. 

And then you were home. 

It was difficult to tell how long you were standing outside of the door, staring at the empty wood as if it was a mirror. You had just sort of appeared there, like some sort of ghost. Without taking your eyes off of the door, you dug your hand into your bag and blindly felt around for your keys. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the view Leon had before kidnapping you. Before drugging you and taking you to that fucking basement. 

No. Bukin. Simon told you his last name was Bukin, and you weren’t going to give your dead captor the pleasure of using his first name as if you had been friends. 

Eventually the keys ended up in the lock and you entered the apartment. A heavy aroma of seasoned chicken filled the air around you, and you heard quiet cursing coming from the kitchen. You rounded the corner and were greeted by Simon cooking at the stove and Boo trying his hardest to trip the poor man. The critter stareed up at him with big, begging eyes as he followed your lovers every step. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, quickly glancing away from his work to look at you. 

“You two look busy,” you chuckled, tossing your bag onto the counter. 

“I’m busy,” Simon corrected before tossing a playful glare down at the poor cat by his feet. “He’s a menace.” 

Humming, you stood next to Simon and glanced at what he had on the stove. It was pretty common for you to come home from work with dinner already started, if not finished. Simon had become something of a chef since taking care of you, and he had some pasta boiling and some chicken frying. He had started eating a lot more protein and carbs since going back to the gym, attempting to gain back the strength he had lost while captured. 

“He’s just a baby,” you said, reaching a hand towards the hot pan. With careful fingers, you tore off a small bit of the chicken before blowing on it a little to cool it down. Boo had already stretched up to reach up your thigh by the time you had bent down to give it to him. After a few deep sniffs, he eagerly took it in his mouth and ran off. 

“Spoiled rotten, he is,” Simon mumbled. 

“He was being so patient,” you cooed, watching as Boo scarfed down his treat in the corner of the kitchen, as if afraid someone would take it from him. 

“Patient, my arse,” he chuckled. 

A dull beep sounded from the stove, which Simon quickly pressed a button to shut it off. With a twist of the dial, he turned the heat off of one of the burners and you heard the sound of boiling water quiet down before he moved it towards the sink to strain it. As hot steam billowed upwards, you turned your attention towards one of the cabinets where you found yourself reaching up for it. A small stack of china sat on the lowest shelf. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had actually set the table yourself. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart,” Simon said as he sat the still steaming pot on the counter next to the sink. 

Shooting him a weird look, you continued in your pursuit. “I can handle getting plates, Simon.” 

And you did. Grabbed two plates right off the shelf and held them in your hands as you looked at him as if in a challenge. But you understood why he was still so… skittish. He had spent the last few months doing everything for you. Bathing you, dressing you, making your food; he did it all. It almost felt more vulnerable than bleeding out on cold grass. A burden, that’s what you had become. Just another pet for someone to take care of. And Simon didn’t mind it, you knew that; he never did. Still, it was difficult to rot away in that apartment in good conscience knowing he was caring for someone who more than likely should have been a corpse by the ocean. 

Saying nothing, Simon turned his attention back to his work as you walked towards the dining table. You hadn’t even made it halfway there before something crumbled inside of you. A shooting pain ran up and down your left arm, searing your nerves and burning away your flesh. A tingling numbness settled over your hand and the plates you tried to hold so carefully slipped right through your fingers where they shattered on the ground at your feet with a deafening crash. 

Your gasp was cut off by a short whimper as your hand reached up to press against your old, yet still aggravated wound. You kept the pressure there as if trying to keep yourself from spilling on the floor, and you looked down at the mess you made. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cursed. You pulled your hand away from under your arm and looked at your hand as if expecting blood. 

“You alright?” Simon asked, heavy footsteps trailing across the floor behind you. 

“I’m fine,” you spat, words sharp enough to tear through flesh. 

The footsteps behind you stopped, and it forced you to realize the bite in your tone. It also made you realize how your hand trembled and heart stung as if you were afraid, as if you had been running. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you let out a heavy sigh before looking down at the mess you made. A terrible mosaic of broken glass and a now slightly chipped wooden floor spanned the area around your feet. You had ruined two perfectly good plates, damaged the floor, and you were the one snapping? 

So much like your father. Being angry at the mess when it was your own fault. 

“I’m… fine,” you tried again, softer this time. Empty. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

When Simon continued to walk towards you, you half expected him to reach for you, and some strange part of you didn’t want him to. Didn’t want his touch. Couldn’t stand it because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to you, large fingers carefully picking up the bigger pieces of the shattered plates and gathering them into the palm of his hand. 

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” you said softly, lip trembling as you knelt down next to him to mirror his actions. 

“I know,” he replied simply. He still cleaned anyway. 

Anger was a weird thing for you. It wasn’t often that you felt it without some other emotion accompanying it. Confusion. Frustration. Grief. Shame usually followed shortly after. Truth was, you were angry all the time those days, and it was worse than almost any other emotion you could have experienced. When you had first started your road to recovery, you felt numb, and when you didn’t feel numb you felt terrified. A part of you wished you were still in that stage because you could at least explain why you felt that way. Some sort of self preservation mode your body had forced itself into in an attempt to smother the trauma you had endured over several long weeks. The anger that hid itself away in your chest was something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know why it was there, but you wished it wasn’t. 

So you stayed silent as you assisted Simon in cleaning up the shattered plates. It had remained mostly in several large chunks, but there were smaller, more fine pieces that you’d have to use a broom for. You hated that your hands shook for each piece you reached out for. 

“I broke one of my mum’s vases when I was a kid,” Simon said unprompted. You found yourself pausing. As you held what pieces you had gathered in your hand, you glanced over at him, and he must have felt your gaze because his eyes flickered to you before focusing back on his work. “Was an accident. Kickin’ around a football in the living room when she told me not to. I tried to hide it from her until I could fix it, but she knew immediately it was missing.”

“Was she mad?” you asked. 

It felt… odd. Strange. Nice. In all the years you had been with Simon, neither of you had really talked about your pasts. All you had gotten or shared were fragments. And there he was, picking up your mess, showing some raw part of himself you had never seen before. 

“Upset, but not mad. She never got mad, even when she should have,” he replied, voice unwavering. 

A thick lump had formed in your throat that was difficult to swallow. Something fuzzy tingled in the back of your mind, like something was trying to rip a chunk of flesh out of you; a memory. Teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, you swallowed again before speaking. 

“My… father broke a lot of plates when I was younger,” you admitted, staring down at the chunks of china in your hands. “Usually to get a reaction out of my mom. They were her mother’s, my grandmother’s, plates. Eventually she had to end up buying plastic plates when he had smashed them all, but that didn’t stop him from throwing them. He was always…”

So predictable. 

Hadn’t you just said that not too long ago? After the shattering of a bowl? More broken china to stain the ground, the carpet, in that basement. You remembered his glare, Erik’s glare - Adakskin - when you told him he was predictable. And you were right. He had done everything you knew he would. A broken dish was always followed by pain. It didn’t matter. It never did. A broken dish was always followed by pain, even if you were the one breaking it. 

Eyes watering, you coughed a little as a sharp tickle formed in your throat. Simon, whose eyes had been on you, glanced over his shoulder to see a fair bit of thick steam and light smoke rising out of the pan he had been cooking chicken in. Cursing, he stood to his feet and quickly tossed the pieces of china he had gathered into the trash before moving the pan off the heat. 

And just like that, you were back. Still kneeling, still cleaning, still quiet. Your life had become nothing but a blur of time; living in the past and present at the same time. Even at work, at home, with Simon, the past held onto you so violently you weren’t sure you would ever be able to shake it off. You tried telling yourself you could - that you would - but once again you were cleaning up a broken plate. Always cleaning but never clean. 

“Hope you like crispy chicken,” Simon sighed. Spatula in hand, he attempted to scrape the burnt meat off of the pan. 

Once you ensured every single shard had been picked up, you turned your attention towards the kitchen for a split moment. You attempted a smile, but it felt too big on your face, so you got rid of it the moment it formed. 

“I’m gonna change out of my work clothes,” you said instead, crossing through the kitchen to head towards the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get the plates this time.” 

He didn’t say anything in response as you vanished down the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you. His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment before relaxing once more and turning his attention back to dinner. He knew this stage of healing was going to be the hardest. The body had a way of mending wounds that the mind just couldn’t mimic with trauma. That conversation had been the most he was able to get out of you in months, and you still looked terrified. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been years since Simon had last smoked a cigarette. He used to smoke regularly when he first joined up, especially more so after his family was killed. It was a good way to keep himself awake on missions, or for avoiding nightmares. He quit when the withdrawal symptoms got bad and he had difficulty with cardio during PT. Now he smoked for the alleviation of stress, even if it only lasted for a moment. Or maybe he did it just to keep his hands moving. No matter the reason, it didn’t change the smoke curling in his lungs as he took drag after drag. 

Something had been on his mind since you dropped those plates at dinner the previous night. The empty look in your eyes haunted him almost as bad as the shaking of your hands. It was getting worse. Or, at least, it wasn’t getting better, and that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do to help you short of dragging you off to some therapist, which he knew wouldn’t do any good. Something was building. Something was going to burst, and he didn’t know when, but the pressure was there and there was nothing he could do about it. 

So there he stood, off in some secluded area on base, smoking his cigarette with a jaw so tense there were indentations of his teeth on the filter. It didn’t take him long to finish it, and when it had been stomped into the ground with the heel of his boot, he was half tempted to smoke another. Keeping the pack in his pocket, he released a heavy sigh before marching back towards the building that housed his office. 

Avoiding as many people in the halls as he could, he quickly unlocked the door and shut it as soon as he slipped inside. The air felt stale, like no one had entered to clean his space in his absence, which was probably for the best anyway. He flicked the light on, and it struggled to fill the room, being dimmer than he remembered it being, but it was enough for the moment. With a press of a button, his computer started to whirr to life, and he sat in his chair as he waited for it to boot up. It had great difficulty starting, and he could hear his SSD grind and whine after being shut off for so many months. 

