#and yes that would inevitably mean that these kids would be fucked up but

[thelimecrimes]

warrior cats has always pissed me off. Bc if you seriously thought mother-fucking FIRESTAR wouldn't have helped Leafpool when she got pregnant, the SAME MOTHERFUCKER who went against Bluestar on multiple occasions, snuck out to see his Kittypet sister and adopted her son, befriended Onewhisker and then lost his friendship after he had to become Onestar- Just no, I don't believe it. I don't believe she wouldn't have told him, and I definitely can't believe he'd have let her be exiled or ostracized if she did.

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!

: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)

You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.

“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.

“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.

The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.

Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.

Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.

Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.

"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"

"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.

Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.

Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.

“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.

"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.

"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.

"Yes, sir."

As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.

The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.

In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.

The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.

One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.

Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.

When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.

Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.

Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.

You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.

Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.

Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.

Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.

You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.

Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.

"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.

Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"

You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."

"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"

Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.

How could he not know?

"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.

"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."

Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"

You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 

He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"

“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.

"Come here."

Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"

"Come here."

With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.

An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."

Sukuna responded only with silence.

You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.

The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.

In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.

Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.

"I can't—Uraume—"

"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."

"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.

"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."

Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.

The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.

The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.

You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.

"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.

"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.

"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."

You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.

"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"

With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.

The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.

The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."

You drifted into unconsciousness.

The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.

“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.

With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.

"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."

"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.

Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.

"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.

"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.

He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.

"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.

You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”

"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.

"Did you want . . . a girl?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."

"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."

Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.

“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.

“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”

“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”

Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."

He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.

"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.

He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.

"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.

You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.

"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."

“Did you fire the last one?”

“I fired at her, yes.”

Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"

He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."

Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."

“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”

He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”

Up until the kidnapping.

Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."

Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"

"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"

You . . . nodded. 

“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”

You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"

"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.

"Oh."

All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.

Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.

But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.

Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."

"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."

"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.

"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."

A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.

“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”

Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”

His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.

In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.

The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.

Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"

"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"

Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.

"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"

"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.

Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.

Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"

"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"

"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.

Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.

"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"

"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"

"Not toys. Friends."

Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.

“Papa!”

“Sukuna, come on.”

There wasn’t any winning with his girls.

Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.

Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'

That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.

"She's asleep," you informed him.

"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.

Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.

"I want you," you murmured.

Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."

"It's late."

"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.

"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.

How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?

“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.

“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 

Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.

“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 

Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 

“Hurry, then.” 

Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 

After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.

Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 

“Are you close?” you whispered. 

“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 

You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Please.” 

Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.

Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 

Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 

“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 

You both snapped in unison. 

Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.

[endless-ineffabilities]

casual*

a.k.a. your one-night stand with modern Aemond Targaryen

*18+ minors dnfi

main masterlist

The intimidatingly handsome-as-hell guy sitting all by his lonesome at the bar seems to be on the same wavelength as you.

His gaze has been oscillating between the rim of his pint and you. Your face, your hands, and yes—you're sure you saw it—your ass, too. You squirm in your place, several seats away, but not because his attention's unwanted. These fucking bar stools are just so damn slippery that you feel like your smooth jeans would slide right off, and you would embarrass yourself in front of blondie. Though, his hair veers closer to Santa's snowy beard than Rapunzel's gold locks. How unusual. How strangely attractive.

Silver hair coiffed neatly above his perfect, angular face, those naturally pouted lips, and those eyes—wait—that eye. One seemed to be a prosthetic, but it doesn't diminish his aura. Not even a little. The fucked up voice in your head might even think that it makes him look hotter. More dangerous.

Straight to the depths of hell it is for you.

He throws a shit-eating smirk your way when your eyes meet again, right before taking another swig of his frothy drink. But he doesn't look away this time, holding your gaze as his glass tilts in the air and inevitably finds its way back on the bar's surface.

Oh, he knows he's attractive. Worse, he knows that you know it.

Heat unfurls in your belly from all the eye-fucking, the tension, and from the very real possibility that your own fingers will not be your only source of pleasure for the night, as trusted as they are.

Too bad you just downed the contents of your drink. Or not, because it seems to signal the first switch of the night. Blondie gestures to the bartender, then to you, and before you know it, another one of your drinks materialises in front of you.

"Courtesy of that guy over there, miss."

"Oh. Thank you."

That guy over there, who is no longer over there, takes that as his cue to finally approach you.

"Hi."

"Hello." He sits on the stool next to you, inching it closer as he settles down. He's even prettier up close, damn him. His hair looks like spun threads of silk. His dark blue sweater, his snug black jeans, his lips which are tugging at the corners to form a sheepish smile. "Please don't hate me for this, but I'm about to throw you a line."

You swallow. He can throw you just about whatever he wants, and that's not just the alcohol talking. "Oh?" you half-shrug your fluster away. "I expected as much. Let's hear it."

"Hmm." He glances down, showcasing his remarkably long eyelashes, then back up at you. With his head tilted, he looks slightly menacing, but in a good way. Like he wants to eat you.

Your coworker is about to receive a luxurious gift basket for recommending this bar to you.

His line then goes, "I find it hard to believe that someone as goddamn beautiful as you would be sitting all alone in this bar tonight." His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, then released. "But maybe I should be grateful, because this would mean that you're perhaps single?"

You have to hand it to him. That line would normally be at the same level of poetry as a middle-aged dad's Facebook rant, but from him? From his lips, and with that smooth accent? A fucking Shakespearean sonnet.

Already prematurely swept off your feet, you know you have to up your game. "I'm married actually. Husband's on a business trip. Again. My three kids, bless their hearts, stress the hell out of me so I left them with the nanny and went straight here."

His mouth parts slightly, his brows furrowing. You wink at him and add, "Glad I did."

You watch as his mind whirs, as his eye darts to your obviously bare ring finger. For a smooth talker, he sure takes a moment longer than necessary to keep up with your humour, or maybe you're just that good of a performer.

"You're killing me here, beautiful."

"That's what you deserve for that line. Did you take that right out of your playboy handbook?" you say, laughing softly.

"Excuse me, miss, but I own no handbook of any sort," he responds in a stern manner, but his smirk betrays him. "And you might not believe me, but I don't do this often. I mean, I don't really do this at all."

"What, is that another line? You're on a roll, handsome."

"I mean it. I don't make a habit of approaching pretty girls at bars."

"Why, because they just flock right to you?"

He raises his palms in mock surrender. "Hey, you said it. Not me."

There is a beat of silence as you watch each other, both trying to gauge the stranger sitting close. You decide that he might be more than just a pretty face. He smells immaculate, too.

And, more importantly, he seems kind. You pride yourself in having a knack for these things. Though you hope that knack isn't deliberately fooling you because you want him to get into your pants.

He's the one to break the silence and start the flirtatious interrogation that normally happens before getting right down to business. "So, when you're not busy with your three precious kids—" he says, prompting an eye roll from you. "—what do you get up to? Are you from around here? Do you frequent this bar?"

"Woah. One question at a time."

He leans forward on the counter, until his hand brushes against your forearm. "Just one more question before you begin, and brace yourself, because this is the most important one."

You find it easy to laugh in his company, so you do. "Okay, give it to me."

"Are you sure you can handle it, babe?"

No. Not when he's calling you babe. "Try me."

"What's your favourite colour?"

You learn that his name is Aemond. He's twenty-nine years old, born and raised in London before moving to New York to become the head of the American branch of his father's company. He has two older sisters, one older brother and one younger. His favourite colour is green. He's an Aries. He likes both classic rock and classical music.

And he's a fucking phenomenal kisser.

You spent another hour chatting each other up at the bar, which didn't feel like an hour at all. You could talk to him about practically anything, and you would have, until you both decided that it was time to let your bodies do the talking.

It only took 10 minutes for him to drive you back to his fancy apartment, but that didn't stop him from groaning and mumbling fuck's sake under his breath at each encountered red light.

"Patience," you giggled lightly, but then he turned his lust-clouded gaze to you, and you immediately were on the same page, cursing at stoplights in your mind.

With your back pressed against his bedroom wall, he kisses you with a frenzied hunger that you're sure you have never experienced with any lover. He lifts you up, and you cross your ankles around his waist. Biting his lip, he slowly undoes the buttons of your blouse, marvelling at your exposed chest. You twist an arm behind to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor.

After a sharp intake of breath, he lowers himself and sucks at your nipple, his tongue padding at your stiffened peak. Your neck cranes upward at the hot sensation, and you grip his locks, and moan, "Fuck yeah, keep going."

He nips and bites at your breasts, leaving a glistening trail of saliva in his wake. "Your tits are so fucking perfect," he praises. "You're perfect."

"Mhmm, yeah," you mewl, reaching for his face. "Come here."

His hand slides to the back of your neck to tilt your head just right, then his mouth is on yours once more. It's unfair, really, how good he is at it, every flick of his tongue intensifying your desire for him.

You let out a wanton, wanting moan when he pulls back suddenly. He smugly chuckles at the sound, and how you instinctively follow his movement, craving more.

Your legs drop from his waist, and you barely catch your balance, breathless and disoriented. "What—" you start, confused, but Aemond steps back just enough to fix you with a searing look.

"Jeans off, baby," he demands. Like he even had to ask. He tilts his head, that insolent smirk playing on his lips again. "Underwear, too. C'mon, now."

Your hands move on their own, fumbling with the button and zipper before pushing the denim down your legs and kicking them to the side. You're grateful you had opted out of wearing skinny jeans, which you would have had to unsexily wiggle out of. You hook your thumbs into your underwear and slide those down too. The air is cool against your naked body, making you shiver slightly, but Aemond's gaze—burning, all-consuming—keeps you rooted to the spot.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his tone dropping into something almost reverent. He drops to his knees in one smooth motion, and the sight alone nearly does you in—this ethereal, sharp-tongued stranger kneeling before you like he's a pilgrim who finally reached a shrine. His hands find your hips as he guides you to balance one leg over his shoulder.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on your leaking cunt. He doesn't start slow, doesn't give you a chance to ease into the sensation. His tongue is hot and insistent, dragging over your folds with a precision that has your knees buckling almost immediately.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hands flying to his hair for something to hold onto. He holds you steady as he works you over like he's determined to make you unravel completely. And you don't doubt that he will.

The flat of his tongue drags up, circling your most sensitive spot before his lips close around it, sucking lightly. Your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, a broken moan slipping from your lips as your free leg trembles beneath you.

You can feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, spreading outward like wildfire. His free hand slides up your inner thigh, his fingers pressing into the flesh there, holding you open for him as he works you over like it's his favourite thing to do. Like there’s nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than ruining you right here, right now.

