#blackout burden

[flicker-bot]

 @faultfindingfirebot​ asked: [  pull  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  closer  to  them 

Flicker was just using the elevator, thinking about leaving for a short walk before it would be his recharge time, when all lights in the firehouse went out and the lift came to a halt. The young mech startled.

The lift had reached the ground floor, but it had stopped a moment too early and when Flicker rushed forward, his ped caught on the gap. He stumbled with a sharp yelp, but just then he felt someone grab his arm before he’d hit the floor. When he was pulled closer, he recognized the figure in the dark.

“Uncle Wave!” Flicker gasped and turned his headlight on. “What happened? W-why did the power turn off?”

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Thirteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Angst, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Emotional Manipulation, Begging, ThighRiding, Masturbation.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The moment you stepped into Mattheo's private dorm, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions churned within you. The room, drenched in shadows and dimly lit by a few strategically placed candles, seemed to echo his enigmatic personality. Deep emerald and silver tapestries adorned the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood, mingled with the faint aroma of whiskey, creating a heady atmosphere that hung like a thick fog.

Your anger simmered just below the surface as you practically shoved Mattheo off you, his arrogant figure slumping onto the edge of the opulent bed, running a battered hand through his messy hair as he stared at you. The room's opulence felt suffocating, practically a mirrored image of the turmoil roaring within you. Your eyes roamed the space, catching glimpses of Mattheo's life--scattered parchment filled with scribbled notes, half-empty potion vials, and a tangle of dark robes strewn carelessly on a chair.

You couldn't ignore the mounting frustration, the way his careless demeanor clashed with the chaos he had unleashed in your life.

"This," you seethed, running your hands through your hair as you fought to keep your voice steady, "this has to stop, all of this."

Mattheo met your gaze, his expression unreadable. The room seemed to shrink around you, suffocating you between its walls. Your anger crackled like electricity in the charged air, the weight of the night's events pressing on your chest like a crushing burden. You knew you should leave, escape the suffocating atmosphere of his room, but an inexplicable force held you in place, rooted to the spot. The battle within you raged on, torn between the allure of his dangerous world and the need to protect your own sanity.

"Here we go again," Mattheo mumbled, his voice carrying a tinge of exhaustion, collapsing back on his green duvet. "Give it to me, Raven. Get it all out."

"Can you please not be insufferable for five fucking minutes?" Your words sliced through the charged air, your frustration escalating with his casual dismissal of your anger. "Do you even understand what just happened? Your already suspicious brother just found me walking you back to your dorm on a Saturday fucking night while you pretended to be blackout..."

You took a determined step forward, your anger palpable, radiating off you like heat waves. "Oh, but wait, you wouldn't know that he was suspicious, because when I tried to tell you about it, you basically told me to shut the fuck up, among other things..." you let your words hang, heavy and loaded, hoping they would pierce through his indifference. "Your ignorance is going to ruin my life, Mattheo. I don't think you realize it...or maybe you do, and you just don't care."

"My brother doesn't know fuck all." Mattheo grumbled, his frustration evident as he brought both palms to his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. "And even if he did, what's he going to do? He has no proof."

You rolled your eyes, exasperation boiling within you. "He could still kick me out of the guild...could tarnish my reputation with Dumbledore...the possibilities are fucking endless, Mattheo. Didn't you see the way he was looking at me? Did you not hear what he said?"

"Yeah, I saw the way he was looking at you alright," he said, irritation lacing his words. "Fucking pri-"

"Enough, Mattheo," you spat, your voice cutting through the air as you stepped closer to him. "Stop acting like you own me, like I'm yours to protect, control, or possess. It's time to face the facts. This is becoming too much. We've both admitted that we can't stop thinking about each other...how can we continue this after that?"

"Same way we always have, Raven," Mattheo said, sitting up to meet your eyes, leaning back on his palms. "We have this conversation every week. One of us says we can't do this anymore, but then the cycle continues...you know you can't resist this..."

"Gods, Mattheo...even on my tiptoes I wouldn't be able to reach your fucking ego." You hissed, stepping closer again, your skin pricking with frustration. "And I love how you say that like I've ever had a choice...like you haven't already embedded yourself in my fucking soul..."

Mattheo's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent, his eyes searching yours for answers. The air between you crackled with tension, heavy with unspoken emotions. His usual confidence wavered, and for the first time, he seemed at a loss for words.