Eventually the monitor lit up, and Simon wasted no time logging in before opening his browser. The last time he had used this computer he had spent all his time and energy searching through houses and apartments and hotel rooms in search of where you were being held. Now, he found himself looking at houses and apartments again, but for a different reason. 

He needed to get you out of there; out of the apartment the two of you had been staying in. Too many bad memories stained the walls for either of you to do any sort of healing. And so he searched and searched and found his frustration growing. A one bedroom apartment for 3,000 a month? Christ, the housing in that fucking city was astronomically expensive, and sure he could afford it, but for a single damn room? 

So he kept searching. It was difficult trying to find someplace that wasn’t halfway across the city from base that was also still close to your work. He’d hate for you to have to take the tube alone, or walk too far alone at night in the city, especially dressed as fancy as bankers usually were. Of course there was always housing on base, but he wouldn’t be able to bring you with because the two of you weren’t married. 

Your wife; they are relocating her.

Even after all that time he could see that woman clearly, whoever she had been, sitting on the floor of the room you were supposed to be in. At the time he tried to shake off the way that statement made him feel. Behind the anger, frustration, and fear, there was something else there. Wife. He had liked the term. He wished it was true. Then he remembered the photos in front of her. Your face; your gorgeous face, trapped in that Polaroid. The tears and blood that stained your cheeks and lips, the way an unforgiving hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at the lens. 

Wife. He wanted that, craved it. But that wasn’t the time, not after everything that had happened. 

Simon wasn’t brought out of his thoughts until someone knocked on his door, where he found himself glaring at the big hunk of wood. He hadn’t been there in months, and most people should have known that, so why was someone trying to bother him? Still, he gave them a gruff order to come in and he was quickly greeted by Johnny’s wide eyed expression. 

“You’re back?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he shut the door behind him. 

Well, at least out of everyone that it could have been, it was him. 

“Not yet,” he replied simply. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it in an attempt to relax some. He tried to make a mental reminder to use some WD-40 on it later. “How’d you know I was here?” 

Johnny used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Was on my way to storage to put some files away,” he explained simply, simultaneously shaking the manilla folder in his hand. “Walked by and saw the light peeking from under the door. Figured someone was cleaning, but knocked just in case.” He took a few cautious steps forward, as if approaching a skittish cat. “How’s everything?”

Simon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Things certainly weren’t great, but they could be worse. For example, you could be dead, or still hospitalized. But saying things were great was far from the truth, and he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining every little issue that had been plaguing him as of late. 

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted instead, “but we’re getting there.”

Johnny nodded, getting even closer to his lieutenant. “Spook doin’ alright, then?” 

Even after all that time, Simon still didn’t like talking about you with other people, even if it was Johnny. Hell, even talking about you to his therapist made him feel tense. But he couldn’t hold onto you like that forever, keeping you caged in the safeness of his arms where you were supposed to be safe. And he had to come to the realization that his sergeant deserved to know. Simon had been there the entire time; through the hospital, through your healing. The last time Johnny had seen you, you were bleeding out on your way to the nearest hospital. 

“She’s back to work. Started physical therapy this week, too,” Simon explained, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could say. 

That small bit of information seemed to mean the whole world to Johnny, and his face lit up. “Good, that’s good! Glad she’s doin’ better.” Then, his eyes darted to the monitor. He caught sight of the rental listings lined up on the screen, as well as their crazy high prices. “Searchin’ for a new home?”

Simon’s attention turned back to the computer for a moment where he let a heavy sigh escape him. “Yeah. Figured it was about time I got her out of there. The apartment. Wanted to get her out sooner, but couldn’t when she was still hurt.”

“It woulda been a lot for her to adjust to at once,” Johnny agreed. 

Things fell silent for a moment as both men lost themselves in their thoughts, but only for a short moment before Johnny adjusted the folder in his hand. 

“Well, I’ll let you continue searching,” he excused himself as he took a step back. “Gotta get this to storage eventually.” 

Simon was one second away from wishing the man well before watching him leave his office, but something stopped him. He knew that if he was alone again, his thoughts would go right back to where they were before. That woman in the room. Pictures of you on the floor. The blood. The Polaroids. That fucking hand that gripped your face - the hand that had no fucking right to touch you. Those goddamn pictures. 

“I’ll come with,” Simon said, already shutting his computer down. 

Eyebrows drawing together, Johnny tilted his head to the side as he paused his retreat. “You sure?” 

There was no room for argument. Everything in his office was quickly shut down and put away, and the two men walked through the halls of the building. There were a few familiar faces that threw Simon odd glances, as if surprised to see him there, or perhaps surprised he was still alive. His name was Ghost for a reason. 

Neither man said anything to one another until they reached the storage room. Shelves lined up like dominos and spanned all the way to the back wall where an industrial sized paper shredder sat. Large white cardboard boxes rested on the shelves with simple flip open tops, each labeled with either a case or date of some sort. Painfully white lights washed out the entire room, causing Johnny to squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted. 

“Hate sorting through this shit,” he muttered as he began to wander through the aisles. 

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the scent of old paper and rotting ink. Usually he never had to go into that room; whatever paperwork that he did have that would go there he’d make someone else’s problem. Even then, he found himself searching, eyes scanning the labels on the boxes. Locations, names, dates, everything. Johnny caught onto his search, and watched him for a moment with careful eyes, but still refused to say anything. 

“Aye, here we are,” Johnny sighed as he flipped the lid off of one of the boxes. He unceremoniously tossed the file into it before shutting it once again. “Right. Ready to get outta here?” 

But when he turned to Simon, he saw the man’s attention was caught by one of the boxes. Salthouse | 8, December. The lid was already opened, and Simon stared blankly into it as if he wasn’t sure where to start. 

“Ghost?” Johnny said softly. 

Simon’s hands dove into the box decisively where his fingers grabbed onto a small, orange envelope. There was a slight thickness to it, like something had to be shoved in there to fit properly, or too many things had been stacked and folded on top of one another. He wasted no time undoing the brass clasp at the top and pouring the contents into his hand. 

A plastic bag full of Polaroids tumbled out of the envelope, and Simon and Johnny were met with the image of your face. Beaten, irritated, and bloody, it was a different image than what they had seen last time, like whoever had collected it shuffled through the images in morbid curiosity. You laid on the ground on your back, no hand gripping your face, but still very obviously out of it. Passed out, probably, or at least on the verge of consciousness. 

He wasn’t prepared for the anger that bubbled up inside of him upon setting eyes on those images again. So many regrets, things that he should have done differently. He should have been stronger, faster, deadlier. Should have made Bukin and Adakskin pay for everything they had done to you with more than just a bullet to the head. Should have ripped up that picture of you the moment he got the chance. 

“Simon,” Johnny said again. It was rare that the man ever used his lieutenants real name, but it left him before he was able to stop it. 

Ignoring him, Simon tossed the orange envelope back into the box before ripping open the plastic bag, nearly scattering the photos all over the ground. He gathered them up into his hands before marching off towards the back of the room, boots hitting heavy against the floor. 

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked, voice a bit more firm. 

“No one needs to see these,” Simon responded within an instant. “Everyone knows what happened to her. No one needs to see her like this.” 

He approached the shredder that sat against the back wall of the room. It was a large thing, made for shredding stacks of paper all at once with teeth that could eat an entire hand within an instant. A few Polaroids wouldn’t be an issue at all. The thing was, Johnny couldn’t even argue with Simon, because he felt the exact same way. So he stood there and watched as Simon powered on the shredder, gears whirring and whining. 

Without remorse, Simon tossed the photos into the shredder and watched as the metal tore them to shreds with ease. Plastic crinkled and cracked until they were all eaten up and spat out into the bag that stored all the other scraps it had thrown up. The thing was, Simon was never very good at fixing things. No matter how hard he tried to be, he always ended up breaking things. His mother’s vase or a man's arm. He could pull a trigger and end someone’s life and yet he felt something convulsing inside of him at the thought of opening himself to you. 

But this? This felt right. Destroying those pictures. There was enough evidence on your body and in your mind as it was. He tried so hard to be something else, anything else; but in the end, Simon was a brutal man whose hands were only capable of violence; might as well put them to good use.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

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[restinslices]

Hello, I'm indecisive so you can pick any character you want for this but how about you're selected MK1 characters with a combat medic reader?

Okay so based on google, a combat medic provides emergency medical treatment. I kinda made reader a healer just to add some magical fun but it’s basically the same thing, right? Just with magic. Idk if by “with a combat medic reader” you mean dating or how they’d interact, so I made the headcanons to basically follow their relationship! Also I picked Johnny because if I ever say “I hate white men” never am I ever talking about him.

So we all agree that Johnny is definitely the type to flirt with nurses, right?

Dude flirts with anyone that breathes. I doubt a medic is where he draws the line

I imagine that you meet while he’s training at the academy

You’ve been under Liu Kang’s wing for awhile now. You’re a great fighter but more importantly you’re his most trusted healer

Johnny more than likely gets injured tryna show off. He sees you glancing at him, then he tries to do some extra shit and oh! Look at that! He’s injured!

He’s like “damn. That’s embarrassing”

Now some may think that Johnny would be even more embarrassed when he realizes you’re his medic

I disagree

This mf is unbelievably delusional

“Me getting injured means that we were meant to be”

Johnny have you considered… thinking clearly?

He’s flirting the entire time you’re healing him, which is something that takes awhile since you have to be precise

“I’d feel a lot better if I had your phone number” “You do realize we stay at the same academy, right?”

From then on, Johnny is a pain in your neck

Are we as a class agreeing that he complains about the most minor of injuries just to see you?