"Aemond", you gasp, his name falling from your lips unbidden. He groans at the sound, his tongue doubling down, faster, harder, dragging you closer to the edge. You try to fight it—try to hold onto the last scraps of control you have—but he shifts his angle, his nose brushing against your core, and the whole world tips sideways. The coil snaps, and your orgasm crashes out of you. Your body locks up, your pelvis shaking uncontrollably as you cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Aemond doesn't pull away, his tongue easing you through it with slower, lazier strokes.

When you finally slump back against the wall, boneless and dazed, he leans back just enough to look up at you, his face glistening from his nose down to his chin. You're almost certain that you have never seen anything more sensual in your life. He licks his lips, and your eyes automatically follow the path of his tongue—the culprit of your sweet, little death.

"You taste as exquisite as you look," he says.

You know he deserves the sloppiest, most soul-sucking head after what he just put you through, so it's the easiest decision you have ever made to give him just that. Nothing more, nothing less. And anyway, it's for your pleasure too.

You don't relent until his warm, salty cum spills on your tongue, most of it sliding down your throat and the rest shooting out to cover the lower half of your face in milky streams.

The two of you laugh together when his leg gets caught in his trousers as he stumbles out of the rest of his clothes, making him land on his arse at the edge of his bed. The sound rings pleasantly in your ears, and you find yourself needing to hear it more often.

No. You know what this is. If all goes well, then you'll have the memory of this great night to keep.

But Aemond himself is not yours to keep.

Your face must have fallen, because he reaches an arm, coaxing you to him. "Hey. What's going on in that head of yours, love?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, closing the distance between you. He anchors his fingers at your hips and presses a kiss on your lower belly. Everything seems to pause for a moment. You both keep still as he rests his forehead against your stomach, and your fingers gently thread through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"I feel like I've known you for a long time," he murmurs, and you wish you could hate him for not making this easy.

"Is that another—"

"Not a line. I mean every word."

He rises slowly, his hands brushing the curves of your body with an aching tenderness that seems out of place for a night like this. He lays you onto the bed, then reaches in his nightstand drawer for a condom.

You nearly cry out in pleasure when his length first enters you fully, the sensation of him almost too much to bear. His face is lowered so his cheek is touching yours, and you hear every little moan that escapes him as he finds his rhythm. His thrusts are measured, not rushed or frantic. And it feels so damn good.

Aemond talks well, but he fucks even better.

"Faster," you plead.

He pauses and smiles, his lips ghosting over yours. "I'm taking my time, love. I wanna savour you."

His hips roll forward again, his cock sinking into you inch by maddening inch. "Don't wanna lose you, baby," he groans.

Oh, he is not playing fair.

Your hips soon rise instinctively, meeting his slow, deliberate thrusts, the need for more of him pulsing through every inch of you. He notices, his lips curling into a smug smirk.

"Okay, then," he says smoothly. "I'm going to fuck you as hard as I can now. You ready for me, love?"

Your breath catches, your body already trembling beneath him, and all you can do is nod, eyes widening in wonder at his promise.

"Answer me. I need to hear it," he commands.

"Oh, Aemond," you breathe, "what do you think I'm here for?"

His smirk falters for just a second, replaced by something darker. He lets out a low, throaty chuckle, his fingers digging into you. "Careful, love," he warns. "You’re about to find out."

Without another word, he abandons his restraint, and he claims you with a force that leaves you gasping, your spine arching as he delivers on his word. His hips snap against your pelvis, his body practically vibrating over you. He's relentless, just as you wanted, and he has to grip you tightly so he doesn't propel you upward into the headboard.

You feel his lips graze the shell of your ear before biting down, his breath ragged as he pounds his cock into your pussy with a heightened desperation that drags a moan from your throat. "Say you're mine, baby," he actually whimpers. "Say I'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this."

You would tell him anything he wanted. But he doesn't even have to ask for this one, because you wish so badly for it to be the truth. "I'm yours. Only you—aghhh—can fuck me as good as this—uhhhh yeah—Aemond."

He flashes you a boyish grin, and he looks so pure you have to take a mental image of the sight. Lips pulled back to reveal a perfect set of teeth, a sheen of sweat forming by his hairline as he keeps bucking his hips at a breakneck pace, hair unkempt and falling in front of his forehead.

You lose yourselves in each other, your sharp breaths falling in sync.

As before, he latches his mouth wetly over your breast, and you arch into him. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it in tight, merciless circles that make you scream, "Oh, Aemond!" into the air.

"You like that?"

"Fuck yes."

"You gonna come for me, beautiful?"

Aemond sure has a habit of asking for things that are already guaranteed for him, polite boy that he is.

It doesn't take long before he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the release. The feeling of his cock convulsing deep in your pussy sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, and you follow him, your walls clenching around him as your own climax hits hard.

He collapses next to you, the weight of the moment settling in as the room grows still. His forehead rests against yours, and there's nothing but the sound of your shared breathing, a calm after the storm.

"Fuck," he breathes, sheer satisfaction audible from his voice. "That was…"

"Yeah. It was..."

"Yeah."

Months pass before you see Aemond again. When you do, it's in another, more crowded bar—a place packed with patrons and full of noise—but his eyes find you immediately. This time, he makes sure to take your number. No disappearing act in the morning, no hasty exit on your part while he sleeps because you're running late to work. He'll be damned if he lets you slip away again.

You both fall into something deeper over time, and three years down the line, you stand in front of family and friends, exchanging vows.

Decades pass, and when your grandkids curiously ask how you two met, Aemond would smile, eyes softening with the memory.

He would say, a quiet laugh escaping him, "I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Shame it took us a few months for our forever to begin."

Vhagar taglist 1 — @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @joyismm @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @all-for-aemond @alokaaaaa @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @inesdiary96 @weirdblob21 @lonelyladyghost @tssf-imagines @nurtargaryen @paula-lkr @queenofshinigamis @breezyjin @empfm @amanda08319 @unrealwinchester @optimizche @seamaiden @spoffyos @subliiminals @believeinthefireflies95 @ex0tic-vgh @anukulee @peachysunrize (cont. ...)

[sinning-23]

Backseat Pillow Princess

Hey y'all! I like to call this game, "Guess what I saw and cant stop fucking thinking about?" Take this because I need them both carnally and I'm sure you do too!

Enjoy :D

Warnings: violence, blood, swearing, the reader is annoying and Logan pretends to hate it in a way that seems like he actually does, they should have fucked but uhhh they didn't, lots of tension, pt.2 coming soon hopefully?

PT.2 UP NOW

"Bae i love youuu, you my everythinggg~"

"Can she shut the fuck up"

"I'm your main bitchhhh, fuck a wedding ringggg~"

"Only if you ask her nicely,"

"Nah, I like when he's mean."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me"

The nonstop back-and-forth bickering had been going on for about 2 and a half hours now and the man the myth the legend, Wolverine was getting dangerously tired of it, unfortunately. Your shitty renditions of Sexyy Red matched with Deadpools incessant yapping was becoming too much to bear.

But little did he know, that was exactly your plan.

"Are we there yetttt" You whine from the backseat, sprawled out with your arm over your face.

It had been what felt like days (despite it only being a couple hours as previously mentioned) you'd been driving and the fact that you were in a small space filled with touch-starved testosterone(Wade and Logan) wasn't helping your case.

"If you shut up it'll go faster," Logan grumbles, Wade's chatting only worsening.

"No, it won't, you're just being mean! What's a sexy, super talented, immortal.. sorta, girl like myself supposed to do?" You whine again, an idea soon popping into your head.

If there was anything you loved more than seeing how far you could push this crotchety son of a bitch, it was stirring the pot.

Knowing the idiot riding passenger, a slip-up was inevitable and all it would take was the right pressure applied from yours truly.

"Hey Wade, wanna ask Wolvie what he's gonna do when he gets back? To his own timeline that is." You hum, resting your elbows on the middle console and your chin in your palms.

Ah yes, the fantasy your sick little brain conjured up was almost to fruition. All they needed were a few nudges and you'd all be at each other's throats with as much violent, sexual tension you could dream of.

"Yeah, what will you do if the TVA can fix your timeline?"

Bingo

You lean back, preparing for the absolute bloodbath that's bound to take place as the tension skyrockets.

Now up until this point, you'd be trying your damndest to get into Wolverine's pants, call it 'something you needed to scratch off your bucket list'. Anyway, from the "Mad Max"(as Wade put it) esque part of the void all the way here, you made your fair share of passes.

Unfortunately, all were shot down with a snark comment, the unsheathing of those gorgeous adamantium claws, or a growl...all of which only further fueled your desire. What could you say you liked a challenge?

"What did you say?"

You lean forward, making eye contact with Wade, his head shaking as if to say "No don't don't don't" but you were never good with social cues.

"He said 'IF' sweetheart." You retort, practically kicking your feet as the look in Logan's eyes grows wild, that growl barely bubbling in his throat as he and Wade converse back and forth.

"You shut the fuck up." He seethes, though directed at you his eyes stay focused on Wade.

You fight the urge to say 'make me" but you soon become quiet when Logan really starts to read your buddy in red. Oh, this fucker was definitely projecting...

"And you," He's got an accusatory, gloved finger pointing at the center of your face.

"You got some unresolved daddy issues or something? I don't know what hole or holes you're trying to fill but I can sure as shit tell you the harder you try to get under my skin the more it makes me wanna rip yours off that pretty-looking face." He growls, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

"Now I suggest each of you shut your goddamn mouths until we are where we need to be."

It's silent for a second again and you can feel the bridge about to break...anyyy second now.

"I'm gonna fight you now."

Three...

Logan chuckles, amused at the fact that Wade would even suggest he could getaway with something like that

Two..

And mid-sentence, Wade's fists make contact with Logan's nose.

One.

You scoot back, the car shaking as Wades head makes contact with hr car door and then the radio, each smack of his skull changing the station.

“Omg nooo don’t kill each other you’re both so hot and sexy and cool, nooo.” You yelp, your false concerned pleas falling on deaf ears.

And once the blood from each blow splatters against your face, you feel a bit opted to join in. Besides, he hurt your feelings, he deserved a little ass-kicking.

Question, when three seemingly frustrated and regenerative assholes get into a car fight with tensions, sexual or otherwise, that have been building for about 2 days now, what happens?

You slip past the pair of claws that just barely nick your side as you shove the driver's seat forward, effectively trapping Logan for a moment.