"I was fine with this until you took it too far, until you started making things complicated...the Tom thing has me sick..." you continued, your voice softening despite the anger that still lingered within you. "We're trapped in this vicious circle, Mattheo. Every time I try to pull away, you pull me back in, or vice versa...we're both tangled in this mess we've created, and I don't know how to break free..."

His expression remained unreadable, a mixture of frustration and helplessness flickering in his eyes. It was as if the reality of your words had finally caught up with him, forcing him to confront the depth of your entanglement. A heavy silence settled between you, Mattheo's gaze locked onto yours, his facade of indifference crumbling in the face of your honesty. He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly, but no words escaped his lips.

"Why?" you whispered, the weight of your words hanging in the tense space between you, crackling with unspoken emotion. You took a single step closer, your eyes searching his for a glimmer of understanding. "Why can't you admit that this needs to stop? That this can't continue?"

Mattheo blinked, his gaze flickering over your face, his lips parted, and his voice, tinged with uncertainty, left his throat in a hoarse whisper. "I...I don't know."

"You don't know?" you hissed, frustration bubbling within you. "You're willing to ruin my fucking life over an I don't know? Do you seriously hate me that much?"

As though a switch had been flipped, Mattheo stood, closing the distance between your bodies in a movement so forceful that you stumbled backward. His large palm found your arm, steadying you in place in front of him. His eyes, darker than the midnight sky, bored into you, filled with emotions you couldn't decipher.

"I don't hate you, Raven," he said, his voice firm, the intensity of his gaze paralyzing you.

Your heart stalled, your body near collapsing under the weight of his words. "You don't--"

"I never hated you," he repeated, his tone harsher this time, his grip on your arm tightening. "I couldn't fucking hate you even if I tried, and believe me, I have tried."

You were left speechless, entirely at a loss for words. The revelation shook you to your core. "You...but..."

"You make me fucking crazy, you make me feel like I'm always on the verge of losing control...and I don't lose control, Raven...not like this..." he growled, his voice a low, husky timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

Anger radiated off him, tangible and wild, as if it could set the room ablaze, surrounding your body with ease.

"You're a fucking mystery...everyone sees you as the school's brilliant little good girl, buried in books and academics...but underneath all that, you're so much more..." his free hand found your other arm, pulling you closer. "You're everything...you're honest, remarkably witty, and fuck, you have the sharpest snark that could keep any bloody asshat on their fucking toes..."

The intensity of his gaze softened for a fleeting moment, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath the rage.

"You said I don't know half of the woman you are, but I do...I know all too fucking well, and part of me wished I didn't..." his voice was almost a whisper now, your heart hammering against your sternum like a frantic caged bird. "And that's only because you make it impossible to hate you."

"You're drunk..." your breath hitched, caught in the raw honesty of his words. The air seemed charged with tension, heavy with unspoken desires and regrets. "You don't mean any of this..."

Mattheo's jaw clenched, the tension in the room escalating with each passing moment. His grip on you tightened, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, his internal turmoil mirrored in his intense gaze. It felt like his words were crashing against the walls of your mind, struggling to find a place to settle, leaving you in a state of emotional disarray. He averted his eyes, as if seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment, his silence speaking volumes, his thoughts a storm brewing behind his gaze.

"Raven...I..." his voice escaped him like a fragile whisper, hanging in the charged air between you. "I don't hate you...I hate Berkshire for fucking touching you...I hate my brother for trying to fucking get with you...I even hate Zabini because I overheard him telling Malfoy that he'd have your virginity in a fucking day if he tried..."

His words hung heavy in the room, a raw confession that left you speechless. Mattheo's eyes, usually steely and confident, now held a vulnerability you had never seen before. The truth of his emotions enveloped the space between you, suffocating yet strangely liberating. You found your voice, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

"I don't want you to hate anyone...you shouldn't hate anyone over a girl you can never fucking be with..." you said, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation, the reality of your situation hanging heavy in the air. "Don't you see the problems here..."

Mattheo's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes clouded with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. Slowly, he released his grip on you, his fingers trailing away reluctantly as he retreated towards the worn-out couch in the corner. With a flick of his wand, he cast a spell that enveloped the room, muffling any sound and concealing the scent of the illicit substances he was about to indulge in.