There’s someone with a caved in lung in the hospital wing and he walks in like “I have a cut on my hand :(“

“Just use a bandaid” “What if it’s infected?” “It’s not. It’s a fucking paper cut”

I do think however, that it’s mainly just jokingly flirting. He’s just a tease. That’s how it would start out at least. Like when he was flirting with Kitana

He wants to see you because he gets away from training, because you have a nice aura, you’re hot and he likes messing with you

Overtime though, his flirting would become more serious. He’s actually starting to develop feelings for you, but you wouldn’t know the difference

He’d probably see you a lot more often since he’s under Liu Kang and doing shit for him

I can see him asking you to teach him how to handle certain injuries without magic, but he has no intentions of actually treating himself

When you eventually start dating, he only gets worse

Because now in his mind you REALLY have no choice but to deal with his bullshit. There’s no scaring you away now

”I have an injury” “I’m not helping you with a stubbed toe. Just go sit down”

And the flirting? It reaches an all time high

The corniest shit comes out of his mouth. I can’t even think of any off the top of my head

I just honestly think that this would be a fun relationship

Johnny isn’t completely stupid. He knows that you have to know a lot about the human body to know that you have to heal this bone, do this with this vein, whatever whatever

Behind his jokes and flirting, there’s true admiration there

You’re a smart person and he likes that

You get a lifelong partner and he gets his booboos looked at

Seems like a fair trade to me

[seonghwaddict]

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 006 ] that's for the breasts, sir.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. none? word count. 2.7k

　　　　　　　　chapter v // chapter vi // chapter vii

Before the four of you could finally commence the journey to the mall, you had to go through one small but very loud obstacle.

As soon as Yunho pulled off from the side of the road, a body flung itself across the front of his car. It seemed that Wooyoung booked it out of the house and locked the front door from the outside, which they apparently only had two keys to—one with Wooyoung and the other with Hongjoong.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the thud, but after realising what it was, couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as the others groaned. You looked to your right at the house, catching a glimpse of Mingi’s leg sticking out of the kitchen window in an attempt to escape and recapture Wooyoung.

“You’re gonna take me with you whether you like it or not!” His voice was muffled, but due to its natural volume, you could all hear him perfectly well. With a roll of his eyes, Yunho unlocked the car and Wooyoung all but pranced his way into the backseat, squeezing you in between him and Hongjoong.

“What if there’s a fire in the house? How are they gonna get out?” You asked jokingly.

Hongjoong piped up with an amused grin, “There’s a back door. I’m actually surprised they didn’t think of that yet.”

And with that, Yunho continued the journey to the mall, ignoring the way Seonghwa ran after the car for a couple of metres while cursing out Wooyoung until he gave up.

The ride there was also pretty short. It was a relatively popular mall that offered a variety of stores and a fucking amazing food court with all your favourite restaurants. As the five of you walked through the mall, Wooyoung had his arm linked with yours, leading all of you to the store that housed an assortment of technology ranging from phones to massage chairs to music equipment, which is exactly what they needed.

“While you guys do your thing here, I’m gonna go ahead and find something to wear.” You excused yourself politely and were surprised when Yunho tagged along—Wooyoung joining you was less of a surprise. But you didn’t complain, spending the last few weeks with him created a small soft spot in your heart.

After spending so much time with him and meeting all his friends, you came to the conclusion that you seriously misjudged them and told yourself you would make it up to them one day. When you brought it up to Wooyoung to apologise for being such a stubborn jerk at the start of the project, he merely waved you off and said something along the lines of “It doesn’t matter now anyway, we’re best friends forever! Unless you want to be more th-” and then you punched him in the arm.

As much as you wanted to deny it, Wooyoung, Seonghwa and that entire ensemble of frat boys were incredibly handsome. Without meaning to, you sometimes found yourself staring, tracing their silhouettes with your eyes and your fingers itching to whip out your sketchbook and draw their perfect proportions. San’s physique, for example, was so nice to look at it frustrated you sometimes, jealous of his lean figure and waist so tiny you could wrap a hair tie around it.

“I’d rather get to know you than watch Hongjoong-hyung spend an hour trying to find the perfect speakers or whatever it is he needs.” Yunho reasoned, falling into step on your left while Wooyoung took your right. It was then that you noticed how tall he actually was, having to quite literally crane your neck to smile at him understandingly.

“I heard you major in acting, is that what you wanna do in the future?” You asked, then immediately realised how stupid of a question that was. Your face scrunched up with embarrassment. “Sorry, that was a dumb question.”

But Yunho laughed, not at you but rather at how endearing you are. “No, no. Don’t worry. Yeah, that’s what I hope to do in the future. But… how do you know what I major in? I don’t recall meeting you, let alone telling you what I study.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling at the way your eyes bulged from your skull at his insinuation.

“One of my friends also is an acting major!” You blurt, quickly explaining yourself. “You know, Kim Gahyun? I’ve heard you’re great at it.”

At his deep chuckle, you looked up at him, confused. But before you could question it, Woyooung pulled you into one of the stores abruptly.

“I love this place, you should get your stuff here!”

After observing your surroundings for a second, you realised what store you were in. Well, you didn’t realise the name of it, but rather the fact that everything would be very costly.

“I don’t know, Wooyoung…” you trailed off, stepping to the nearest clothing rack and checking the price tag of the first blouse you could get your hands on. You nearly choked at the number displayed on the pristine white tag, quickly and carefully placing it back on the rack. “Everything is too expensive and I don’t get paid enough to be able to afford more than a pair of socks here at most.”

Wooyoung and Yunho looked at each other, blinked, and then returned their gazes to you.

“I thought you were aware we were gonna pay for you.”

“Oh,” you looked between the two of them, “oh, no, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“You didn’t ask, we’re offering. And in this matter, we won’t take no for an answer so go ahead and explore, find things you like, try them on and then we’ll pay for you.” Yunho smiled warmly. “Consider it a gift.”

You narrowed your eyes at both of them. “What will I have to owe you?”

“Oh, Y/N,” Wooyoung sighed coming to your side and dragging you further into the store. You watched idly as he sifted his way through the clothing racks, occasionally pulling out a piece of clothing, observing it, and then putting it back. “A gift is a gift, you won’t have to owe us anything.”

“Fine,” you agree begrudgingly after two long minutes. “Where should I meet you when I’m done picking out my stuff?”

“I have to go find something to wear for our dance video, so we’ll leave you to yourself and when you’re ready just come find us,” Wooyoung said before pulling Yunho away with a smile, leaving you alone.

Browsing the racks, you realised everything seemed way too fancy to be worn to some frat party. On top of that, a lot of the things were form-fitting—a look you don’t usually go for unless it’s a really special occasion. Sighing you continued your search. The problem wasn’t the clothing, really. You felt bad about using their money. Yeah, they were rich and all, but you didn’t want to feel in debt to them.

After around five minutes of searching, you hear a soft voice next to you. It was a very pretty woman that seemed to be in her late twenties. She wore a very chic-looking black pencil dress with her hair in a sleek bun. Once she saw you notice the name tag on her chest, she offered you a friendly smile. “Hello, Ma’am. Is there any way I could help you?”

“Oh, uh,” you contemplated her offer. “Yes, actually. I need something to wear to a party. Nothing too fancy though.”

A smile overtook her features as she ushered you to follow her. Apparently, you were looking in the wrong section because she led you to a corner of the store that held things that would be more suitable; sparkly shirts and skimpy short dresses.

“Is there any style you prefer?”

You explained you’d prefer clothes that weren’t tight fits or too short. Once asking you if you had anything underneath your hoodie (a sports bra), she asked you to take off the thick material to get a better idea of your body shape. Despite hesitating for a moment, you peeled it off you and turned around slowly, letting her get a better view.

The woman—Hana, judging by her nametag—hummed and nodded. “You have some very nice curves, are you sure you wouldn’t want to show them off?”

“Well… I mean, I wouldn’t mind. But it’s just that I’d prefer comfort.” It’s true that you didn’t really mind your body, most of your weight residing in your hips and thighs. Sometimes you liked it, thinking the plump flesh gave you a softer look.

She regarded you for a moment before turning and pulling some things off the shelf. With enthusiasm, she presented some clothing items by laying them on the long bench in the middle of the section.

The first outfit she pieced together was a very short pleated black skirt accompanied by a black corset-like top. The next was made up of flared black pants and an oversized dress shirt.

Looking at them closely, you looked back at the assistant, who was watching you carefully. “What if I wear this,” you picked up the hanger with the unbuttoned dress shirt, “on top of this?” You tucked the corset top into the dress shirt and set it down on the bench, stepping back so she could take a look.

“Oh, that would work beautifully!” She smiled brightly, picking up all the items you chose as you put your hoodie back on. “You could wear a waist chain on top of the corset, it would accentuate your waist a bit more and look even more splendid. And if you’re uncomfortable you can always just button up the shirt.”

Hana led you to a smaller section of the store next to the dressing rooms, letting you go through the accessories and shoes. As you looked through the various pieces of jewellery, a hand brushed against your waist and you felt someone stand beside you. Looking to see who it was, you find Yunho, his eyes looking at the jewellery rather than you.

“Are you looking for a necklace?” He picked one from the turning display—a thin silver choker with a diamond that would rest right in between your shoulders and at the base of your neck. “I think this would be nice, no?”

“It’s very pretty.” You took it from his hands, fingers brushing against his much larger ones and inspecting it closely before you set it back on its hook. “But unfortunately, it’s not what I’m looking for. I need a waist chain.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. He stepped around you, looking at some of the longer chains. “Hongjoong-hyung probably has a better eye for jewellery, but I’m sure I can find something.”

“Speaking of, are they still in the other store?”

Yunho held up a thick golden rope chain, placing it back after you shook your head. “No, they’re helping Wooyoung choose his clothes. He’s very indecisive ad perfectionistic when it comes to anything related to dance, which I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

You did in fact notice that habit of his. He made you sit in the dance studio and watch him choreograph and practice, he said it was so you could get a better idea of what movements he would make ahead of time so you could already start thinking about the composition of the paintings. But you were perfectly aware he just wanted to show off to you, noticing how he would beam every time you applauded him.