"You did this on purpose! You honry fuck!" Wade shouts, using his elbow to crack your skull and shoved you right back into your spot behind them before you can respond. Logan pushed the seat back again, now trapping you as his claws stabbed through the cushion, impalling you through the back of the seat.

"FUCK! This isn't how this was supposed to pan out in my head!" You yelp, gasping when the claws leave you feeling the worst kind of empty.

"I didn't even do anything he's the one that lied!" You seethe, using the heel of your boot to kick Wade's side in, the crack of bones bringing you much satisfaction.

"IT WAS AN EDUCATED WISH!" He defends, unloading about 3 bullets into your sternum before kicking Logan out the winsheild, glass falling inside and out.

You take a gulp of air, digging the bullet out before locking your arm around Wade's neck and the passenger seat headrest.

"You red-clad cunt! I was supposed to rizz him up, fuck him, and ride off into the sunset with my rugged fucking mountain of a man and you RUINED IT!" You shout, releasing Wade when six separate knives dig right back into you.

Taking the chance, you throw the back of your head at his face before pulling his claws from out your sides and kicking Wade's chest in. Looks like legs were your strong suit today!

"You said you didn't wanna fill any holes, yet here we are!" You growl in frustration, turning back around to shove your boot heel into this man's rock-hard chest.

He only grabs your ankle, pulling you forward, once again skewered by his claws. Your position is less than ideal, any other angle would for sure look l like you were on the receiving end of some damn good strokes.

And there it is, that stupid bloodied grin he gives while he watches your eyes squeeze shut and your head tilt back. A light, yet pained swear left your bloodied lips and the gasp that leaves your lungs when his claws retracted was just as erotic as you'd imagine.

"Would've been better off fucking at this point huh?" You joke, seeing Wade creep up behind the backseat door.

"Maybe." He responds a bit coy, the tension only dying down for a fraction of a second before you're at each other's throats again.

With your help, Wade is right back in the car, and the three of you are now waiting for the next move. Logan's up against the dash, Wade is heaving against the backseat by your side, the two of you manspreading with a dangerously hungry look directed at the man in yellow.

"This is pointless. We're gonna be here for hours regenerating and fucking each other up, but damn if it isn't fun." you chuckle, letting your head lull back against the completely destroyed headrest.

"So what do you suggest, 'sweetheart'," Logan growls, using your little pet name from earlier.

"Oh I think you know very well what I suggest, but I'm starting to believe you just can get it up can you peepaw?" You insult, Logan's face contorting in a sneer.

There's another silence, your gaze locked with Logan's as you both teeter on the edge of regular frustration and the urge to rip each other's clothes off. This fuckers love language was definitely acts of playful violence...if playful meant an absolute bloodbath in this stupid-ass honda odyssey.

"I feel like there's some underlying tension here that I definitely wanna be a part of.

"You shut the fuck up" You speak simultaneously, Wade doing just that.

"So what'll it be, bub. Fuck me or fight me?" You mock, seeing that smile right back on his face.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You would like to say that the remainder of the day, into the night, all the way into the wee hours of the morning were spent furiously love-making in the bloody and battered Honda, but that would only be half the truth.

The moonlight had shone so brightly down on the three of you, each movement calculated, as you continued to punch, stab, pick and damn near fuck each other in the enclosed space.

At one point your hands were pinned to the dented dashboard, Logan slotted between your legs, Wade right behind your oddly bent body....accept Wade's gun was at the small of your back and Logan had his hand wrapped tightly around your throat as your legs squeezed as tight as possible.

And at another, you'd been hovering above Logan, hands at his chest while Wade had a fistful of your hair, his grip lethal... a-although your hands were only at his chest cause you were double-fisting two knives that you had wedged to the hilt into each to his pectorals...and Wade was also pulling your hair to get a better angle at your chest since he deemed it was "only fair" considering you were going the same to the man beneath you.

It had only gotten worse, your comments ranging from rude to just plain nasty, and the farther along you went in the night....strangely enough, the better everything felt. The slight accidental/intentional grind of your hips against Logans, or the way you just so happened to fall back into Wade's chest, your bodies pressed so close together you could feel each breath you both took.

"Oh you just don't know when to quit, do you honey?" Logan grumbles, throwing you off him, your positions quickly switch.

"Not in my vocabulary sweetheart." You shoot back, gasping when Wade grips your hair again.

"Yeah, thought you were seeing the pattern ready peanut, she's hard to break." He chuckles, a filthy smile making its way over your bloodied face.

You were practically sandwiched, Wade behind you, his chest to your back, and your legs just barely make room for Logan who was kneeling one leg on the backseat, the other slightly off the edge.

"This is a little unfair don't you think? Feels like I'm about to get tag-teamed." You joke, the moonlight illuminating the current position just enough.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're sick." Logan scoffs, only feeding into your slight delusions.

"Yeah, I might be sick but you're a hypocrite, You want it too, don't you? I know for sure Wade does, 'cause that's definitely not his gun on my ass." You shoot back, body and brain stirring from the hours of activities.

He doesn't say anything, just tightens he grip he has on your hips.

“Cmonnn, we had our nice,” you glance over at the destroyed radio, your hopes of trying to get the time seemingly crushed.

“We’ll say 9 hours give or take, we’ve already been fighting and none of us are really satisfied.”

You can feel Wade adjust, his hands now secure at your shoulders, massaging the small of your neck with his thumbs.

“We all know what’s gonna solve that and we can put this whole debacle behind us.” You coax, your hips rolling a bit to meet his and he turn his head, jaw working as if he was seriously considering the offer.

And with a finally huff what really sounded more like a growl of last restrained, he’s on you.

——————————————————————-

YES IM MAKING A PART TWO YES THERE WILL BE SMUT BECAUSE WTF YALL. UHHH HOPE YOU ENJOY LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED I. THE NEXT PART!

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Ding dong, here’s the final chapter! I have an epilogue in mind so that may come later, but for now, Thanks  so so much for the response to this series and Enjoy!

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

[talking] [talking passes]

Gai: You knew right away, didn’t you? Kka: Correct. I knew something was wrong when you weren’t trying to do situps or anything..... You little criminal, who smuggled that in for you? Gai: Naruto

Kks: How did you get him to do that? /I/ cant even get Naruto to do things. The tear tracks and shit eating grin are cute. Kinda wanna kiss you. Gai: Don’t let me be a hindrance to-

Gai: What are you giggling about? Kks: I just remembered

Kks: I get to hold over your head that I held mirai before you. Gai: You what?! Your first baby hold and I missed it? Get off of me Kks: So mean! Near death made you crabby. Gai: I won’t give into this Kks: You will, you always succumb. [gai sighs annoyed]

Gai: [Groans] When are they making you swear in as hokage? Kks: That’s not happening anymore thankfully. Gai: Huuuh?? Tenzou didn’t tell me that!

Gai: He said Lady Tsunade was retiring and you were the only choice. Naruto even tried to- Kks: Where do you think i’ve been all day? I convinced her to hold out until Naruto or whoever  took over next. Gai: How did you smooth talk that one? Kks: I agreed to do her paperwork and cover for when she needs R&R. I also advised her to ditch the elders so she can actually run this shit show right. Gai: And they... took that well? The elders? Kks: No, not at all. Let’s just say I said some... things that made them backtrack on their decision.

Gai: YOu cant just say that and not tell me now!! I gotta know! Kks: Well... Homura: Absolutely not! Kks: If I am appointed, I’ll be replacing you regardless. Naruto certainly will. It’s inevitable. Koharu: Those kids don’t know how this village runs!

Kks:Those kids just won your war and this is how you speak of them. Or are “those kids“ only respectable to you when they’re eager to die at your beckon call and shut up. Elders: How dare- Watch your tongue! Kks: I won’t be someone who you can walk all over. Things will change. Just so my intentions are clear

Gai: What next?! Kks: That’s is really. Kinda tuned the rest out and passed out for 3 hours. Gai: Rival, I was so invested Kks: Sorry Gai: So you agreed to essentially split the work of a hokage but not publicly take the title? Kks: Mhm Gai: So cool! Apologies, I had just assumes since you were gonna accept last time Kks:[hums] Things changed. Konoha’s not on the brink of war, Tsunade’s still here. The village can breathe and rebuild now.

Kks: After a glimpse of the hassle and public attention the last time, I’m just... Not interested in any of that. I’ve never dreamed or desired to be the hokage. That was always something others wanted /for/ me. So I said no. I know you were happy for me so- Gai: Kakashi

Gai: I’m so very proud of you for expressing how you truly feel. You and tsunade will do amazing work supporting the next generation. Even If you chose to retire today, I’d still be just as proud of you. Also a selfish part of me if happy to have more time with you. [kks huffs]

Kks: I’m proud of you too, y’ know. All your hard work, you’re fucking incredible. Glad my dad made me talk to the cool kid in the green jumpsuit. 2nd coolest shinobi. Gai: Only took 25 years, but I’ve finally caught your eye! Kks: Yup, let’s move in together.

Gai: WHAT?1 Whu-! Kks: I’m fixing up dad’s old house with Tenzou. you should live there with me Gai: Why? Kks: Why are yo suspicious? I’m serious. Space, accessibility for you... I want you around more. Gai: Ok Kks: Ok? Gai: An exciting change is just what my youthful journey needs!! Kks: So yes?

Gai: I would love to share a home with you, Rival [kks giggling] What now?

Kks: Did I just make you succumb, Gai-kun? Gai: When can we have a match next, I need to consensually slap you in the head [kks laughs] Why did you say it like that? Kks: I’m sorry! Your pout looks so cute.... You are still moving in with me, right? That wasnt a joke.

Gai: I’m gonna let you sweat on that one awhile... [whimpers]

Kks: Love you so much, Gai

[gai snoring]

[gai snoring]

[gelatonic]

Idk if you write for Leo Valdez but if you do!

Him and reader being enemies, like the whole camp has known about it. It’s a whole thing. Kinda annoying atp, like people just want them to get over it.