Sinking into the couch, he seemed to meld into the shadows, the dim light casting eerie shadows across his face. His hands moved with practiced ease, rolling a blunt with expert precision. The room filled with the acrid aroma of marijuana as he took a long, deliberate drag, the smoke swirling around him like a protective veil, momentarily shrouding his vulnerability.

"You're right," he said, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around him like a shield. "I see the problems, Raven. I see them crystal fucking clear."

Your heart pounded forcefully, its rhythm echoing the turmoil within you. Mattheo's ease with the weed fascinated and disturbed you simultaneously. He inhaled the smoke effortlessly, hardly flinching at its burn, filling the room with a scent that made your head spin and your body loosen, momentarily dulling the ache that was roaring through your limbs. Your throat felt drier than cotton, aching with the need for moisture, as you released a long, shuddering sigh. You blinked, unable to tear your eyes away from him, taking a hesitant step closer.

"Why do you do that?" Your voice was a fragile whisper, laden with genuine curiosity. "Drink, smoke...it's like you're never sober."

Mattheo's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, a guard descending over his features as he took another drag from the blunt. The smoke swirled around him like a protective shield, veiling his true sentiments.

"It's numbing, Raven," he said, his voice a low rasp, smoke curling around his words as he spoke. "Quiets the chaos for a little while." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, a raw honesty flickering in their depths. "And it’s just a temporary fix...then I'm back to reality, back to wanting things I can't have."

Your pulse quickened; Gods, he was scarily vulnerable tonight. You'd never seen this side of him, and it left you utterly bewildered. Every word he uttered tugged at the strings of your empathy, threatening to unravel your carefully crafted resolve. You knew you had to put an end to this, had to sever the ties that bound you, but his vulnerability was like a persuasive melody, tempting you to stay, to comfort him, to succumb once more to the magnetic pull of his pretty words.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you huffed, forcing a small, half smile. "Those pesky demons, huh..."

Mattheo's laughter rippled through the room, punctuated by the tendrils of smoke that swirled around him like spectral dancers.

"Yeah," he said, the bitterness in his voice cutting through the air, his tone dropping to a near-missable whisper. "Who would have known that the worst one would be disguised as a fuckin' sweet little angel..."

For the hundredth time in twenty minutes, you felt like your lungs had seized function, the air in the room growing heavy. The smoke from the blunt hung in the air, a haze of confusion and desire, intertwining with your senses. Your fingers trembled, desperate for the feeling of being buried inside his hair, craving the intimacy that only Mattheo could provide.

Unable to find the right words, you let your feet carry you closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. His eyes met yours, the intensity in the room building with each step, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air like a storm on the horizon. As you stopped roughly an arms length away from where he was seated, the room seemed to pulse with raw, unspoken desire, the tension between you reaching a breaking point, yet neither of you dared to move further. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in a suspended moment, where everything seemed possible and yet infinitely complicated.

"Come here, Raven..." he murmured, putting the blunt out on the tray next to the couch. "Please."

The moment he'd uttered that word, the moment it had left his lips, your defiance crumbled, leaving your sanity in tatters. With timid steps, you approached him, and he drew you onto his lap. Your thighs straddled him, his battered hands finding firm a hold on your hips, the grip so tight it felt like it could crush bones. The intensity of his touch ignited flames on your flesh, just like it has done endless times before.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, your surroundings fading into insignificance. His touch became a lifeline, grounding you in the tumultuous sea of emotions. His lips barely moved as he uttered the words, each syllable laced with a heaviness that echoed the weight of your shared desires.

"One more night," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against the charged air. "Then that's it."

A reluctant agreement hung on your lips, the weight of reality pressing down on your shoulders like an unbearable burden. The ache of impending separation settled in your chest, and yet, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull that kept drawing you back into his arms, no matter the cost.

"One more night," you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if acknowledging the fleeting nature of your shared moments would make them more tangible, more real. "Then we're done."

A soft hand glided along your side, its roughened patches snagging slightly on the fibers of your cardigan. He traced the contours with a careful touch, his gaze drifting down to your chest, tracing the hidden curves beneath your attire. With a subtle pull at the hem, he met your eyes once more.

"Take this off..." he whispered, the desperation clear in his tone. "Take it all off."

Not needing a second prompt, your trembling fingers delicately worked on the buttons, skillfully releasing each one, your eyes never wavering from his intense gaze. His hands, possessing a gentle yet electrifying touch, traced a sensuous journey up your thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Every movement felt like a carefully orchestrated dance, a silent agreement between you two.