However, you also noticed that if he got a move wrong, he’d beat himself up over it. Dancing it and trying to perfect it over and over and over again until he could execute it the way he wanted. Sometimes he would crumble to the ground and just lay there while you came and sat next to him, reassuring him he did great and forcing him to drink some water. You understood him completely, often feeling like that yourself. That you have to get everything right, make everything perfect just to be good at what you love to do.

There had been countless times when you scrapped your artworks. All because something felt off—the colours, the proportions, the harmony, a tiny mistake you couldn’t seem to get rid of. You understood him completely because you also knew what it was like to fail at your craft and feel like everything you worked so hard for was a waste of time.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” You nodded, a small frown on your lips and furrow in your eyes.

A beat of silence passed between the two of you before Yunho spoke again, a laugh resounding in his voice as he held up a series of multiple chains connected with each other. “Hey, what’s this for? How the hell would you put this on?”

He tried tying it around his waist on top of his hoodie but stopped once Hana cleared her throat.

“Sir, that’s– uh– that’s for the breasts, sir.”

“Oh.” He blanched, putting it back hastily, a light blush forming on his cheeks as you laughed. He narrowed his eyes at you. “A word of this to anyone and I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” You saluted him mockingly.

Eventually, you found something that matched your preferences—a dainty plain silver chain with a small heart clasp. Right next to it, you spotted a matching set of dangling earrings.

“Oh, look at this one! It’s so pretty!” As carefully as you could so as to not get anything tangled, you picked it off the shelf and showed it to Yunho and Hana with a bright smile on your face (Yunho nearly cooed at you).

“It’s perfect!” Hana nodded approvingly, readjusting your outfit in her gentle grip. “Are you ready to try everything on?”

“Yes, I think so– Wait.” You spun around and walked over to the selection of shoes, quickly choosing a pair of platformed Mary Janes. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

You followed Hana into the dressing rooms, Yunho going off to find the rest of the guys while you tried everything on. In the end, you were very happy with your choices. You didn’t mind that it seemed a bit fancy for a frat party, at least you looked spectacular. Besides, the oversized dress shirt added a bit of casualness to the outfit, so overall it seemed quite balanced out.

When you stepped out of the curtains of your cubical, Hana clapped and complimented you endlessly, especially when you took off the shirt and gave her a little spin with the skirt and corset top. Satisfied, you changed back into your sweatpants and hoodie and met the guys by the cashier with your outfit neatly folded in your arms.

“Ready?”

You nodded, placing your pile on the cashier’s counter next to Wooyoung’s pile. As you watched the lady scan each item and the price on the display going higher a higher, your face contorted with guilt and you looked away.

“Are you sure I can’t at least pay some of it?”

“Y/N.” Hongjoong grabbed your attention with a firm but somehow still gentle tone. “We’re part of the richest families in South Korea, I don’t want to make you feel bad about yourself or your financial status or anything, but this is barely even putting a dent in our bank accounts.”

Mouth agape, you blinked at him, looking at each of the men individually before you settled your eyes on Wooyoung, narrowing them ever so slightly and opening your mouth to speak. But before you could ask, he answered, knowing exactly what you were about to say.

“For the last time, we’re not part of the mafia.”

Jongho, who found this a lot more amusing than his hyungs, let out a series of bubbly laughs, his lips stretching into a smile and showing off his perfect gums and his shoulder pulling up and shaking as he laughed. Despite seeing him so often, you’ve never seen him display so much happiness (except for the time your bookstore was selling signed copies of one of his favourite books and he caught you giving him a small discount because you saw how excited he was) and it warmed you inside.

“Okay, if you guys say so…” you trailed off, cutting your fond gaze on Jongho off and you accepted the stylish white paper bag with your clothing from Hana.

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] and here it is!! i love reading and writing shopping scenes in fics so much omg. but anyway, next chapter we'll be getting the party!! and happy pride month everyone! my birthday is coming up soon and i'm gonna be travelling, so i'll most likely miss the update after the next one, please don't worry i'll be right on track as soon as i get back :)

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　　NEVER SAY NEVER　©　seonghwaddict, 2023

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Now that I’ve spoken it out loud, I can’t ignore the strangeness around Ash anymore. The nightmares, the flashes of memory that don’t belong to me, and now, what feels like someone else’s words coming out of my mouth.

I’ve decided to keep some distance until I can figure this out, even if the very idea of it has me twisted up in knots.

As usual, when I arrive at work, he’s already there, joking around with Evan and Lex. I make a point to walk back by the windows to my desk, so I won’t have to face him. I know I’ll need to talk to him eventually, but I have no idea what I’m going to say, and now doesn’t seem like the time or place to say it anyway.

So, I avoid him. I avoid the situation. I avoid myself.

I sit at my desk, put my earbuds in, and I retreat to a familiar place deep within. And I work. I work through lunch despite the protests from my stomach. I don’t stop working until six o’clock, long past when Ash usually leaves. I don’t know if he tried to say hello or goodbye. I don’t even remember the day.

When I finally look up, the office is nearly empty, and the sun has just started to sink toward the horizon.

Rather than taking my usual route home, I take a right out of the building and head toward the gym. No one else is going tonight, but that's fine. I just need to think, and I think best when I'm climbing or running.

But I only make it two blocks before I hear his footsteps behind me, moving quickly along the wet concrete as he tries to catch up. I hadn’t even realized it rained today. The sky is clear now, but the moisture has left the air feeling sticky and unseasonably warm.

My heart jumps when I feel his hand tap my shoulder even though I was expecting it. I take a breath and turn to face him.

“Hey,” his greeting is like a hand reaching into a dark well, reaching down to try and pull me up from where I’ve retreated deep inside myself. His eyes search the darkness in mine. I can’t tell if he can see me or not.

He squints slightly and I know then that he can’t. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” I say automatically.

“Everything’s fine?”

“Yeah.”

He squints harder, and the corners of his mouth pull down into a frown, “Did I do something wrong?”

The confusion in his voice twists at my stomach and I have to focus on staying upright, on keeping all the muscles in my face and shoulders relaxed. It’s not easy, but I’ve had two decades of practice and I’m better at it than I’d like to admit. “No,” I say simply. Keeping my answers short to keep the emotion out of them.

Then it happens. I watch as his eyes harden like stones. This is it. This is when I fuck everything up. I can feel it, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But maybe it’s for the best. I can’t risk him getting close to me.

“Atlas, what the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Do you think I’m stupid?”

The sharpness in his tone makes me flinch, cracking my armor, and I feel my brows pull together, “No,” emotion sneaks into my voice, drawing out the word.

“Atlas, I—” he seems to struggle for a moment. I wait, desperate to reach out to him, to put my hand on his arm and reassure him, but I’m trapped. My armor has become a cage, as it so often does. Helpless, I listen as he tries again, “I like you, a lot, and we had a really great time the other night, but… you said you’d call and you didn’t, which is fine, like, people get busy, it’s whatever… but you’ve spent the entire day acting like I don’t  exist and now you’re telling me everything is fine, acting as if nothing happened, making me feel like I’m fucking delusional or something. Do you have any idea how awful that feels?”

Yes. I feel myself deflate, a wave of shame pouring over me. I don’t think I can hate myself more than I do in this moment, realizing that I am indeed my mother's son. “I’m sorry,” I try to infuse as much sincerity into the words as I can, but they still fall flat.

“Right. You wanna tell me what’s going on then?”

“I can’t do this, Ash, I’m sorry. I think we should just be friends.” I let it out in a rush, unable to look him in the eye.

“Friends?”

I nod.

“You know, a ‘friend’ would’ve had the decency to talk to me about this rather than avoiding me.”

“I know, I’m—”

“Sorry. Yeah. I got that. Can you tell me why?”

“Because…” I sigh, grabbing on to the only explanation I can think of that makes any sense, “because we work together. I just… I don’t date people I work with.” It’s not necessarily a lie. I usually don’t consider my co-workers part of the eligible dating pool. But maybe if things were different, I’d’ve made an exception.

“You don’t date people you work with?”

“That’s right.”

He scoffs, “This would’ve been good information for you to share with me a lot sooner. I really don’t appreciate being led on.”

“I know, I didn’t mean… I got caught up. I shouldn’t have. I really am sorry.”

His head drops away from me, “Yeah, me too,” he says to the ground more than me, nudging a rock with his shoe. “So, friends then? That’s what you want?”

No. “Yes.”

He nods, still looking at the ground as he takes a deep breath. “Okay.” He finally looks back up at me, his eyes shining, not with their usual playfulness and excitement, but with tears threatening to spill over. I’ve hurt him. “Okay,” he says again, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He turns around abruptly before I can respond and starts walking away.

I stand there for a moment, stunned. Everything about this feels wrong. I want to take it back. And I nearly call out to him, tell him to wait, that I didn't mean it. But then he reaches a hand up, wiping his face, and I stop myself. I've done enough damage already.

I was wrong earlier. It turns out I can hate myself more.

Prev // Next

[daydreams-after-dark]

SORSHA!!! The fuck boy besties Lix & Ji????

Omg, I was talking about them being your besties I know in college maybe roommates but them being besties & fucking you dumb after meeting in a club!🫠🫠🫠

Definitely love your pov of it💯🤌🏽

🎀

Oh no I messed it up 😫😭😭😭 I’m so sorry I misinterpreted your ask 😔🥹 I feel so silly !!!

(Annonie is referring to this ask)

But now I’m having whole other thoughts!!!

Like the three of you live together as housemates. Jisung and Felix usually go out and pick up girls to bring back to the apartment.

It’s usually your chance to stay home, have some special alone time. They get back so late and they’re so preoccupied you could be painting the living room walls and they wouldn’t know.

So.. as usual when they’re out doing what fuck boys do, you settle on your bed in just your oversized tee. You tend to your own needs. Touch yourself, finger fuck yourself, use your dildo.

What you don’t realise is that Ji and Lix, for whatever reason, come home early (and alone).

They hear your whimpers. They wonder who you have in your room.

They sneak up to the door, it’s ajar, and see you fucking yourself slow and deep with your dildo.