Chiron wanted the reader to help the Hephaestus cabin with a project and they end up being the last people there. getting stuck in bunker nine because someone forgot about them and locked the door and it was jammed, it was already passed dinner so likely shot was that they’d be found in the morning

One thing led to another, and reader said Leo didn’t know how to fuck. Leo took that as a challenge

(If it’s okay could I be🫀 or🚂 anon? And if you don’t write for Leo, you can switch it up to fit another character!)

leo x f!bratty!reader ꩜ .ᐟ ignore how long this took plz lovie ;3 smut!

it all started when he decided to be a meanie to you

here you were, minding your business and being all cute while you dance at the bonfire for the camp, and Leo Valdez has to go and comment something slanderous towards you!!!!!! yelled something about how he could dance better, and you just couldn't accept that, getting all huffy and puffy with crossed arms as you choose to ignore him forever from then on, except his stupid nagging wouldn't stop! it seems everything you do, he just has to comment on, but you weren't going to take that, no! so you bite back, things escalate, and now here you were with your one and only enemy at camp, Leo Valdez.

everyone else seemed to like you, yeah, so when Chiron asks you to help out with the hephaestus cabin, ofc you say yes!!!! why wouldn't you? all the other kids there besides Leo are such sweeties, you don't mind! but then it turns out its just Leo who needs help, which leads to you being cooped up with him in bunker nine :(

and so inevitably, he just has to say something not very nice to you, so you just have to say something back. but you just look so cute when you argue, when you get up to leave, he almost stops you! but Leo doesn't have to, when it seems you can't yank your way out the door.

you turn back, cheeks all puffed up and tinged pink as you cross your arms at him and stifle back to sitting on the floor, glaring at it. "can't believe I'm stuck with an idiot like you," you grumble, legs criss-cross applesauce on the floor, letting Leo look at the way your already-short skirt rides up your thighs.

"yeah, sweetheart?" he says exasperatedly, setting down his wrench and stopping whatever he's working on so he can get a good look at how upset you were right now, with that stupid smirk on his face! "its not like I want a brat like you here either, y'know."

"brat!?!!?" you yelp back, scrambling to your feet so you can stalk to him, finger pointing sharply at him accusingly, "I'm only a brat to you because you're mean to me!"

"mhm," he hums with an eyeroll, not taking anything you say seriously, "y'know, at least I provide to the camp, make all these things. what do you do, huh?"

"well at least I can fuck!"

ohhhhh no, you shouldn't have said that. now here you are, bent halfway over the cool metal slab of his workspace, getting rutted into from behind. "who can't fuck, huh babygirl?" he's huffing a calloused laugh from behind, pumping you full of his dick. one of his hands goes up to your ass, gripping a handful of flesh and kneading it under his fingers.

"soooo fuckin' bratty, aren't you? what, just need a good fucking from Leo to put you in your place?" all you can do is mewl and whimper in response, legs kicking and hips squirming, making him push on your lower back to keep you still as his hips smack yours.

he's laughing as he watches how your pussy sucks him up whole, balls deep, before he wrenches in and out making you cry. he's leaning his weight down on you, smushing your tits on the table as he thrusts in and out, hand yanking at your hair hard, making your scalp tingle.

"wonder how many times I can make you come before morning. would you like that baby? wanna cum on my dick til you pass out?" he coos, making you babble something unintelligible as your drool puddles on your lips and on the table, glassy eyes half-lidded.

"yeah, you'd like that, huh? all cummed out for me, hm?

he is not stopping anytime soon...!!

[poppy-metal]

the reader dbf patrick stepdaddy art is DIABOLICAL and i need it RIGHT NOW actually. crying on patricks cock for the first time while art watches like, "im sorry, daddy, 'm sorry, just wanted it so bad, so so badly, you understand, right, you get it?" and the funny thing is, he totally does, because its patrick, yes, he gets it, more than anything he gets it, but this is wrong, isn't it? this is wrong and fucked up and evil, but you're reaching for his belt with wide, wet eyes, begging, "can make it up to you, daddy, can make you feel real good, please, 'm sorry, let me show you how sorry i am" and his resolve just has to crumple.

(obviously there has to be about six million years of YEARNING in between but you know. the horny.)

-kit ♡♡♡

@gamesetart ur sick for enabling me. i slowed things down a little bc i was cooking but the outcome will probably eventually be this. LMAO

under a cut because like patrick, this is sending me straight to hell i fear.

skipping ahead a million years just to fuck stepdad!art who also happens to be patricks ex who hes never gotten over and has been friends with this whole time - maybe its his fault actually, that you fall in love with patrick at the tender age of 14 - because art loves him so much. hes around so much. like father like daughter, right? he might not be your dad by blood but he is in every other way that counts - he has full custody - your mom been out of the picture for awhile now. its almost like having two dad, growing up. you think art and patrick are closer than any two men you've seen before. but they date other women so you don't think much of it - you want art to be happy again. you dont blame him for leaving your mother, you're just happy he took you with him.

anyway - falling for patrick is inevitable - it burns inside you like a wildfire you have no chance of stopping, so you dont try.

and patrick..... maybe he's given up hope on art after all these years. they'd had something brief and tangible in college - but it'd fizzled out - art had pretended it didn't happen. and patrick loved art too much to press the issue. he'd been content to live forever being arts best friend and nursing a flame for him that would never be returned.

and then you'd come along - it'd been hell watching art get married - he never liked that bitch, anyway, for more reasons than sharing arts bed. she treated her kid like dirt. art even worse. it got to a point where the only reason art was staying around was for you - he couldn't leave you. you were just a kid. and art had only been with you for three years but it was enough. enough for him to love you. enough for him to martyr himself for you and stay in an unhappy marriage if it meant he could play the role of daddy for you.

it may have been him who planted the seed. he'd met you a few times by that point, but he remembers a pool party where you'd been sucking on a lollipop as you watched art work the grill - your mother somewhere inside - you were twelve then - old enough to have some brain cells, patrick figured.

"he'd make a good dad, dont you think?" he'd nudged you. "i mean look at him - already rocking the dad stance with a fucking polo to match. he'll be telling us it looks like a storms rollin' in any second now."

and you'd popped the lolly out of your mouth and showed him your teeth with your smile.

a raised brow. "really? does he know that? does your mother?"

"he already is my dad, though."

you'd frowned. stuck the lolly back in your mouth. he could tell he'd given your brain alot to think about that.

it was only a year later that the divore was finalized. and art was granted full custody of you as his daughter - full guardianship. patrick got him the hell out of that town shortly thereafter.

and that was it, really. that was the plan. just to live in peace. he didn't expect to grow so attached to you. to enjoy watching you grow up. to enjoy being there for your important milestones. he saw a bit of himself in you, too, that wild precociousness. that want to run free. saw how it fucking terrified art, who wanted nothing but the best for you after the life you'd had. always the hero.

so yeah, when you'd started your rebellious teen phase he'd helped you hide it. picked you up from parties when you couldn't drive home instead of calling your dad. because he didn't want to see art unhappy. he didn't want to see art look at you and see the patrick in you and hate it. he couldn't.

he didn't know you'd fall in love with him. he didn't.

and when he realized you had, he'd pushed you away. he had.

but the thing is - as much as you had patrick in you - you had art as well. your inherent kindness. your sweet open face. your determination and dedication. he saw it and then he couldn't unsee it. and as long as he'd held onto his love for art he was tired. he was fucking tired of being unloved and unwanted and here you were - a tether to art - his beautiful babygirl - and you were throwing yourself at him. loving him. wanting him. so fucking beautiful and innocent - just like art had been, all those years ago.

couldn't fault him for caving. he'd faught it, but patricks not a good man. and hes a stray dog at the end of the day, dirty and hungry and begging for scraps.

he fucking devoured you. took from you. took your virginity - just like he did your fathers - broke it on his cock and tried not to feel sick that the symbolic way your blood drenched his cock connected you and him and art in a way that was as holy and it was perverted. he fucked you and he fucked you and he fucked you. he had you whenever and wherever he wanted and he didn't allow himself to think about the consequences of it - because he was fucking greedy for it - you took everything he was and you bit into it and you bounced on his dick like he was a fucking god and he found himself falling in love all over again.

he'd find a way to tell art and make it right. he would.

but then there'd been that night when art asked him out for drinks and patrick would tell something was wrong. he'd been distant from art lately, if he was being honest, consumed completely by you. the only reason he was free was because you were at a friends.

when art had confessed he felt you pulling away the guilt had set in... because art looked so sad. so pathetic and lonely and patrick had never wanted this for art. his heart pitched and dropped in his chest and he couldn't tell art about you - not now -

and then art had looked at him and said "you know she reminds me of you -" and patricks lips had parted. the alcohol in his system warmed his blood, but so did the heavy weight of arts eyes on him. it was a look patrick hadn't seen in years. decades even.

It was how you looked at him.

hungry.

that's all patrick thought as art drew closer and closer to him. fuck, when art placed a hand on his thigh. fuck, when his cock twitched. fuck, when art said he missed those days back in college. fuck, when art leaned in and patrick didn't pull away.

fuck.

fuck again, when he came to and they were back at arts apartment - fuck when they passed your room and thank fuck you weren't home, thank fuck - fuck fuck fuck when art got on his knees and stroked patricks cock and patrick thought his first clear thought of the night -

fuck fuck and fuck again because he lost his mind a little when arts lips touched his. went a little dizzy with it.

fuck fuck fuck - because arts sinful pink mouth descended around him and he fucking moaned around it and in some twisted dark corner of patricks seedy mind he thought art must taste you on him - must know its you hes tasting and thats why he throats him deeper like a fucking whore.

i fucked her this morning. he's about to suck his daughter's pussy off my dick and he doesn't even fucking know -

patrick knows hes going to hell.

he knows it because he uses the same fingers he'd had inside your cunt to spread your dads ass open for the same dick he'd plunged into you - he knows hes going to hell because when he slides inside and art moans he thinks he sounds just as pretty as you do - they take me so fucking well - made for me - fucking made for me

and when he pulls out to come down and swallow arts cock down his own throat he moans when he thinks about kissing you later tonight with your fathers spunk on his tongue -

hes going to hell.

[gretagerwigsmuse]

i don’t know, blame the air force?

summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw feels his girlfriend’s wrath after she gets her year end bonus and uncle sam takes a pretty penny out of it

a/n: listen….this is very self indulgent and that’s all i’m going to say. i literally wrote it this afternoon after…well i got fucked by the government in the form of taxes on my bonus. also yeah she’s kind of a brat in this one, but i think it’s a little deserved. rated t for language and suggestive comments 1.2k

It wasn’t often that you beat Bradley home from work, but sometimes on Fridays you would sneak out of the office at lunch and work the rest of the day from home. It typically put you in a good mood and gave you the opportunity to run a quick load of laundry or get started on an - admittedly - rudimentary dinner. Sometimes you’d even go for a dip in your building’s skyline pool.

But that afternoon, you were seething. Properly seething. And no amount of stress cleaning or tanning was going to make you feel any better. Maybe you just needed Bradley to fuck you six ways to Sunday later? Surely the serotonin from a couple orgasms could soothe this particular anger brewing inside of you.