The sweater cascaded to the floor, a soft thud underscoring the charged atmosphere, before your hands moved to your blouse, the air thick with anticipation and desire. As soon as it was undone, Mattheo helped you shimmy it off and tossed it onto the growing pile on the floor. You shivered at the sudden cold air on your bare chest but the warmth from his body quickly enveloped you, heart stalling as he leaned into you, reaching behind your back to expertly undo your bra. After a moment, it too fell to the ground.

"Fuck..." he purred, darkened obsidian eyes fixed on your chest. "Look at you..."

His hand moved to your neck, his thumb tracing a path down your collarbone, before sliding over to one of your breasts. As he twisted and pinched your nipple, your head fell back with a moan, your body arching towards him, evoking a deep growl from his chest. Your hands moved to the hem of your skirt, ready to peel it off your body when he halted you, pulling your hands up to rest on his shoulders.

"That can stay on..." he murmured, voice hoarse with desire. "My sexy girl in her short little uniform skirt."

He leaned in to capture one of your breasts in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin and sending shivers of pleasure through your body. You moaned, sinking deeper into his lap as pleasure overtook you, shuddering as you felt the outline of his erection pressing against your needy centre.

"Take off your panties," he commanded gruffly, his hand moving to slip his fingers beneath the waistband of your skirt. "I want to feel you..."

You eagerly complied, shimmying out of your panties and tossing them aside. A moment of hesitation washed over you, a wave of shyness and vulnerability making you feel exposed. Your gaze faltered, tracing a path from his lips to his chest, a nervous lump forming in your throat. Despite the anxiety, your fingers found their resolve and moved to the buttons on his shirt, meeting his eyes once more as you began to slowly undo them.

"I want to feel you, too, Matty..." you murmured, your voice horse as he met your eyes. "Please..."

Without wasting a second more of time, Mattheo manoeuvred himself out of his shirt, tossing it to the pile on the floor before leaning back, allowing your eyes to roam his now bare chest. Your lungs stalled, your cunt clenching with need as your gaze trailed from his thick shoulders, adorned with a tapestry of scars, cuts, and bruises--down to his defined, sculpted abs.

Each mark seemed to carry a weighty narrative, a testament to his resilience and strength. Your eyes traced the lines and contours, your thoughts weaving a web of admiration and empathy. Mattheo's abs were sculpted with precision, each muscle defined and rippling beneath his skin. They formed a chiseled landscape, emphasizing his strength and dedication to physical fitness. The play of light and shadows in the room accentuated the contours, creating a captivating pattern that drew the eye. His abdomen, toned and firm, brought an unspeakable heat between your thighs.

Mattheo's gaze raked over your naked body, lips parted in exasperation, releasing a long breath before he shifted closer only a little bit, his eyes focused on your hips.

"Do you ever touch yourself?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper, slipping his hand toward your heat.

Your lungs stalled, taken aback by the question, but when his eyes met yours, you nodded, feeling a flush of embarrassment spread over your face.

"And do you think of me when you do it?" he continued, his thumb circling your clit and sending jolts of pleasure through you.

"Yes," you gasped, your hips moving involuntarily against his hand. "I do..."

Mattheo's eyes were intense, locked onto yours as he stimulated your body, jaw tensing as you ground against his crotch, fingers digging into the flesh on his shoulders as though it could anchor you to reality.

"Yeah?" He leaned in further, nibbling on your earlobe, slowing his pace on your clit, leaving you squirming against him. "You think of my hands? Touching you like this?..."

Your breath caught in your throat at his bold question, but there was no denying the raw desire coursing through your veins. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, Mattheo..." you gasped as he sunk his teeth into your earlobe now, groaning as your fingers dug into his skin. "Your hands...your mouth...all of it..."

A wicked grin curved on his lips as he leaned back, his eyes locked with yours. "Show me," he murmured. "I want you to touch yourself for me...show me what you like...show me the effect I fucking have on you..."

Without giving you a chance to respond, Mattheo's strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer before he shifted you over so that you were straddling only one of his thick thighs, covered still by the fabric of his black trousers. You gasped as a jolt of arousal shot through you, and he leaned in close, hands finding purchase on your hips.

"Ride my thigh," he said roughly, his eyes dark with desire. "Show me how you'll take care of yourself since I won't be able to anymore..."