Jisung and Felix are mesmerised as they watch your hips rock against the toy. They subconsciously lick their lips when they see your arousal coating it each time you withdraw it from your cunt.

Jisung whimpers. Fuck! He looks at Felix who is biting his lip hungrily.

Your eyes spring open and you lift your head to see the two men staring at your pussy.

“A-are you just going to stand there?” You pant. “I know you know how to fuck a girl good…”

Jisung and Felix look at each other.

“I hear how you make them scream…while I’m here… using a fucking…toy.” You’re actually pretty close to coming. Especially having your friends eyes on you.

Felix and Jisung exchange a knowing look, and saunter into your bedroom.

“Fuck, baby. Your pussy is so wet.” Says Jisung, not only from the visual, but also how loud the wet noises were coming from your cunt.

“Let’s take this shirt of, yeah? That way we can take care of you properly.”

“You always…always…take care of random girls.” You pant.

“We’re so sorry, baby. Me and Lixi are here now.” Jisung coos as he nestles alongside your now naked body.

Felix lies on the other side of you, and starts to caress your body. He sucks on your nipple as his hands roam your stomach. “What do you think about when you touch yourself.” He whispers.

Should you tell them the truth? That you think about being one of their hookups? One of their conquests?

“Hmph.” Jisung chuckles low. “I bet our pretty baby listens to us fuck girls and imagine it’s her pussy we’re tearing up?”

Your silence followed by a hard swallow gives you way.

Jisung winks at you. “Knew it.” He whispers as his hand reaches down to grasp the dildo.

You draw in a sharp breath and then a long moan when he takes over and starts fucking you with your toy.

Felix releases your nipple with a pop. “Does our good girl imagine sucking our cocks?”

“Yes!” You cry. “Wanna taste your cocks.”

Jisung pulls the dildo from your aching cunt and tosses it to the side, and you whimper in protest.

“Shh… you’ll be filled again soon enough, sweetheart.”

They pull you off the bed to kneel on the floor and stand side by side in front of you. You watch wide eyed as they peel their clothes off and the three of you are completely naked.

They are likes pair of fucking gods. Toned, slender, strong. The sight of their very hard, and surprisingly large cocks has you poor dripping, empty, cunt clenching.

“Is our pretty girl just going to look, or is she going to open up wide?” Felix says softly. “You say you want us. Show us. Show us just how much you have been thinking about our cocks.’

They step towards you and you reach out to take hold of them. You start with Felix, taking him in as far as possible, gagging a little with your overzealous enthusiasm, while you jerk off Jisung with you other hand.

Then you swap, eventually alternating between them several times.

“Baby, you mouth. Fuck it feels perfect.”

“Look how much she can take in.”

“Someone needs to fuck me.” You moan. “Please… fill me up. Make me your slut.”

The two men groan at your filthy request, moving you back on the bed.

Jisung lays on his back while you kneel between his legs and take him deep into your throat. You want to fucking choke on his delicious cock.

“Pop your arse up for me love… that’s it.” Growls Felix, digging his fingers into your hips and guiding the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“Ready?” It isn’t a question for you, but between Jisung and Felix.

Jisung tangles his fingers into the hair on the back of your head and lifts your head until just the tip is inside your mouth. Then, as Felix pushes inside of you, Jisung pushes your head down over his cock.

They fuck you like this. Every withdrawal from Felix, Jisung releases your head up. Every thrust into your cunt was mirrored with your head being pushed down all the way to the base.

They fuck you until you come all over Felix’s cock and Felix comes all over your back. Then they swap, getting hard again quickly.

“Baby, you feel so fucking perfect. Can I come inside you?” Jisung moans.

“Yes… please…” you pop of Felix momentarily.

“Oh fuck!” You cry as you come again, then feel Jisung spill inside you. Felix follows, coating the back of your throat.

The three of you lay in a tangle of sweaty limbs while you catch your breath.

“I think we need to stay in every night and fuck.” Declares Jisung.

You and Felix nod in agreement.

A/n I had to flesh this out!!! It’s rushed but I hope it still came out ok 😘😘😘

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina

@3rachasdomesticbanana

@palindrome969

@xxkissesforchanniexx

@chuuchuu1224

@fun-fanfics

@wolfennracha

[monsterbunny69]

Julian devorak x Gn!Reader smut part 1

18+!

Context: you and Julian have come up with an agreement where if he has a sex dream you are allowed, and have his consent to, wake him up by giving him a hand job or blowjob. Tonight is the night you finally get to execute this.

Hehe

Mc’s POV

Stir awake after feeling Julian toss and turn a few times in his sleep. I sat up, thinking it was a nightmare at first “jul-“ I begin to call his name and set my hand on his shoulder before I am interrupted but a low, desperate sounding moan. I freeze, not knowing what to do. He shuffles again, laying on his back now. I debate waking him up to ask what he was dreaming about because I know if he’s having a wet dream he’ll be very embarrassed~

Instead I decide to slide under the blankets, planting myself slowly and carefully between his legs. As I do this I hear him moan again, a little louder this time. I have the blanket covering me up to my neck so I don’t get cold. I set a hand on his left thigh, trailing it up his shorts that he slept in. His skin is flushed pink and warm, his breathing is picking up a little. I finally look down at his crotch and see his bulge pressing against the fabric. I bite my lip a little and reach up, beginning to stroke and massage his hard on over his pants. His dick twitches in his shorts as I palm it, drawing a breathy moan from my sleeping lover. I stroke him with a good grip so it feels like he’s fucking something, which causes him to jolt his hips forward into my hand. I’m glad he is a heavy sleeper because it’s interesting to see how his body reacts to my touch without him being awake to suppress its urges. I don’t stop stroking until I see drips of precum staining through his shorts. I stop the movements of my hands and slowly drag his shorts and boxers down his pale thighs so he won’t wake up. I sigh a little, knowing what I’m about to do will wake him up eventually. I watch as his dick twitches, leaking precum onto the shirt he slept in. I look up at his sleeping face, it’s flushed and there’s a bead of sweat on his forehead. Whatever he is dreaming about has him really fired up. I scoot a little closer to Julian, gently grabbing his erection and wrapping my lips around the head, sucking and licking on just the tip to test the waters. My actions cause him to let out a loud groan and I freeze, not wanting to wake him just yet. Once he settles again I start bobbing my head, sucking his dick all the way down to the base. He thrusts his hips forwards again in his sleep, so I pin him down, hands gripping his thighs. I don’t mind if I leave bruises on them, Julian has a thing for marking. Then I keep blowing him, speeding up. He is moaning a little with each dip I take and eventually his eyes flutter open, and I catch him staring at me with half-lidded eyes and desperation. “G-good morning to you too” he says, biting his lip and arching his back straight after. I try not to smile as I keep his hips pinned and my lips wrapped tightly around his twitching cock. Now that he’s awake his hands are gripping the bed sheets beside us and he’s moaning as loud as he feels like it- which is pretty loud. His moans are music to my ears and motivation for me to keep giving him the best blowjob I can. “Ah! Mc-“ he cuts himself off with another moan, back arching off the bed. I abruptly pull away from him, licking my lips. He whimpers and locks eyes with me “t-that’s not fair” he huffs, letting go of the bed sheets. I knew he was getting close, and I want to make him beg for it. “You know what I need from you first” I say, doing my best to be intimidating. He huffs, I can watch the gears turning in his head as he tries to decide whether he wants to be a brat or obedient. I cross my arms and give him a look, he knows I won’t let him cum if he’s a brat. Julian locks eyes with me and almost immediately softens his gaze and slumps back down on the bed “please make me cum” he gives me the same half lidded look as earlier, a red blush dusting his cheeks. I chuckle at him “good choice~” I reply, grabbing his wrists this time and pinning them by his sides. He’s avoiding my eyes now, embarrassed by how turned on he is. Instead of jumping right back into blowing him I lean down farther this time and place kisses on his thighs. I stare up at him while I do this, causing him to swallow and stare at me in awe. I then bite into one of his thighs hard enough to leave marks, causing him to moan loudly, balling his fists. I smirk and continue to bite along his thighs, leaving behind bruises and hickeys. When I’m done I look up at him. He lets out a shuddering breath and shuts his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillow. I remove my hands from his wrists and place them on his hips again.

[munson-blurbs]

Inspired by a drawing by the absurdly talented @dr-aculaaa 💚 thank you for allowing Steve’s chest hair to live rent-free in my mind.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), sub!Steve, dom!fem!Reader, pet name (“Miss”), praise & degradation, chest riding, brief handjob

WC: 909

Everyone assumes the man formerly known as King Steve is also the king in bed. And he used to be, until you came along and showed him just how fun being submissive can be.

You’re laying in his bed—king-size, of course—legs on either side of his torso. He’s had a long day at work, and you’re great at helping him relax.

“Poor thing,” you coo, leaning over and pressing soft kisses along his jawline. “Need me to take care of you?”

Strong hands grip the back of your thighs as he whimpers a barely audible, “mhm.” You’d normally make him use his words like a good boy, but you decide to cut him a little slack tonight.

“Clothes off.” Steve does as you say, wasting no time as he yanks off his jeans and boxers, cock springing free. It might be his only body part that isn’t exhausted; just the opposite, actually. A bead of pre-cum pearls at the red, angry tip, and it takes all of your willpower not to get on your knees and lick it clean straight away.

He starts to lay back down, erection in hand as he slowly bucks his hips into his fist.

“Shirt, too, Stevie,” you tut disapprovingly. “C’mon, you know how much I love that chest of yours.”

Reluctantly, Steve lets go of his achingly hard cock and lets you tug his shirt over his head. You toss it to the ground haphazardly, climbing back on top of him. Your body is a bit higher on his now, and when you lower yourself onto him, your pussy makes direct contact with his chest hair.

Steve realizes it faster than you expect him to. “You’re not—are you not wearing anything under this?” he incredulously asks, giving the fabric of your bunched up skirt a small flick. The sight of your bare sex has his eyes rolling back, a wanting groan drifting from his throat. “S’pretty,” he finally manages.