As per every October, you had gotten your year end bonus with your paycheck earlier that day, which always inspired equal amounts of giddiness and angst within you.

The giddiness, of course, because who doesn’t love extra money? It was like found money twice a year. Sure, you worked extra hard for it, many late nights at the office, client site visits, and presentations over the last four years could attest to that. You were up in the air over whether you should add it to your brokerage account or splurge on something? Because again - you worked for it.

But then there was the angst.

The angst because you inevitably lost half of it to taxes. And this angst appeared like clockwork, twice a year, every year, for the last six years you’d been working at PwC. You knew this - it was inevitable.

Except, earlier that morning, you’d been at your desk reading the WSJ with your coffee and had seen a headline. A stupid, annoying headline that had made you purse your lips, realization dawning as you rushed to check your pay stub on workday.

Pentagon Refocuses Spending on Weapons to Deter China

As you read further, you saw that as part of the FY24 budget, the Pentagon was increasing the $30.6B defense budget a further 12% with a focus on missiles, rockets, and - yes - airplanes, specifically for the Air Force.

Uncle Sam was taking 35% of taxes out of your bonus for that? Fuck that.

So, when Bradley came by your apartment later that afternoon, freshly showered after a quick trip to the gym after work, you were steaming. And though it was not Bradley’s fault - not in the slightest - seeing him in that stupid(ly tight), grey, US Navy t-shirt only further contributed to your sour mood.

“Hey!” he called out, letting himself in with his key. You turned your head towards him and hummed, letting out a gruff hi. He toed off his sneakers and left them by the door before coming over to where you were laying on the couch, doom scrolling through Instagram, and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

He frowned at your tepid response and you felt like a absolute bitch for a moment. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You briefly glanced at Bradley and then went back to staring - glaring - at your phone. “I’m just in a mood - tired.”

You could see him doing the mental math, trying to figure out if you were on your period, but that wasn’t until next week. “S’okay. We can just hang out and have an early -”

“- Crash any planes today?” the words slipped out before you could think better of it. Before he could even respond, you cut Bradley off. “What’s it matter anyway? They’ll just buy you new ones? Fuck the kids, I mean, they don’t need to eat school lunch? And the Postal Service can cut off Saturday delivery? Hmmmm maybe we should cut Social Security even more? Our infrastructure doesn’t need to be fixed, let’s just let our bridges and roads crumble! Fucking taxes bullshit.”

“Uhhh...”

You got up in a huff and started pacing, getting more and more worked up. “It’s not that I mind paying taxes - well, that’s not totally true. But like? Actually put them towards something that’s going to help people? Not just stupid rockets and missiles and fucking -”

“- Did you get your tax refund or something?”

Bradley was standing next to you, trying to put his hands on your shoulders in what would have been a calming motion had you not been acting completely crazy over eleven thousand dollars.

“It’s October?” you snapped.

“I don’t know?” Bradley shrugged his shoulders, getting a little worked up himself. “Rich people are weird? And your dad seems like he’d know how - nevermind.” You rolled your eyes. “What happened?”

Your shoulders sagged. Fuck, this wasn’t Bradley’s fault. It was that piece of shit House Majority Leader’s, who was so far up Lockheed Martin’s ass he could see -

“I got my year end bonus check today…” you grumbled.

Like you figured, a huge smile lit up Bradley’s face. “That’s amazing - or not?” he backtracked.

“I lost like 35% of it to taxes.”

“Ahhh.”

“And I saw this article in the Journal this morning about the new Pentagon budget and how they’re purchasing these new planes for the Air Force and it just - it’s dumb but it made me mad because I just wish my taxes went to the things that will actually benefit the average American?”

Bradley tucked your hair behind your ear and clucked your chin. “That’s a lot to put on your shoulders, kid…”

“Do you think I’m acting like a brat?” You knew you were, you were just curious if Bradley would say the same thing.

He made a face. “Well,” the word dragged out, “maybe a little…” You hung your head and leaned against his chest. “But it’s kind of valid, I’d be pretty pissed losing all that out to the Air Force, too. But the Navy’s different. They don’t just put anyone in the cockpit -”

“- Oh, really?” You peered up at him. “And how many planes have you crashed, Bradley?”

He pursed his lips. “Like on purpose or -”

You threw your hands up and groaned, eventually making your way over to your bar cart. “- Like on purpose he says! Bradley!”

There wasn’t any ice in the ice bucket, but you didn’t care. You needed something. Anything to take the edge off. You were too annoyed, too fussy - too bratty.

As you poured yourself - and Bradley - a drink, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed in your ear, “I promise you, I have only crashed three planes on purpose.”

Oh how you wanted to laugh. You leaned back against Bradley’s chest, fully ensconced in the smell of his soap and aftershave. “Hmmm, that’s $195M down the drain. Could’ve fed a lot of kids in Kern County with that money, repaved a lot of roads, too…”

He grabbed the drink you had poured for yourself and took a sip, hissing at the burn of the tequila. “I don’t know about the kids, but I can make it up to you.”

The glass was placed back on the bar cart with a clink and Bradley placed his right hand on your hip, while the left slipped underneath the waistband of your skirt and eventually your underwear. Your whole body sagged against him and you hated how keen you were for this - for him. Apparently you really had just needed to get fucked.

“Such a pretty girl…even if you are a bit of a brat sometimes,” he finished, nipping at your ear. “Hey, kid?” You hummed. “You know if I was an astronaut I would cost the US government even more money, you still sure you want me to go down that route?”

“Shut up and fuck me, rocketman.”

“Can do, hell I’ll even buy you dinner.”

-----------

this was so random so i hope people actually like it??? idk if no one does i never wrote it??

small taglist: @howdysebby (happy early birthday!) @sometimesanalice (thanks for the eyes alexa!) @notroosterbradshaw @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @rae-gar-targaryen @jupitercomet @sunderlust @softspiderling @seasonsbloom @heartsofminds @cloudycluster

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Question for you; how do you think the rest of the war would have shaken up if Jake had actually killed Tom in #31?

I'm sure Jake's home life and ability to lead would be impacted, possibly Rachel too. And the whole end of the series would definitely be different.

Would to Yeerks even notice that Tom + his yeerk are gone? Since they pretty much sentence that yeerk to death anyway

Okay, so let's be clear: it wouldn't be Jake killing Tom. It'd be Marco. Jake spends the entire book alternately fucking up (e.g. demorphing in broad daylight 10' from Tom) and begging Tobias to tell him what to do. Marco spends the entire book actually leading the damn Animorphs. When it comes down to the wire, Jake stands there and has a (fully understandable) panic attack while Marco runs around coordinating not only Plan A to land Tom in the hospital but Plan B to kill him, and possibly Plan C to burn the house down.

So. Marco kills Tom, thereby saving Steve's life and also the planet.

• Jake falls apart. Saving Tom has been his reason for existence since the first battle, his only guiding star during the worst of the war. Not only did he lose his brother, but he tore his family apart.

• Marco falls apart. There are very few people Marco loves, but he would burn down the world for the sake of those few. And in the span of a few weeks, Marco has murdered one of those people, destroyed the life of the other. This war isn't worth it anymore. Maybe the yeerks deserve to have the planet, because there's nothing here worth saving.

• Rachel tries to keep the fight going, Tobias and Ax her only support. They've given up so much for this war already, and it'd be a disservice to every damn human on the planet to call it quits now. Every damn human includes Tom, for the record.

She held him down, a hand over his nose and mouth, knees on his chest, until Marco had forced him fully under the water. Together they leaned their weight onto his body, together they pressed him into the mud, until at last he stopped struggling. Then they left him there, floating face-down in the shallows, and staggered back to the woods to try and scrub the filthy water from their bodies.

Rachel's pretty sure Marco didn't see the tiny shape dart away from the side of Tom's head into the dark water beyond, in the half-second before he went limp. It was a fish. An eel. It was nothing at all. She saw nothing.

She dreams, often, about that nothing.

• Cassie stays on the team for now, because she won't consign all of humanity to die. But her friendship with Rachel is fraying at the seams. They snap at each other often, hang out rarely. Cassie worries about Rachel, and Rachel about Cassie, more than either one of them will say out loud.

• Tom was nobody. A dumb kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. The yeerk who died that day, on the other hand? That guy was everything, for the war.

• Tobias escapes the Community Center, and a yeerk called Sub-Visser Fifty-One inside a girl called Taylor, with seconds to spare. There was a mission to destroy the Anti-Morphing Ray, and it almost succeeded. Rachel doesn't have Marco's strategic mind, Jake's cold willingness to sacrifice a friend. She burns the building to the ground to try and destroy the prototype.

It doesn't work. In fact, it backfires — by the end of the month, Visser Three has quadrupled the budget for the devices.

The second generation is smaller than the first, more agile. So it's only two weeks before the inevitable happens.

• «Prince Jake,» Ax says, landing on his windowsill. «We must evacuate you and your family immediately. The yeerks have seen Rachel in her demorphed form, and it will not be long before they connect her to you.»

Jake sits up in bed, which seems to take an age. "They know." He probably means it as a question, but it comes out monotone.

«Yes,» Ax says. «They know. They are likely already on their way.»

"Oh." Jake turns over onto his side, curling into a ball. "Okay, then. Let them come."

«Yeah.» The gorilla shoulders open the door to Jake's closet, lumbering across the room. «We were afraid you were going to say that.» Grabbing Jake around the waist, Marco slings him over one shoulder and heads for the stairs.

• Jake, in true Jake fashion, becomes the one to explain to his parents what actually happened to Tom. Not a freak accident. Not a product of stress and bad decisions and swimming alone. Nothing to do with the empty whisky bottle Cassie thought to plant near the shore, hating herself for having thought of it.

• While the others languish in the hork-bajir valley, Rachel and Cassie take the morphing cube and travel to the San Dimas Hospital's long-term recovery ward. They travel to the San Luis Obispo School for the Blind. They travel to community centers and closed workshops, and they recruit all the help they can get.

The number of Animorphs doubles, then triples.

The number of controllers increases one hundredfold.

• Cassie broaches it just once. "Tobias," she says. He's the only one left she can trust, it seems like. "You remember what happened with Aftran? How we were able to help her, so that she didn't have to fight anymore?"

But of course it doesn't work. Tobias respects her enough to call for a vote, that's it. Rachel is flatly against. Ax is so betrayed that Cassie would even float the suggestion, he flees to the far side of the valley and won't speak to her for weeks.