Your heart slammed your sternum, an unadulterated lust scorching your skin melding with an inexplicable hurt in your chest. Masking your pain, you pulled bottom lip between your teeth, slowly beginning to roll your hips against his thigh, gasping as you felt his muscles flex beneath you.

"Yeah, just like that, Raven..." Mattheo growled, aiding your hips in moving, gripping them tightly with his strong hands and pressing you down firmly against him. "Fuck, you're so wet...that's all for me, isn't it?"

He watched you intently, his gaze focused on every move you made, and as you rubbed yourself against his leg, his eyes turning darker with desire.

"Yes, Matty..." you moaned, breath torn with overwhelming pleasure. "All-fuck-all for you..."

His abs flexed as you moved against him, rippling beneath his skin with each thrust. You could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the scent of his musk, making you wild with need for him. Your fingers moved to your clit, rubbing fast circles around it as you felt the pleasure rolling through you. You whimpered softly, the heat building into a slow burn as the sensations grew more intense. You spread your legs wider, pressing down on Mattheo's thigh with increasing pressure as you moved faster.

Mattheo watched in rapt attention, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they played with your clit. His own body was tense with desire, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, singlehandedly spurring you on.As you continued to grind against his thigh, you could feel the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo. Every movement, every touch of your fingers, every flex of Mattheo's muscles was driving you toward the edge of ecstasy.

"Fucking hell, Raven..." he groaned through barred teeth. His gaze was fixed on you, intense and hungry, like a predator stalking its prey. "You're making me so fucking hard..."

His body was a wonderland beneath you: hard and smooth, with rippling abs and strong thighs that tensed and relaxed as you worked yourself against him.

"Shit..." you mewled, spurred on by his words, his eyes, his hands, everything about him. "You wish I was doing this on your cock, don't you, Matty..."

The sensations were overwhelming: the friction of your slickness against his leg, the feel of his hands on your hips, the sound of your breathing growing ragged and uneven as you drew closer to orgasm. You pressed down harder, panting with need as you felt the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Mattheo's eyes never left you, drinking in every detail of your movements, savouring the sight of your flushed skin, your lips parted in ecstasy, and the way your body quivered with desire.

"Fuck, yes, baby..." his pupils dilated with a mix of satisfaction and hunger, feeding off your pleasure as though it were his own. "I would fuck you so fucking good...I'd make you cum on my cock so many times you'd lose count..."

"Oh...shit..." His abs flexed noticeably with each grind of your hips, the defined muscles contorting beneath his smooth, pale skin. You could feel the power and strength beneath your fingertips as you reached out to touch his sculpted abdomen, tracing the lines and feeling the firmness beneath your touch. "I wish you fucking would..."

The sensation of your fingers sliding against your clit sent electric sparks of pleasure coursing through your entire body. The strokes became faster, more urgent, driving you closer to the edge. Every nerve ending was alight with desire, amplifying every sensation, every breathless moan that escaped your lips.

"Don't fucking say that right now, Raven..." his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you against him with even more force. "I'm barely fucking holding on...one more word like that and I'd flip you over so fucking fast..."

Your eyes rolled, your lungs sputtering, his words filling your veins with magma. "Fuck, Mattheo..."

As he watched you, he began to grind his own groin against your thigh, adding to the sensations that were already pushing you toward orgasm.

"God you're so fucking hot," he murmured, his voice low and breathless. "I'll be thinking about this every time I jerk off...fuck, you're just the dirtiest little thing Raven..."

You could feel the muscles beneath your skin tensing, ready to explode with pleasure. Every touch from Mattheo was like fire on your skin, every sound he made was like fuel to your already raging inferno. You could hear his breath quickening as well, matching the rapid pace of your own.

His grip on your hips tightened, his voice tight as he fought through a groan. "You're close aren't you, princess?"

"Yes," you moaned, head falling back, fingers increasing their pace on your clit. "I'm so close, Matty..."

"Fuck," his breathing was ragged as he ground his groin against your thigh. "Beg for me, bitch...beg to cum all over my thigh like the good little slut I know are."

The words sent a thrill through your body, stoking the fire that was already burning within you. You met his gaze with wide, pleading eyes, your orgasm on the very edge of rattling through you.

"Please, Matty..." you whispered, the desperation clear in your tone. "Please let me cum...please let me cum for you..."

"Mm." Mattheo's fingers dug into your skin as he ground his groin against your thigh, his movements growing more urgent as he sensed your climax building. "That's it, let go for me baby..."