“You think I’m pretty?” Of course he does; to him, you’re the most beautiful person in the goddamn world. But you’re not really looking for an answer. No, your favorite pastime is asking him simple questions during sex and watching him struggle to respond.

Right now, for example, you’re rubbing yourself against the soft brunette tendrils between his pecs as you say, “What makes you think I’m pretty, Stevie?” Your voice drips with feigned innocence, as though you’re not using his body to get yourself off.

His fingertips squeeze the plush of your ass, firm enough to stabilize your movements without anchoring you. “Eyes,” he mumbles, cock twitching when he feels his chest hair become wet with your slick. “Y’got pretty eyes, baby. An’ your lips…”

“What about my lips?” When he fails to answer—as you knew he eventually would—you heave an impatient sigh. “If you’re not gonna tell me why I’m pretty, I’ll just have to give you a reason to be quiet.” With that, you wrap your fingers around his neck. The slight pressure has him reaching for his dick, but you use your free hand to slap him away.

“Did you ask me?” you snap, scoffing when he only shakes his head. “And now we’ve forgotten how to use any words, huh? I haven’t even touched your cock yet and you’ve already gone dumb?”

“N-No. No, I did-didn’t ask you,” Steve stammers, voice low with lust and from your grip on his throat. “‘M sorry, s-so sorry, Miss.”

And there it is. He’s slipped into subspace just from being choked and watching you ride his chest. Fucking pathetic.

You grind against him faster, reveling in the way the hair feels against your clit. “I was gonna be so nice tonight, Stevie. Was gonna suck that beautiful cock of yours. Maybe even let you eat me out while I did it. But now,” you pout, “I’m just gonna use you to cum, and if I’m in a better mood after, I might let you cum, too.”

“Yes, Miss,” he whines, saliva pooling at the left corner of his lips. “I’ll take whatever you give me. I’ll be a good boy for you now, I promise.”

You dutifully ignore him, focusing on your own needs. You lean on him a bit more, a delicious friction building between your core and the hair now matted to his chest. All he wants is to grab onto your breasts that currently hover over his face, but he knows better than to push his luck right now. Not when he’s already gotten himself into trouble.

Your non-dominant hand digs into his shoulder as you bring yourself to orgasm, your sweet release sticky on his body. Steve is shaking, trembling, and you choose to take pity on him.

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you now,” you grin, watching as he gasps for air, relief flowing through his veins.

He’s writhing the moment you take hold of his dick. You’ve barely touched it, but the small, staggered movements within your grasp are too much for overstimulated King Steve. Thick, hot ropes of cum shoot from his cock and trickle down your knuckles.

“Shit, y’just—too much—had to cum.” He’s babbling, not making any sense. “Couldn’t stop—”

You quiet his blathering with a kiss to his lips, hand remaining on his softening length. “Get some rest, Stevie,” you murmur, noticing his heavy-lidded eyes already beginning to flutter closed. “Maybe you can be a better boy for me in the morning.”

—

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 10: The Confessional

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din takes care of you. And you both expose more of yourselves than you intend.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, more blood and injuries, but we’re healing. Reader is upset about being blinded. Anxiety attack described. Involuntary(ish) voyeurism. Deeply earnest.

A/N: As promised, some tender stuff. Thank you for spending your time with these two characters that I have fallen hard for.

--

A low groan signals you’re coming to. Thank the Worlds, Din thinks, and leans up to give reassurance.

‘Hey, y—’

You give a panicked shriek, confusion and terror lacing your voice as you thrash your head from side to side. Two fists pummel at Din’s chest as he tries to hold your convulsing figure. You arch your back before trying to lurch upwards.

‘Sssh, sshh, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ he urges. ‘You’re okay.’

‘Get off me!’ you snarl. ‘I’ll fucking kill you.’ Hands seek out pressure points, jabbing into Din’s armour and making you yelp in pain. Your sudden movement causes the seal on your middle to tear open, blood bubbles from the wound.

‘Listen, gods listen! You have to stop.’ He says your name. ‘You’re with me.’

You’re weakened from the freeze, so he catches hold of your fingers easily, stopping your attempts at needling him. He holds your hands away from him as gently as he can. You just start whispering no, no, no in a voice so forlorn Din trembles.

‘Cyar’ika…’ he speaks over your pleas. ‘Cyar’ika, please. It’s me. It’s Din.’

He murmurs reassurances as you slowly come to stillness, just your chest rising and falling a little too fast and your eyes darting back and forth.

‘Wha—Din?’ you ask.

‘Mando, I mean,’ he swallows, tightens his hands on yours just a little. ‘Din is… Din is my actual name. Din Djarin. And you’re on the Crest. You’re safe.’

‘Oh. Din Djarin,’ you whisper. He’ll save thinking about how that makes him feel for later.

You pause.

‘Why’s it dark?’

‘That is--’ he sighs. ‘Do you remember being put into the carbon freeze?’

Din let’s go of your hands as you raise them to your eyes, moving them in front of your vision. ‘I’m blind.’ He hears the tears pressing on your words.

‘It will not last.’

‘I’ve heard—’

‘On old ships with off-market tech and tainted carbonite – this was a Class H job. And your eyes were closed when you went in, shielding them from the worst of it. Your sight will return, I swear.’

You start to lower your hands and then give a pained groan.

‘Oh fuck, everything hurts.’

‘We will deal with it, cyar’ika. Just be brave for a little longer.’

--

‘I will count from three, okay?’ 

‘Yup, okay.’ 

‘Three, two, now…’ A hiss and a sizzling sound fills the air. You swear you’re being sawed in half.

‘Fuuuck!’ Your hand flies up and lands a vice grip on the first thing in reach, a warm firm mass that jolts under your palm.

The Mandalorian grunts and shifts forward slightly, draws the smoking device across your shredded muscle. It knits and seals across itself as the laser moves.

‘Easy, I have you. Almost there.’

You hiss an affirmative and screw your sightless eyes shut against tears, huffing deep breaths and sinking your nails into whatever you’re holding onto.

‘There,’ he murmurs, lifting his hands away and capping the nozzle, fumbling it a little.

The pain in your side eases fast. You blow the air from your lungs and sigh out a small, frazzled laugh. You flex your hand a bit against the strain of gripping so tightly and freeze. Your hand. Your hand clenching against the hard muscle of Din’s thigh.

You hold in surprise for another moment, stretching your fingers to feel the thickness of his leg. It flexes slightly. You come back to yourself in a rush.

‘Sorry!’ You pull your hand away and hold it across your forehead, wiping sweaty strands of hair back and forth before bringing it to cover your mouth, burning with embarrassment. 

He says nothing. You feel movement and hear rustling for a moment. Then a rip and whoosh sound that must be a cleanser sponge filling with disinfectant. A cool, soft sensation moves over your stomach. Din is gently working the blood and gore off of your torso, dabbing at the area around the now cauterised wound with care.

You lay in silence for a while, long enough that you start to pay attention to the touch of his fingers on your stomach. He’s using one hand to wipe at the dried blood and fluids, while the other rests lightly just below your ribs, holding you steady. They are so incredibly soft and large. When the cleanser sticks on a stubborn spot, his hand keeps going for a moment and fingers ghost across your hip. The sensation sparks a welling of emotion not just made of a sudden arousal but every ounce of fear and longing and panic that led to this moment.

A strained sob bursts out of you.

He freezes. ‘Sorry. I hurt you.’

‘No, no it’s alright,’ you let your tears go, what’s the point of holding it in. ‘Just, just feeling like such a damsel, yet again.’

Din gets a new cleanser and continues his ministrations on your body.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, rubbing at the stubborn spot carefully.

‘Like, ugh, that prison camp, and then the Estate, and now all of this,’ you motion with an arm up and down yourself. ‘You just, needing to rescue me over and over.’

Oh, and there it is. ‘Shit. Why would you even keep putting up with me?’

The motions on your torso stop. But the hands don’t leave your body. For a man of few if almost no words most of the time, in this moment you feel like he is gathering himself to say many. After a beat, he continues to work on cleaning you up. Then he speaks.

‘At the prison, you will remember I had been tasked with your safe retrieval, by any means necessary. Jobs like that are tricky: you need to do a lot of violence to many while keeping one specific person unharmed. So, with jobs like that, I prepare. I was scoping your prison escort for some time with a cambot. Watching them, and watching you. Getting a read so that when I went in, I could act efficiently. 

‘It was when they took a detour that I decided to act early.’

You hiss in a breath as you remember those four guards, deciding to try to play with you just because they thought that they could.

‘I was still watching the cambot as I moved to ambush, and then I saw you. A deadly look on your face, and—’ He picks up both your hands and you suck in air. Cooling fingers move your right hand so it’s rigid and flat, fingers together, then your left so it is held in a fist, heel tightly set against the opposite palm. Mindful of your shoulder, he holds your hands so your elbows are in a V in front of you before releasing them.

It’s a familiar posture to you.

‘I saw you do this. It meant nothing to me at the time, but now I know it as your readying stance. You were preparing to fight them yourself. All four, and you believed you were alone.’

He chuckles softly. It’s like music. ‘And later, when we encountered those six other guards—’

‘There were five guards,’ you interrupt, falling into his trap.

‘There were six. And I never did figure out what you did with the sixth one.’

Your turn to laugh, though it’s still strained. You rub at drying tears. 

‘I stuffed ‘em in a garbage unit in the wall.’

A genuine laugh from behind the visor makes your body break out in a wave of goosebumps, from the tip of your head to every one of your toes.

‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘You will not convince me that you would not have found a way out of that cursed place yourself. I am just satisfied to have helped expedite the procedure.’

You can’t help the smile spreading across your face. 

He seems to be done with your midriff. A moment of rustling and tearing again and then the cool softness is on your face. Right, that’s covered in blood too. Not yours. The smile drops and you shiver.

‘Okay?’ He says, like it’s his touch doing it.