"I can see where you're coming from," Marco, of all people, says to her. "But there are too many ways it could go wrong."

"I know," Cassie says miserably. "I know."

"If..." Marco looks toward where Ax went, checking he's gone. "If it comes to peace negotiations. I think we should offer. In exchange for being left alone. But until then, we can't afford to risk our biggest advantage."

"You're right," Cassie says. "And thanks for thinking about it."

Jake is technically there for this entire conversation. At one point he even lifts his head halfway, when Cassie reaches out to put a hand on his arm.

• Visser Three declares open war on Earth. The first nuclear bombs fall the following day.

• Mass evacuations of human-controllers are going on as quickly as the yeerks' ships can move. Rachel and Ax sneak on board one Pool ship transport, sabotaging its engines so that it spirals out of control while still in atmosphere.

It's a double victory: the Pool ship slams into a Blade ship on its wild wavering trajectory. All in all over 100,000 controllers die in the crash.

It's a half victory. Only Ax makes it home.

• War-Prince Asculan-Semitur-Langor declares war on Earth. Antarctica disappears in a flash, and Australia is swallowed by the sea.

• James Bly, Commander-in-Chief of the Earth Resistance, sues for peace. He surrenders the skies to the andalites, surrenders the forests to the taxxons. He surrenders 10% of the surviving human population to the Yeerk Empire.

• Quarantine, the andalites assure James. Just for now. Just to keep the yeerks contained. It's only a quarantine.

[jacquesthepigeon]

I have personally seen cases where kids grow up as complete strangers to their heritage especially as is the case with my own cousin in California but that involved multiple factors

1) My aunt was isolated and practically estranged from boricua communities. There is a large latino population in California, yes, but it’s mostly Mexican, not a problem, but it’s drastically different from boricua culture. I cannot describe to you how sad it was to see her express relief at being around her people during holidays for the first time in over a decade.

2) Assimilation and shame was heavily encouraged. My aunt’s MIL, from Mexico, went as far as having her name legally changed to its English equivalent. Over the years since my aunt’s move to the states, there have been multiple incidents where she drastically exaggerated the state of the country and our living conditions (all way before the infrastructure, particularly electricity services, got noticeably Bad) based on sensationalist news articles. It got to the point where she called all of us “idiots” for staying.

Bringing it back to ML

According to a 2019 census, there were 71,500 parisians who reported being born in China, a figure that doesn’t account for descendants of chinese immigrants. That is a far cry from leaving Sabine isolated from her culture. She has ample resources to find and participate in a community of fellow chinese immigrants within the city.

In regards to assimilation and shame, just look at her fucking design and hobbies holy shit. It clearly doesn’t apply to her. As for her english (french?) name, it is a fairly common practice for people from various asian countries to adopt an english name. I’ve seen multiple explanations for this ranging from confucian self naming practices being influenced by exposure to western cultures all the way to workplace culture and convenience. In Sabine’s case, because her chinese name is so similar to her western name, I imagine it’s simply a matter of avoiding the headache of constantly correcting people on the spelling and pronunciation of her chinese name. It sucks that it’s something so many immigrants and even tourists have to do to be addressed respectfully but that’s also worth exploring within the narrative.

Which brings me to why it’s important that we recognize the crew’s intentions and POV when discussing how these characters and dynamics are written. They’re not considering any of these and countless other factors that affect how immigrants and their children interact with their own heritage. They want to be praised and lauded for being “inclusive” and “diverse” simply for commodifying a cultural aesthetic. They have no real concern for the people they’re profiting from or their lives and complexities.

So let’s assume for a moment that despite not being affected by any of the factors that I mentioned influenced my own aunt’s lack of educating my cousin about her culture, that’s still an issue that should be addressed specifically in regards to Sabine’s decisions in raising Marinette rather than pushing the blame onto Marinette for “not expressing interest” and learning on her own. The last few times my cousin has come to visit, we do our best to accommodate her and make her as comfortable as possible but when she inevitably lets it show that she is uncomfortable and would prefer to step away from the situation, my aunt has the nerve to shame her for not liking or participating in her culture. I assure you, my aunt was the only one blaming my cousin as we were all silently judging my aunt as she’s obviously the one responsible for it getting to this point, as we have been doing ever since we knew she wasn’t teaching my cousin spanish. So assuming this is the case with Sabine and Marinette, where Sabine had the means to teach Marinette at the very least the basics, and now Sabine is somewhat resentful of Marinette not figuring it out on her own, that is something that definitely needs to be addressed with close attention and care.

But they won’t.

Sabine is not a chinese immigrant in the interest of other chinese immigrants

Marinette is not a white-passing diaspora child in the interest of other white-passing diaspora children

There is no diversity or representation in this show that isn’t meant to turn them into props to make white men look better, be they fictional or real

That is the issue, not the existence of borderline caricature-esque immigrants or white-passing POC in the real world possibly getting representation. It’s not about them, never has been.

[timkonshipper]

young justice w/ tim, bart & kon incorrect quotes part 2

bart: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed. kon: kon: I'm gonna tell him tim: Don't you dare.

__

bart: I have a plan. kon: I have the hospital and tim on speed dial.

__

Tim: I want to be like a caterpillar. Kon: Explain. Tim: Eat a lot, sleep for a while, wake up beautiful. Kon: You know they have a lifespan of a week, right? Tim: Tim: That's just another highlight!

__

Tim: You bought a taco? bart: Yes. Tim: From the same truck that hit kon?! bart, with a mouthful of taco: Well, me starving ain't gonna help him

__

bart: Tell us… Is there a spirit in this house? Spirit, through the board: YES. tim: Great! Rent is due on the first of the month. kon: Oh, and movie night is on Friday if you want to hang out. Spirit: WAIT, WHAT—

__

tim: Everyone thinks I'm this soft cute person but I'm not! kon: tim, you cried for an hour after stepping on a bug yesterday. tim: It had feelings! It was probably going home to dinner and I killed it! bart: ...It was a bug. tim: It was a BEETLE, and its wife is definitely worried sick, wondering where it is, and I really don't get why you all think I'm so sentimental because I'm not! kon: ... bart: ... tim: Stop looking at me like that!

__

bart: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death? tim: How am I supposed to know? kon: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult. tim: *sighs* tim: You wouldn't be trapped.

__

tim, in a high voice, holding barbie: hey ken! I was thinking about going back to school and starting a career! kon, in a deep voice, holding ken: nonsense, barbie. you’re staying home and having my kids bart: what the fuck are you guys doing? tim: playing systemic oppression

__

tim: You love me, right, kon? kon: Normally, I’d say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere and I don’t like it.

__

bart, struggling to keep upright in their 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me tim, pointing at them and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.

__

bart: Change is inedible. kon: Don't you mean inevitable? bart, spitting out coins: No, I did not.

__

[oh-no-its-bird]

Tora gets hit w the time travel beam *gestures vaguely towards the "team ro time travel to warring states era but make it Tora AU team ro" post*

And gets mistaken for a bastard senju kid and missing brother of Tobirama bc of the resemblance. But also using the same logic I used w Itachi of the "the only people allowed to draw the connection are people who personally knew Tobirama when he was Tora's age (which, if sticking to the original team ro prompt, would be like 12) so only like. The founders + Touka get to make that conclusion

Him 🤝 Tenzo -> getting mistaken for a Senju and getting lots of hugs from Hashirama that make them Feel Things (TM)

People are telling Tora he's probably a bastard kid and he's making deliberate eye contact w that one time he tried to break into the senju compound and was kicked out bc the gates keyed into senju blood specifically. He's pretty sure he's not a senju guys. Trust him. Really.

Mmmm ok but actually taking it seriously, how would Tora affect the team ro dynamics in that specific adventure? In my original post I went really in depth on what each character thinks of their situation + the founders, so would that change at all?

On top of that, since it's a few month before the Uchiha coup, it's also peak Itachi-Tora-Shisui chaos hours as they plot to stop it

I think it's mostly the same, tho maybe Tora's general affect on Itachi means he isn't quite so much in the "Hey what if we just kill Madara. What then." boat

But also I can see the opposite, with maybe Itachi instead getting Tora on the "Hey what if we kill Madara in his sleep" boat

Shisui can sense the "Tora and Itachi are doing something alarming" button being slammed in the room over and investigates

Oh my god worst possible outcome: they get Shisui on board too. I can see it tbh, they were looking for ways to avoid the coup and the possible village retaliation and like hey !!! Opportunity they sure as fuck won't be getting anywhere else!!!

Plus like, play into the "Itachi rarley offers his own opinion bc he trusts Tora and Shisui to be in charge, but when he does offer it he's listened to"

Well he sure did offer his opinion!! And he sure is being listened to!!!

They actually all just feed into eachothers stress and decide that yes. To avoid the Uchiha coup and or possible village retaliation (they dont know the massacre is on the board yet but suspect smthn similarly bad), this is the best choice to make.

It turns into Kakashi having to talk them all down (whether he does so in time or not is debatable)

They get stopped, obviously, (tho actually commiting to killing off Madara like that would be very funny) and Madara assumes it was Tora's idea bc hes a clear leading figure in the trio and the other two are Uchiha. Tora is willing to take the fall for his friend, but Itachi is not

Itachi has a whole breakdown and bursts into awful messy tears for the first time since his father took him out to a battlefield as a child.

It's a whole thing and everyone is horrified (Tora and Shisui especially but even Madara + whoever else was there are cringing awkwardly at the sight of a previously blank faced little kid just. Loosing it.)

Itachi confesses to it being his idea and, at this point we're past the time travel reveal, explains he just needs to make sure Madara doesn't freak the fuck out and inevitable fuck over the entire Uchiha clan w a shitty reputation that haunts him for years to come

Madara is horrified what the fuck

Also INCREDIBLY demoralized ab the village now, what do you MEAN he fucking left it what do you MEAN originally Izuna died (they were keeping them in the dark ab everything future-wise other than just the fact that the village existed but this kind of forced the lid off that pot)

Also note: Kakashi !! Was !! Not !! Aware of this !!! Holy shit kids !!!!!!

They end up having a whole Thing(tm) about how look even if Madara one of the causes of their shit reputation,,, it can't all be traced back to and blamed on one man. That's not how politics work you guys.

(Queue shocked Pikachu faces and disbelief of three teenagers)

Kakashi, having his own special front row seats to the Konoha politics and rumor mill + yondaime's student + experience with facing the worst of it bc of his dad, giving them some sort of speech about scapegoats and politics and the soul crushing realities of systematic oppression and blame

It's a learning experience.