Your whole body tensed as you felt your orgasm approaching, like a wave rising inside you. Mattheo's leg was slick with your arousal, and the thought of covering him completely sent you over the edge. You cried out, your voice raw with pleasure, as the first tidal wave of your orgasm hit you like a fucking train. Your whole body shook as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your hips bucking against Mattheo's leg. He held you close the entire time, his hands gripping you tightly as you convulsed in ecstasy.

Your breath came in short pants as you slowly came back to yourself, your head resting against his chest. Mattheo let you catch your breath for a few moments, his own breathing still ragged as he held you close. Finally, he leaned back to look into your eyes, his hand cupping your cheek.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, admiration clear in his voice. "Absolutely fucking filthy...but beautiful...so beautiful..."

Your heart swelled with affection for him, and you leaned in to kiss him without even really thinking twice about it, his lips were hot and insistent against yours, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated dance. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and dip with hungry fingers. You could feel the fire starting to build within you again, the memory of his touch sending shivers down your spine, his insistent erection pressing against your thigh, your fingers crawling down his chest before softly grazing over it.

"Let me take care of you now," you whispered, your words a gentle caress against his lips, acutely aware of the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. "Last chance, Matty..."

"No." His response was unwavering, his grip firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, repositioning both of you so you lay lengthwise on the couch. His body enveloped yours, offering a comforting embrace, while his fingers traced a soothing path, brushing your hair away from your face. "You've done more than enough for me."

Your mind reeled with disbelief, completely taken aback by the intimacy of the moment. Your body tensed involuntarily as you found yourself pressed against the warmth of his chest, small beads of sweat glistening off his skin. Inhaling sharply, you caught a scent that mingled with his natural aroma, a hint of weed still lingering in the air. As you exhaled, a sense of surrender washed over you, your eyelids growing heavy with drowsiness as you eventually drifted off without even realizing it.

—————-

Here’s chapter fourteen->

[lizzy06]

Jujutsu Kaisen Fanfic Recs!!(AO3)Pt.1

Main Masterlist

[For part 2 -> Pt.2]

The Blind Date Show by NatoriousJANExo (Humour, Blind dates) Each chapter has a different blind date which they shoot in a studio.{ALL CAN BE READ STANDALONE}

No Pairing(The fic that nourishes/ destroys your soul)

The Burden Of Grief by Redwarrior2003 (oneshot, angst, family feels) Kong shiu gives megumi a clarity to his past.. [COMPLETED] Animals of regret by tteokcrossing (oneshot, toji tries to be a good parent) Toji lives. Neither teaching nor parenting are his strong suits, but he ends up stuck with both. [COMPLETED] Piano Joint by KatInnRotato (oneshot, Domestic fluff, humour) When Toji told Gojo his last wish instead of killing him, Gojo asked him to 'take responsibility' ...so now Toji's domestic life began. [COMPLETED] Father of Mine by oceansgrey (fluff, humour, toji tries to be a good parent)- Toji upon being left by his now ex-wife is stuck taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki and he also ends up getting the job of combat specialist at jujutsu tech [ONGOING] Blackout by Xhoi (Mystery, Toji as shikigami)- In an attempt to improve himself after his fight with sukuna, megumi summons a shikigami he has never seen before. It doesn't listen to him and acts on his own. Also he doesn't why his teacher is so scared and alert. [ONGOING] End of Beginning by may_aar (No curse au, Uncle sukuna, hurt/comfort)After the sudden passing of his brother and his wife whom sukuna hasn't met in 13 yrs, he has to take guardianship of his nephew.{This is so good!!} [ONGOING] Out of the Night That Covers Me by rainyconcrete (Angst, Hurt/comfort) An ancient necromancer resurrects Toji and Megumi is to acknowledge the loss of family along the way. [ONGOING] Terminal by jules(talefeathers) (oneshot, Angst, Hurt/comfort, death) Megumi Reunites with his family in after life. [COMPLETED] Yuji's adventure with his big brother Sukuna by semisEmi - sukuna did not know he has a brother until he turned 26... with the help of his friends he traverse through his new life.[ONGOING] In Another Life by Yunaminayuna (collection of oneshots, fluff and humour) collection of Fushiguro family drabbles and short fics [COMPLETED] Three times Toji apologizes to his Son by calmthyself (Domestic fluff, Hurt/comfort)And the one time Megumi apologizes to his dad.[ONGOING] The Problem with Ms.Itadori by PsychaoticButterscotch (Alternate au, toji trying to be a good parent, fushi mama lives) Yuuji's mother , she's weird - But Megumi doesn't say anything about it, Mama always said to not say anything at all if it's something not nice. [ONGOING]