‘Yeah, okay. Just, remembering.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not yet.’

You think you hear him nod. Even though that makes no sense.

‘Then the Estate,’ he carries on. ‘Well, I was already about to go find you when the perimeter sirens screamed to life. I was sitting at that overpriced bar and—’ He stops himself for a second. ‘And thought a proper goodbye was in order at least, at least for Grogu.’

The coolness swipes across your bottom lip and your mouth falls open a little. It’s involuntary, of course. It just feels so nice. But Din pauses. You think you hear a modulated raspy exhale, but it’s too quiet for you to be sure. The soft pressure leaves your mouth and returns near your temple. You let your lips press together and lean a little toward his efforts.

‘Then they declared invasion,’ Din carries on, but you would swear on your life his voice has dropped not a small amount. ‘And well, what state did I find you in there?’

You smirk at the definitely unintentional phrasing. He is not referring to finding you half naked and sweaty. Ass almost on display. Chest heaving while throwing yourself into his arms. 

‘Flipping a reaper across your back with barely any effort and strangling him with the scraps of your gown.’ Din’s voice is full of amusement. ‘Again, I just expedited what you already had handled.’

He strokes your cheek. ‘You have always had it handled.’

You don’t bother informing him that you were scared out of your mind that night. That you felt so fucking vulnerable with nothing but chiffon and dainty bracelets as your armour. You had felt anger, and betrayal, and a desperate loneliness borne of knowing you couldn’t trust your own family. And when you had seen him, gods, when you’d seen him it was like salvation itself. You felt then that you would never choose to leave him again.

‘And this time,’ he says. He seems to be done with his treatment of you. You hear another packet torn open and something layered across your abdomen, covering the site of the injury. It tightens into a firm seal. He pulls back. You feel suddenly too cold with the absence of his touch. ‘This time you—’ He makes a choking sound, releases a shaky breath, and stills. 

Is he… crying? Nah, unlikely.

All in a rush, he says, ‘You were only in that hellhole because of me. Because of what I wanted. Up until the very last second you did everything to get that beskar off that ship. And I did not do a single thing right.’

He stands and you hear him take several steps back. 

‘I have dealt with your injuries. You should rest now and, when you are ready, make use of the fresher.’ He moves to the door, collects something from the end of the bed.

‘I will stay close if you need anything.’

And then he’s gone and you lay there, raising one hand to your middle and the other to your face. 

It’s obvious Mando – no, Din, Din Djarin – did a good job getting the worst of the gore off you. But you feel sticky and itchy from head to toe anyway. Rest would be easier once you’d been able to scrub yourself all over.

Having faith in the plaster seal over your stab wound and only gingerly feeling a twinge in your shoulder, you decide to head for the fresher. Getting there blind isn’t that hard, round the foot of the bed and straight on. You shuffle your feet through the mess of discarded medical paraphernalia littering the floor on your way. Pawing at the door jam, you reach out and find the switch for the overhead jet, nudging it to your usual warmth dial. Then you feel about yourself, easing the shredded tunic over your head and letting the remnants of your under-singlet fall to the floor. Topless, you unbuckle and push your bottoms down.

Stepping into the warm jet stream is the most heavenly thing you’ve felt since Mando’s – Din’s – hands were on your body.

--

He fiddles uselessly with the power input. Why is he even doing this when you could fix it yourself in the blink of an eye. He’s just biding time, dithering while he collects himself.

He said way too much in there. She’s going to put it all together, he thinks. She claimed she couldn’t read him but that was never true. And now she’ll know everything. Every single thought, rotating in neon light across his chrome skull.

How could she feel comfortable on his ship then? Why would she stay?

And, after all that, he hadn’t even apologised.

The sun is setting low and he starts to feel an eagerness to check on Grogu. His son is still in a deep slumber, and he would hate to disturb him, but seeing the child’s face would bring Din great comfort right now. Just pop open the hatch and take a look, you should check on him, he performed a miracle.  

He strides up the ramp into the hold and turns toward the sleeping quarters, feet locking to the floor and body set alight such as to melt his beskar to his bones.

You.

You, standing under a spray of water, uninjured arm raised to your hair and the other holding your middle. Head tilted back into the stream, and everything, everything laid out before him. Breasts holding him in trance, those legs he’s traced over every inch with his gaze rising in a luscious curve to an apex of coy curls. You twist your face into the spray and bare your ass to him. He almost dies a little death.

Some part of his brain stays lucid enough to smack a hand to the control panel by the entry, tapping the door seals so that the cabin’s slides closed with a soft hiss. The Mandalorian spins and strides into the forested terrain, looking for a secluded spot.

--

The hushed seal of the cabin door hits your ears over the white noise of the jet. Through the very pleasant haze in which you’d let yourself indulge, you process the meaning of that sound.

Oh fuck, was the door left open? You think back, a little frantic. Din left, you lay in darkness for a while – darkness borne of your carbonite damaged eyes. Decided to get clean. Felt your way in here. Was relaxing into a not entirely licit vision. Did he close the door when he left, or leave it open? 

He left it open so he would be nearby. To look out for you.

You cringe.

This is just what you bloody needed. After being so pathetic and vulnerable, and hearing him speak so highly of you, you go and strip naked with the door wide open and make a fool of yourself. You’ve probably traumatised the poor man.

No longer taking your time, you scrub yourself from head to toe. Just get it over with. A deep fatigue has started to prick at the sides of your mind anyway – you figure letting yourself pass out as soon as possible will help quench the searing embarrassment some.

As you dress in fresh clothes and collapse back onto the bed, you do notice slight shades of light and shadow dance across your vision. Taking reassurance in that, you close your eyes and let yourself sink.

After what feels like days of sleep, it is hunger and stiff joints that urge you out of the cabin. You squint through blurry eyesight, feeling comforted by the fuzzy shapes of crates and webbing that make up the hold. Early morning light casts white fronds across the familiar space.

Empty.

Palming around until laying hands on a meal kit, you sit in the opening of the ship and let the cool air of wherever you are wash over you. 

As you eat, sleep fading and mind becoming alert, something starts to scratch at the base of your skull. You flex your neck some, but the scratch claws up into your mind’s eye. Dim, murky memories edge in. As if underwater, you hear shouts and stomping boots, laughter and sneering rage. A hot rush in your mouth. A bolt of impossible pain at your side. Then, black.

Your injury burns; it throbs in time with your thumping heart. Rising panic constricts your breathing. You’re going to die, a dull thing inside you roars.

But you’ve been here before, so you plant your hands on the cool ship floor and breathe. Once locked in on the hard unyielding sensation, you turn your face toward the sun, visualising the rays casting out the shadowy recollections. 

They’re just memories. Here you are, safe now. It is a chant to your mind and body.

While focused so deeply on quelling your anxiety, something entirely unrelated to your experience onboard the treasury presses in on your consciousness. It is gentle and undemanding, but somehow frightening. You’ve felt it before. You felt it in a dank tunnel while struggling for your life. You felt it on the treasury when sweet, desperate Grogu’s face had flared inside you and you saw for a single moment a bright vision of him and Din, aboard the Razor Crest and some few parsecs away.

You let the presence soak your fears and repel the hungry inner beast roaring at you that you’re dying. It dissolves steadily as you breathe. Once done, whatever the thing is seems content to slide back, retreat to where you can’t sense it. 

After a moment, you open your eyes again and continue to eat.

Fussing with the kit disposal for more time than necessary, you scold yourself for dallying and shuffle through the hold, touching random objects and sections of wall for balance. Stepping into the cockpit feels more like breaching a threshold than usual.

Grogu spots you and hops into your arms, cooing and purring. You murmur at him that you’re alright, you’re glad to see him, how is he feeling today…

Din is in his chair, scrolling up nav data steadily. He doesn’t turn.

‘Hey,’ you give up weakly, leaning just inside the hatch. Still doesn’t turn.

‘Morning,’ he says, voice croaky with disuse.

‘How long did I sleep?’ It’s as good a thing to say as any.

‘A little over a day.’

‘Oh.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better. Eyesight is improving.’

‘That is good.’

‘Uh huh.’

Grogu looks between you as you set him down again, making tiny questioning sounds. You shrug your good shoulder, knock your feet and click your tongue, glance about the space. The awkwardness may do what your anxiety attack could not and kill you anyway. 

But, thank gods, Din stands and moves around his chair. He pauses by the passenger seat you don’t usually occupy and you finally notice it. 

The satchel. 

You straighten up. Din lays a tender hand on the cache of beskar.

‘I have not adequately thanked you for bringing this into my possession,’ he whispers. You move closer to hear him. ‘In fact, adequate thanks are impossible.’

‘You don’t have t—’

‘But I assure you, I will never forget this. And I will find some way to make recompense.’

‘You don’t have t—'

He barrels over you.

‘I need to bring this back to my people. It must be returned to the clans.’

Despite everything, you can’t stop your brain from envisioning him dumping you somewhere so he can get back to his actual life, without you.

‘We will take a few days for your wounds to improve, restock supplies, let the kid stretch his legs some more.’ He hasn’t clocked into your rising panic. ‘Then, we will go to Mandalore.’

Your heart pounds and you tell it to calm the fuck down.

‘We?’ you say. He turns to you.

‘Of course.’ 

You pause, questioning whether you should even try to clarify.

‘Um, D- Din?’ He gives you his ‘I’m listening’ tilt.

‘While we were at the Estate, I uh- I took the chance to look up some about, about your people… and,’ you stutter, 'and, along with learning about beskar, it was my understanding the whole deal with your… your like, home world and your- your Coverts was just that. It was that.’

Spit it out, dummy.

‘Covert. Secret. Like, super intensely secret. No outsiders,’ you swoop a hand. Din doesn’t even pause.

‘You are the reason this sacred resource will be in the hands of the Mandalorians again. I will ensure you are welcomed. I will make them see you. This is the Way.’ His words melt into you like so much starlight. 

He makes a ‘that settles that’ motion and turns back to his post. 