[elliereject]

angst while I work on smth big :p

stardust

“Did you know we’re made of stardust?”

“That’s not true…” You mumbled.

“Yes it is, I fucking swear.”

“Really? How?”

You and Ellie were sat in the green expanse that was the field behind your house, gazing up at the stars and reminiscing about life, as best friends do. You were staring at the sky and she was staring at you when she blurted out the random fact. She sat up, leaning her weight on one hand so she could see you better,

“Research shows-”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Shut up! Research shows, that 97% of the human body consists of stardust.”

“And what’s “stardust” exactly?”

“Oxygen, Carbon, Potassium-”

“So in that case are bananas also made of stardust?”

She huffed and threw her head back to which you laughed. “Sorry, sorry, keep going. I love when you get all nerdy about space.”

She rolled her eyes but she was suddenly grateful for the darkness that engulfed the two of you so you couldn’t see the blush that crept up her face. “As I was saying, they’re made off all the same things we are and since technically they came first, we’re basically made from them.”

“Huh,” You hummed, “That’s actually really cool.”

“Right?” She tucked her knees into her chest and tried her best not to glance back at you cause she could’ve sworn your eyes were on her.

“Hey, Ellie-”

“You know what I really like about stars, though?”

You didn’t reply but she continued, “How even when they inevitably collapse in on themselves and explode, you’re still able to see their light for years and years.”

“Ellie-”

“And how the death of one, can be the birth of tons of others.”

“Ellie.”

She turned to look at you, her jade eyes glossy and slightly red,

“What’s wrong?” You asked concern and worry framing your face.

“It’s nothing.” She said, rubbing her nose.

“It’s not nothing.” You replied, sitting up to place a hand on her shoulder, “You’ve been acting weird all summer, you know you can tell me anything right?”

Anything? How was she supposed to tell you that she’d been crushing on you the entire summer and it was so bad she felt like she was going to explode? How was she supposed to tell you that when you looked at her or touched or even fucking breathed next to her, her palms started sweating profusely and she got so red she had to blame it on the Jackson heat. Most of all how was she supposed to tell you that she wasn’t actually going back with you but was instead moving to Seattle because she couldn’t bear to see you with your boyfriend for another semester as she’s 100% sure her heart would stop pumping blood to the rest of her body and she’d die right at the campus entrance.

She couldn’t say any of that even though she desperately wanted to because she knows how you would react, you’d give her that pitying look you give to stray cats and little kids who’ve scrapped their knee because you don’t feel the same way and you’d say nothing would change but she knows the two of you would go from weekly sleepovers to passing glances and sparse texts.

So she did what she did best, deflected.

“It’s just that..I entered a raffle.” You nodded along, a little confused but still listening intently like she was telling you the meaning of life

“For a galaxy, but I only won a small group of stars..it was the constellation prize.” By the time she finished her sentence, you were rolling your eyes and using the hand that was previously on her shoulder to push her away.

You stood up with an annoyed huff, “Goodnight, Williams.”

She let out a laugh and hoped it didn’t sound as fake to you as it did to her. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid joke.”

“Whatever,” You sighed, stomping over the grass back to your house, “See if I ever ask if you’re okay again.” You were mad but she could see the small smirk and the amusement in your voice that you failed to hide.

“Aww,” She stood up, wiping the grass off her jeans, “Thanks for caring about me!”

Your back was turned to her as you made your way home and you flipped her off which earned you a genuine chuckle, God she was going to miss you.

That night, after she got home, Ellie finished packing up the last of her belongings as well as finally got around to writing her goodbye letter to you, she could’ve just texted you but a letter seemed more appropriate.

In the morning, she gave Joel one last hug before loading up her dusty red ford and starting the drive to her new life, a life without you.

If only she could’ve been there when you strolled up to her house, a little confused on where her car went but you knew she didn’t have plans so you knocked on the door. If only she could’ve been there when Joel opened the door and silently handed you that letter. If only she could’ve been there to see the way your hands shook and tears fell as you read the words over and over again in disbelief. Maybe then she would have realized the feelings you’ve been harboring for her were the same, maybe then you would have been hers.

Maybe, in another life.

— ★

[anemos-orca]

But a Furious Requiem of Stupidity

wanderer x irritated!fem.reader

cw: fluff, est. relationship, cussing, cynical themes, pessimism, comfort, not proof read, probaby more qnq

a/n: apologies for my lack of activity, ive had a bit of a writing slump lately :( im still here though, i promise qwq ah anyways, i apologize if this is not a good read

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Usually, Wanderer was home first. He would get there before you almost every day and (im)patiently wait for your arrival, only to put on a cold-front once you walked in. You knew him though, so you knew that it was nothing more than mere instinct- a special little trait that he was conditioned to own due to his less than savory backstory. You were like him in the fact that you couldnt care less about others and what they did, thought, or believed, whether it be about you or not. You were often compared to both him and Alhaitham, having overheard the, "Shes like... if Hat Guy and Alhaitham had a kid," countless times. Admittedly, you knew they werent wrong. Although you had met the Scribe but a few times, you knew how he was, so you knew that you were, in fact, just like him- if not "worse" than him.

Today was a different-feeling day. Wanderer came home just as he usually did, stepping inside and shaking off his flamboyant getup to swap it for a more "Im incredibly poor and could really use some new clothes" look. His ugly, overused hoodie was far too big- the once bright blue sleeves, now washed out and dull, hung below even his fingertips, the hood could cover his face and then some, and the front pocket- well, it was more of a pouch, but thats besides the point- was big enough to fit an entire meal for two inside (a theory the two of you tested, wanting to sneak your own food into the House of Daena instead of snacking on the pathetic, drywall-esque food bars they provided). His shorts were nothing special; though, neither of you knew where they came from. Yes, they were one of the, "are these black shorts yours? theyre not mine, so they must be- what do you mean theyre not yours?" pieces of clothing everyone seems to have.

Stepping into the kitchen, Wanderer was met with the pitiful sight of you sitting on the cold stone floor with your back pressed against the once nicely polished Adhigama wood cabinets. He narrowed his eyes at you, looking you up and down as though he believed you to be a fake. You werent one to miss work, no matter how much you hated it.

"I got fired," you groaned, not even so much as turning to look at him. Your tone was more deadbeat than usual.

"Im surprised you didnt get the pink slip earlier," he scoffed, sliding his back down the cabinet to sit beside you. You yanked on the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over your head to join him, earning an irritated growl from your boyfriend as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"Its a real shame, too," you sarcastically retorted, leaning your head on his shoulder, "i was hoping that one day, id wake up and head off to that wretched place, only to find that it had exploded overnight."

Wanderer couldnt help but snicker at your cynical wishes, "Is that what got you fired? Id fire you if i heard you say that."

"Shut the fuck up and let me finish talking," you said with a growl. Even though you couldnt see it, you could feel that stupid sly grin on his face and those disgustingly dreamy eyes rolling at your bitching. It was normal for you two to talk this way with one another- in fact, it was your way of bonding and the thing that brought you together in the first place.

"The Akadeymia is full of idiots. A graduate student asked me- genuinely asked me," you cleared your throat and began repeating the students words in a mocking tone, "wait, so do i use 'their' or 'there'?"

Wanderer hung on your every word, waiting for the inevitable explosion of, "How is he a graduate student?" and "What was he going to ask next? Which 'to' to use? Which 'your' to use?" with increasing intensity. However, it never came. Instead, you simply shrugged, sighing in relief.

"I ripped his paper to shreds and threw it into the air like confetti before walking out without saying another word."

"So, you quit?"

"No, i was fired."

"You said you walked out without ano-"

"I didnt say another word, but the student, his friends, and the professor had some words. A lot of words."

"Hmm. Im sure they did. People from the Akadeymia sure do have a lot of words."

"A lot of words they dont know how to use. Its hopeless, but its also not my problem anymore. Itll eventually devolve into a nothing more than a joke and a waste of time."

Wanderer was quiet for a moment, taking his next words into great consideration as to not say the wrong thing, "You know, im usually the pessimistic one, but youre being a real downer right now. Even I know that humanity isnt that stupid."

You let out a careless sigh in response.

"There will always be people you meet that are so unbelieveably stupid, they make you wonder how they got past the age of seven," he grumbled, seemingly annoyed at just the thought of them, "But theres also people like you, like us. Sure theyre few and far between, but theyll come to you. Theres no need to sift through the endless waves of brainless idiots. Anyone with even an ounce of self respect will stick out like a sore thumb."

You hummed in thought, seemingly not believing him.

"Dont hum at me. Think about it- its how you me, not to mention those blabbering fools you call friends. Alhaitham, Tighnari, Cyno, Kaveh- even though theyll never live up to the bar ive set, theyre still above the rest of the crowd."

You sneered up at him, teasingly smacking him on the back of his head, "You bonehead! If anything, youve lowered the bar!"

Wanderer glared down at you, shoving you away. However, due to being in the same hoodie, he was inadvertedly pulled with you as you flopped onto the floor. He managed to fall on top of you, smushing you down to the floor and effectively trapping you. With a devious grin, he moved his hands up to your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, "Tell me you love me and that im better than everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow at him, "I loathe you and go to sleep every night hoping youll dissolve."

Wanderer narrowed his eyes, his nose crinkling in irritation as he squeezed your cheeks together, "Say it."

"Or what?" You protested in a purposefully bratty tone.

"Or no kisses. No cuddles. No-"

"Alright, alright, damn! I love you and you are slightly above everyone else."

"Wrong. Say it the right way."

"Youre so irritating, just give me a kiss, blockhead!"

"Guess ill be sleeping elsewhere toni-"

"NO N-" you clear your throat, a bit embarrassed that you reacted so strongly, "N-no, i love you, i do, and you really are better than everyone else," you begrudgingly admitted, a slight blush creeping in on your cheeks.

Smirking with satisfaction, Wanderer released your face from his hands and leaned down to press a gentle, loving kiss on your lips, "Thats better. You know, youre awfully cute when you get all flustered and blushy like that."

"WANDERER!!"

He snickered, thuroughly enjoying how easy it was for him to get under your skin no matter how pissed off your expression was. Besides, it was hard to take you seriously when your cheeks were bright red.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

[sun-stricken]

Hello. I absolutely love your Fairy Tail head-canons, especially about demon slayer Gray. Feel free to take or leave these little ideas. Always love when you post <3

~

Imagine Team Natsu has to rent a vehicle or something and they require actual legal paperwork like a birth certificate and address or something like that (more than just “guild business! Gonna need this!”). Lucy doesn’t want to rent it because there is no way she’s going to be responsible for the inevitable damage. Erza, being the leader and a good friend volunteers. A few minutes later she comes back out, puzzled.