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader

Flowers for u- 1.Dandelion 2.Sunflowers by yuukiqwq(temporary unrequited love, love confession) 1.Dandelion- His heart beats only for you while yours beats for someone else, so he made a wish on a dandelion, hoping it would come true. 2.Sunflower- He only has eyes for you so why won't you look his way [COMPLETED] Not Many women by Lemon_Pepper_Fox (modern au, smut) you have a crush on yuji but you really like his brother sukuna. [COMPLETED] Blooming Cactus by poeeee(fluff, humour, idiots in love) Transferring schools in the middle of the year is never easy and then you are stuck with an uncooperative partner for history project. [ONGOING] Yuji's Caretaker | Sukuna by Sukunasuka (slowburn, family fluff) You are a new kindergarten teacher who loves your job. One of your new students, yuji, gets in trouble frequently forcing you to call in his caretaker quite often who also happens to be your neighbor. [ONGOING] With you, I Hurt. With you, I Love by VinVictory (High shool au, fluff) You are busy taking care of an injured Yuji as his caretaker and his older brother is busy falling in love with you. [ONGOING] Intrusive Thoughts | Sukuna/Reader by Visaliar (High school au , stalking, psychology) After becoming a forfeit to someone's bet, y/n is left heart broken. To add to her troubles, she has a mysterious stalker who daily send pictures he takes of her secretly. [ONGOING]

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Fair game by yemyem (Angst, Friends with benefits, Jealousy, Fake dating) Gojo is kind of your boyfriend but he fucks other girls too as he doesn't want anything serious so geto offers to help u out...that's fine..right? [ONGOING] Hello Again by MixyX21 () You are the new staff at jujutsu tech and one of your coworkers is Gojo Satoru, you ex fiancé who left you on your wedding day 10 years ago. [COMPLETED]

Gojo Satoru x Leiri Shoko

let us stand a chance by keouil (oneshot, fluff) gojo and shoko are invited to megumi's pta meeting.[COMPLETED] Close isn't enough by randsomprose (oneshot, getting together, making out) shoko confronts satoru about his stupid 'nobody will ever need to be alone again' comment before the fight with sukuna. [COMPLETED] To Say the Least This Is ... by starrybride (oneshot, slice of life, fluff) Shoko comes home a little too late for Satoru's liking. [COMPLETED] It’s past 3AM (I see you again) by moonlightsonata(mintedcaffeine) (oneshot, angst, hurt comfort) Both shoko and satoru can't sleep so they spend the night together. [COMPLETED] Sunny with a chance(with Gojo) by tiressian(fluff and humour, tooth rooting) Satoru comes back again.[COMPLETED] six step backwards by dickwackerlao (Time travel fix-it, sugushoko and satosugu on side, angst, fluff and humour) Shoko goes back in time and makes things different. [COMPLETED] Tale as old as time by starrybride(old japan, werewolf shoko) Japan is ruled over by three clans, descended from the gods, populated by humans and supernatural creatures. When one of those ruling clans kills Shoko's childhood friend, she heads to Kyoto to seek vengeance on the clan that killed him. Along the way she receives help in her quest from an unlikely source. [ONGOING] The Infinity Between Us by OddLittleSpider(Slice of life, Friends to lovers, slowburn) Gojo asks shoko to marry him, what exactly are his intentions? [ONGOING] Companion Proposal by jokerxpanther (Friend to lovers, slowburn, Domestic Fluff) Gojo asks shoko to marry him. [ONGOING] My Best Friend? by Kate_Loves_S4toshoko (friend to lovers, gojo is an idiot) [ONGOING] i hold the longing of the winter in my hand by Anonymous (friends to lovers, mutual pinning) Shoko saves satoru's life at the cost of her soul [ONGOING] COLLECTION: satoshoko mixtape by tiressian- standalone satoshoko stories in one place for our brainrot

[forallthethingsyouvemadeof]

so, are you gonna listen?

jay knows you so well— so well— to make you kneel. or at least, to make you listen to him.

cw: not-so-demanding!jay but he's actually a sweetheart dw.