You hesitate for a moment before dropping into your seat behind him, legs gone. You’re going to Mandalore. To his people. Your heart is now tumbling around your chest, not all in excitement.

--

Prev | Next

Sorry about the shower trope – it’s a problematic fave of mine.

[idontplaytrack]

Hey, if i don't mind can i request a Janis fic where reader gets jealous of her spending too much time with Cady. It can turn into Smut if u want

Thank you!

Talk Too Much

Janis ‘Imi’ike x insecure fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, self-loathing, smut— fingering, oral(reader receiving)

Cady and Janis get paired up for a project. Reader doesn’t like feeling what she’s feeling and ends up confronting Janis about it.

Turned out way shorter than I thought it would be😔

The Baby Project. This stupid project that has caused Janis to spend too much time with Cady. Way too much. The teacher decided that the best way to pick partners for it were to draw names out of a box. You got stuck with Aaron. Aaron, of all people. While Janis had to partner up with Cady— for two whole weeks. Not that there was anything wrong with him, but for the past week, seeing Janis even talking to anyone but you as much as she has, left a sour taste in your mouth. You hated that Janis' attention was on the redhead so much.

"You know I wouldn't mind if you wanted me to get Cady to switch with you, right?" Aaron has noticed your odd behaviour.

"No, no. If she likes spending time with her that much, go ahead." You scoffed, "Cady's more likeable than I am, anyway." "y/n, what the hell are you talking about?" He squints, still holding the doll in his arm.

"Mrs Strickland said no swaps, and since they seem to be so chummy, I might as well just give up." "Okay, those are two separate things. One, okay, fine we cannot swap partners for the project. Two, Janis freaking loves you. The whole school can tell- everyone sees it. Right now she's just laughing because their fake baby has a weird eye— it's broken, look at it. This school has barely any budget."

You watched them both sat side by side at the back of the class.

"You know her, she will never do anything to hurt you. They're just doing whatever's needed of the project— to pass this class. Talk to Janis about how you're feeling instead of sulking all week like you have been and acting like you're okay when she talks to you."

You wanted to scoff and him again, but he was right. And you just didn’t like that he was right— your mind didn’t like that. What it liked, was fucking things up for you, making you think of the most ridiculous, untrue statements that made you feel like shit.

After this class, was lunch. You walked up to Janis and just put your arm around her waist, “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.” She presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

“I need to talk to you.” You answered.

“Okay.” She says, allowing you to lead her away to somewhere private. You practically dragged her all around school, she tries to keep up with your pace and you eventually locked yourselves in the janitor’s closet. “So…I’ve been a little jealous of you spending more time with Cady.” You started.

Janis looked at you, her brows raised as she smirked, “Jealous? Oh, boy am I glad you can be honest and tell me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…I’m glad you’re opening up to me. Though, I’m just trying to work properly with her so I can pass the class instead of flunking. i never meant to upset you, I’m sorry about that. How are things with your baby project? Aaron isn’t just making you do everything, is he?”

“Seeing as he has the doll right now, no. He’s been fine to work with- other than you and Damian, he’s probably the next best project partner.” You told her, “See, I know for a fact that you’re just trying to do a good job on the project. It’s not like you’re randomly just spending a bit more time with Cady for no reason. But I just…y’know, think of crap that isn’t true sometimes and make myself feel shitty. It automatically makes me think that you like her better than you like me, you like spending time with her than with me, that you’d fall out of love with me and fall in love with her. God, I talk too much. Just a load of bulls—”

You were rambling.

Janis shook her head, “Don’t ever force yourself to not feel things. Feel those feelings, work through them, let them pass- but don’t shove it down. Talk to me, write it down. Never keep it to yourself. I’m here.”

Her hand rests on your hip as her other hand brushes the hair out of your face. “Kiss me.” You requested breathily. She gave a small shrug and pulled you in to kiss you. Your tongue flicked at her lips in a silent ask for permission. The kiss deepens quickly and turned into a handsy make-out session. You were acting like a touch-starved, needy person. Whining into the kiss when she bit down onto your lip, Janis laughs teasingly.

“Want me to keep going?” She asks cheekily, hand roaming your ass.

“Yes.” You nodded impatiently, “Yes, please. I want you to fuck me and make me feel good.”

“Oh~” Janis teased, running a finger up your side, “Okay, princess. I’ll make you feel good.” Janis slips your leggings off in one swift gesture, hand cupping the mound making you yelp. Janis chuckles, looking down at her hand on your cunt, “God, you’re so wet.” She runs her middle finger up from your entrance to your clit, where it stayed, teasing it in slow circles which left the tiny bundle of nerves yearning for more. You whined, unable to keep your desire unheard. She captures your lips to shut you up as her fingers skilfully spread your lower lips and pushed into your tightness. She groans lowly at the feeling, “Fuck, you feel so good, y/n.”

That compliment gave you butterflies and had you dripping. Janis smirked into the kiss, caressing your cheek with her left hand as her right hand fucked you like there was no tomorrow. She went pretty fast, but it was just the pace you preferred in a quickie situation. You kept whining, the lewd noise began to fill the tiny space. “You want people to hear you, baby?” She purred into your ear, “Want to let them know you’re mine? How good I’m making you feel right now?”

A strained noise gets caught in your throat when her thumb pressed flat against your clit. She gave you no chance to detach your lips from hers, even when you had to cry out. It felt like torture, but it also made you more aroused, grinding against her hand in sync - with its movements.

“Damn. Am I fucking you or are you fucking my hand, baby.” Her teeth tugs on your reddened lip as she asks, allowing herself to see your face.

“I don’t care, just make me come.” You panted, grabbing her face and reconnecting your lips.

“I will, honey.” She promised, adding a third finger which slid inside without resistance. You moaned into her mouth, knees buckling feeling the stretch and her assaulting your inner sensitive spot repeatedly. Letting out a muffled high-pitched whine, your hand fell lazily on her shoulder, nails grazing her clothed upper back. “Fuck.” You whimpered, “Fuck— gonna come— Ah~” That exclamation at the end came out as high-pitched as it could, making Janis give you an almost perverted grin as she slams her fingers into you.

Her hands squeezed your breast as you began clenching around her fingers, breath coming out in short pants. The whining, it doesn’t stop. So do Janis’ fingers and hand, efficiently coaxing an orgasm out of you. You buried your face in her shoulder to muffle your noises while you came, arm around her upper back for support. “Yeah, baby.” She chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck, “Such a good girl, aren’t you? Coming for me just like that…I wish you could see how pretty you look right now, y/n.”

Her hands held you on either side as she squatted then kneeled down before you, spreading you open. “What—”

“Cleaning you up, of course.” She stated in a tone completely opposite to her intentions, making you feel the flutter in your core. Janis gently licked you clean, but it quickly went in the opposite direction. Sinfully quickly.

“Okay.” Janis chuckles, breath fanning against your heat, “Looks like you’re all I’m having for lunch today.”

“Fuck you.” You grunted, bucking your hips against her face.

She grabs your thighs, “Yeah, go ahead babe. After class, I’m all yours to have tonight. And all weekend.”

————

🏷️ Tag list!

@ashecampos @cheesysoup-arlo @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

[oceanlix]

Day 1: Jeno + Shower

Pairing: Jeno x female reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 627

Warnings: Nipple play, minor biting, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), slight hair pulling

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

“I forgot my towel!”

You poke your head out of the shower, hoping your roommate could hear you over the sound of the water. Several moments pass by with no acknowledgement, so you let out a sigh and pull your head back inside the door. It's definitely too cold to make a run for it to your room, but you don’t have many options here. You realize you can just use your dirty clothes to pat yourself dry enough and then book it down the hallway. At least then you won’t be as cold.

Just when you move to step out of the shower, Jeno appears in front of the door, stripped down to nothing. Your eyes land on the hard lines of muscles on his stomach, unable to look up or down.

“Earth to Y/N,” he laughs, poking your arm. Immediately you move to cover your breasts, making him laugh even harder as he pushes past you into the shower. He reaches around your body and turns the water back on, wetting his hair while you remain frozen in place.

“I asked you to bring me a towel,” you say dumbly. He opens his eyes and looks down at you.

“You didn’t actually,” he teases. “You just said that you forgot yours.”

“Okay,” you huff. This conversation is starting to piss you off. “Either way, you just thought it was a good idea to barge in here? What are you even doing?”

“I’m showering,” he smirks. “Duh?”

He turns around, bending over to grab the shampoo and starts lathering it between his hands. If your gaze lingers a little too long on his ass, oh well.

You stand there under the water with him, hands still covering your breasts while his back muscles flex as he washes his hair. Your roommate is hot, that’s an undeniable fact. And he always flirts like there’s no tomorrow. But this is a step so far past whatever invisible line the two of you had that you weren’t even sure what to do now.

It seems Jeno has gone and made the decision for you, because he turns around suddenly and places his soapy hands on your hips, backing you up against the shower wall. The tile is cold and shocks you back into the present moment, looking up at his face to see a growing smirk.

“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard about something,” he teases, fingers curling around your jaw tightly. “I don’t really think you should be doing that right now.”

“What do you mean?” you breathe, hating how weak your voice comes out. You half expect him to pull away and rinse off, leaving you horny and still without a towel, but instead he works his thigh between your legs.

“Let me make you feel good,” he says, and then his hands are massaging and pinching your nipples, drawing loud moans out of you. His lips press themselves to your neck, trailing down your collarbone and in between your breasts. Eventually he sinks to his knees, his kisses going lower and lower until he’s pulling your leg over his shoulder and biting a path up the inside of your thigh.

You’re still not sure how you got to this point from needing a towel, but you can’t find it in you to complain when he attaches his lips to your clit and sucks hard. Your hands find their way to his hair and tug gently, then harder when he pushes a single finger into your core.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, hips stuttering against his face. You feel him smirk, then chuckle against your skin.

“You taste good, baby,” he tells you, squeezing your ass with his other hand before diving back in.