Erza: “why would they need a birth certificate? Shouldn’t me being present be proof enough of my existence?”

Gray starts snickering in the background. Natsu goes in next but comes out even earlier than Erza, cause at least Erza had a probably legal address at Fairy Hills, Natsu on the other hand lives in a house in the woods.

By the time Wendy goes in the receptionist is exasperated. “Yes I understand you are with Fairy Tail but that isn’t until page three of the paper work. None of you have made it past the first page.”

Gray finds this all very amusing.

Lucy: “Since you find it so amusing why don’t you go register, Gray!?”

Gray: mutters something

Natsu: “What do you mean you’re legally dead?!”

Cause you know, Ur just found a kid (the only survivor) and just decided to keep him. Oh, no official rescue crews didn’t show up until two days later? My kid now :)

The search and rescue teams never found any survivors in Gray’s old town so everyone was pronounced dead. The magic council or whoever is in charge of that stuff is also disorganized enough that no one realized that Gray Fullbuster is both a famous wizard and supposedly dead. So, just, Gray technically being considered legally dead the entire time he was at Fairy Tail.

~

Also, the slayers all going out on a job together(the dragon slayers had to drag Gray). The job turns out to be a trap (surprise!) and the floor just opens up revealing a giant vehicle.

Dark mage: “Ha-ha! I have bested the dragon slayer! The most powerful mages-“spots Gray just chilling, perfectly fine and not motion sick. “what are you doing?” Cause the guy was planning to capture dragon slayer, not whatever a demon slayer was (the dark mage didn’t even know demon slayers were a thing). Gray defeats the dark mage but holds it over Natsu’s head for a week.

After that anytime a large group of dragon slayers takes a job together they take Gray along for “extra security during transportation” or just extra security in general.

I also head-canon that each type of slayer magic has its own unique weakness. Dragon slayers get severely motion sick. God slayers are claustrophobic. Demon slayers cannot handle sweets. If Gray gets even a whiff of cake or any other dessert his gag reflex acts up and he gets really nauseous and other stuff like that. He of course hid it at first (he was afraid Erza would disown him) but eventually everyone learned about the weakness of demon slayers. Natsu teases him about it but never pushes it too far to the point of accidentally making Gray really sick.

Anyways, sorry for the long ask. Feel free to expand on anything. Always love some good slayer bonding head-canons and just Fairy Tail head-canons in general. <3

This was so much fun to make tbh so domt apologize, i love long asks <3 and thank for for what you said ant my posts! theyre fun to make so im glad ppl enjoy them

Oh, you have no idea how often ive though about Gray being legally dead, my personal favorite scenario is him trying to fix it and prove himself alive but cant

“How the fuck would i know my social security number??? i was eight years old! i had no reason to know!!!”

There was no dna or finger-print records of him or his family so he couldn’t prove it that way either. Apparently, declaring someone born or dead is easier than someone ‘resurrected’. To the law Gray of Isvan is dead and although Gray of Fiore bares similarities, they are two different people.

But ALSO to the law Gray of Fiore doesnt exist bc he has no birth certificate. And while hes adamant, he has no real proof beyond his word he is Gray Fullbuster of Isvan.

So basically, According to the law, Both Gray Fullbuster of Isvan and Fiore are dead and never existed, respectively.

tbh this sounds like an identity crisis waiting to happen, but what else is new with him

Erza probably tried to fix it after she was told bc she legally didnt exist for a minute either (never was filed as a real person, she was able to file for a late birth certificate on account that she wasnt claiming to be a ‘separate’ person and also Makarov did it for her) (dont ask why he didnt for Gray, i like plot holes). But quickly realized their situations were very different, him waiting over a decade to check in as a survivor with the proper authorities definitely weakened his case considering he was running around free before he decided he needed a birth certificate.

But hey, as long as he doesn’t need to rent something, or get a license or id, or work somewhere beyond Fairy Tail, or get married, or, god forbid, die again, he should be fine!

i wonder if he would be considered a ‘john doe’ if he actually died again since they have ‘no’ birth records

This also makes games like ‘two truths and a lie’ amazing

“alright so, im legally dead, i legally dont exist, and ive never physically died before” “Gray what the hell do you mean” “Guess the right one and ill tell you” “WHAT THE HELL DOES THIS MEAN THOUGH??”

i love everything to do with the ‘dragon slayers + gray’ dynamic

‘Extra security’ just turns into Gray babysitting a bunch of rambunctious dragons for hours. seriously, get this guy a reward for how he hasnt killed or maimed any of them yet.

Imagine them trying to convince Gray to walk to their destination instead of taking the train

“Its not that far!!” “its fucking 5 hours by train, How long do you think itll take to walk? Why would even you pick this job if you knew how long the ride would be??” … “nobody looked..” “are you actually serious.” … “oh my fucking god”

and thats the story of how one Demon slayer ended up having to babysit 4 very pitiful looking Fairy Tail Dragon slayers on a train. Dude had to drag them off it once it stopped too.

His side career of ‘Dragon Slayer Babysitter’ only gets harder when they realize holy shit! cold compresses can help nausea! and what do they have? a walking cold compress.

Taking a train trip with them just means second hand nausea AND embarrassment, and absolutely no personal space. A dream come true.

At least he gets to hold it over their heads

Tbh i like the irony of Dragon Slayers being motion sick because, yk, dragons can fly, so my hc for side effects for God Slayers and Demon Slayers were along the same lines

God Slayers being wide open space or flying since Gods are like the epitome of freedom? all knowing and have complete reign over everything, But claustrophobia works so much better for that same reason. It would cause extreme panic and rash decisions

And Demon Slayers was the dark because demons are supposed to be these evil creatures who thrive in the dark n stuff? basically it would send a Demon Slayer into a paranoid spiral.

But sweets being a weakness instead is such a silly thing that im gonna take it and run

Gray never cared for sweets in the first place, gave him a stomachache, but now he has to walk away from Erza mid conversation if she decides to indulge, which is almost everyday. She was absolutely heartbroken and devastated when the weakness was revealed, it was such a dramatic reaction one wouod think she was the one with the new weakness

When Gray pokes fun at Natsus motion sickness he’ll go on about how Gray is gonna have the lamest parties since he cant handle even the smell of sweets, especially cake.

A terrible realization for everyone involved with him, on par with when Gray realized he wouldnt be able to have ice cream comfortably again, thats like a staple for ice mages

heart wrenching, truly

[youling-the-ghost]

sfth incorrect quotes pt.10 because school's kicking my ass and I need my daily dose of brainrot to survive

AJ: Go fuck yourself. Sam, smugly: Sure, but only if you watch Tom: It doesn’t have a bone. Sam: Then why is it called a boner? Luke: Look, do I consider myself attractive? Yes. But would I have sex with my clone? Also yes.

AJ: Is the plural of milf/dilf milfs/dilfs or milves/dilves? Sam: Milfs. Tom: Milf/dilf is an acronym, you can't change the spelling to milves/dilves. AJ: Wait, they're acronyms? What do they stand for??? Luke: Mom in late forties, dad in late fourties. Luke: I learned that from the movie called M.I.L.F that I saw the trailer of in theaters probably 5 to 7 years ago. Tom: Mom/dad I'd Love to Fuck. AJ: WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK— AJ: I NEVER REALIZED IT WAS ACTUALLY HORNY! Luke: Oh, is it not mom in late fouries? Sam: What? No! It isn't! Luke: THE MOVIE TRAILER LIED TO ME! Tom: Luke... Luke: THIS IS WHY I DIDN'T THINK CALLING PEOPLE MILFS WAS ALL THAT BAD BECAUSE IT STOOD FOR SOMETHING HARMLESS IT JUST HAD A SLIGHTLY SEXUAL CONNOTATION! Tom: I am entirely unsurprised that this is coming from you. Luke: AJ, DOES IT MAKE SENSE WHY I CALLED THE DIARY OF A WIMPY KID MOM A MILF NOW BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS LITERALLY JUST A DESCRIPTOR WITH FUNNY CONNOTATION! AJ: The word milf has been ruined for me. Sam: THAT'S ITS DEFINITION, IT CAN'T BE RUINED THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS! Tom: Y'all are dumbasses. Tom: I am the left brain, I am the left brain. "I work really hard until my inevitable death" brain. You've got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might. AJ: I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSY- Sam: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming? Tom: Can everyone in this godforsaken group please learn the skill called "Think Before You Speak"? Luke: Ya know...it might be. Sam: How do you tell someone that you wanna have sex with them in a polite way? Tom: Excuse me Mx. Would you give me the honours of indulging in sexual activities with you? Luke: What the fuck is wrong with you two? at the supermarket Sam: All right, the last item on the list is "virgin oil." Sam: Sam: Wow. Imagine being an item and still being called a virgin. Tom: Capitalisation is the difference between "I had to help my uncle Jack off a horse.." and "I had to help my uncle jack off a horse.." (It was then that Junyu realised...he accidentally turned on NSFW only and that's why the quotes have been so horny.) Sam: Hey! Wanna hear a joke? Tom: Sure. Sam: Your life! Tom: Actually, my life isn’t a joke, jokes have meaning. Sam: Tom, no. AJ: Can you recommend a book that'll make me cry? Tom: General Mathematics 8th Grade Edition. (in reference to that one guessing game where AJ forgot how math worked) Luke: It's locked. You got a lock pick? Tom: Yeah- Sam: *kicks down the door* Luke: They can't make me admit France exists, right? Legally, that's not allowed. Luke: Sure, if France was REAL I'd say I liked it. Luke: But who's to say. AJ: I think France isn't real. Tom: AJ, you used to live in France. AJ: And??? AJ: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Sam: But did I make you cry? AJ: *cries on the spot* Sam: ...Shit. AJ: Why's it called an oven when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food? Tom: ...What??? AJ: What’s your biggest fear? Luke: I am incredibly arachnophobic. AJ, under his breath: You don’t want spiders to get married? Tom: Luke, I think we have a problem. Luke: What, the fire? Tom: No, the- wait, what fire? Luke: Oh forget about it, this sounds more interesting. Sam: Hey Luke, can you give me the opposite of these words? Sam: Always, Coming, From, Take, Me, Down. Luke: Never, Going, To, Give, You- Luke: The fucking satisfaction. Luke: Inside you, there are two kidneys. Luke: I’m gonna steal them. Tom: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in. Tom: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall. Tom: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.