"how long are you going to be like this?" a pair of sharp eyes looking at you, so sharp you could barely breath. "i can walk on my own," you reply, knowing well it would be a hell to walk in this condition.

this morning you decided to get all the photo frames hung. since jay has been so busy, asking for help would be a burden for him. and you seem to be able to do anything on your own. but your legs decided to give up so you end up stumbled upon frame's glasses. ah, you should use a freaking couch instead of this tiny chair. this what make jay furious, you couldn't even ask for help. "what am i, darling? tell me."

it took you a long pause before answered, "husband." jay tilts his head, displeased. then he continued, "whose husband?"

"mine," you say, looking away while giving him an answer. the fact that you are trapped forever with that man give you an incomprehensible feeling. "good. even better if you would face me every time we talk," he cups your shoulders, turn you around, facing him. "stay still, let me take you to the couch and treat this so that you would thank your lovely husband," jay speaks, his tone's so flat and deep you could feel the anger. but still—

"i can do that, you should go to work now."

"you still wanna walk on your own? okay then, go ahead," jay watches you trying to stand up. your legs trembled and your body shivered. you could barely take one step ahead, a short blackout and you're back again in starting line. well, i guess this one is terrible. before you could try again, a familiar voice interrupted, "how is it, darling?"

your throat feels dry, it's painful even for taking a gulp. you pluck up the courage to face jay whos been looking at you for a while now. "help me," you finally give up. "pardon? what did you just say, miss?"

tears forming in your eyes, you're about to explode, yet you still continue, "please ... help me."

"well then, my wife is in pain, i must say yes to that." jay carries you as he speaks. he smiles. somehow it gives you peace you didn't ask for. jay always thinks that your eyes are your charm. those teary eyes couldn't be more beautiful

he sat you down on the cream couch you both bought two months ago. not taking too long, your sole filled with bandages and a pretty black ribbon. jay said it'll be prettier if we decorate it a bit, and it's indeed—pretty.

"jongseong," you say, even though your throat hurt like hell. "yes, darling." oh what a sweet voice. "don't call me miss," a look of confusion appears in front of you. "huh?" jay giggles. prettiest laugh you've ever heard.

"okay okay, then—

is my wife willing to listen to me from now on?"

[kunasthiast]

My God (2)

If last night's events are already stressful as it is, today's much worse than ever. With a visit to your father's office, what could go wrong?

Oh yeah, everything!

a/n: okaaaaay, so i'm halfway Chapter 3 as of posting this one >.<

I reaaally appreciate all your notes, reblogs, & comments for the taglist – it makes my heart flutter so much & it gets me so excited to finish this story already T^T

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 2,877 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

<- previous • next ->

Taglist: @cr1sta11y @idk-bro-gay @tojis-ball-sack @thepurpleempath @fangirl-332 @jijijihanji @thedondiva45

As the first light of dawn crept into your room, a small gap in the blackout curtains that you forgot to fully close last night betrayed your efforts to keep the morning at bay. Yep, definitely starting the day this bad, how else will the rest of the day be like?

“Fuck,” you exclaimed so early in the morning. Or so you thought. Grabbing your phone from your nightstand, you tapped the screen to peek the time. 

9:54 AM.

With a groan, you closed and threw your phone somewhere in your room and laid down on your stomach. Face clearly being suffocated by your pillows. This life sucks.

“Why does it have to feel this way?” You said with a groan.

Flipping around, and lying on your back, you stared blankly at the ceiling. Absolutely feeling so devoid of everything in life. Your eyes are as empty as the void. It’s like everything was sucked out of you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you walked over to the window and yanked the curtains shut, shutting out the intrusive light. The darkness offered a slight comfort from the harsh reality of the day ahead, but you knew you couldn't hide forever.

With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself to your feet and began getting ready for the day. Each movement felt like a chore, every action weighed down by the burden of disappointment and betrayal. I hate everyone already.

As you made your way downstairs, the familiar sights and sounds of your family's mansion served as a stark reminder of the life you were born into. Despite the opulence that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at your insides.

Walking to your father's office, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited. The door loomed ominously before you, a silent barrier between you and the truth that lay beyond. 

With a heavy sigh, you told yourself, “Here goes nothing.”

Summoning all your courage, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, steeling yourself for whatever may come. Little did you know, the events of the day were about to take a turn you never saw coming.

—

“Okay, first of all? What the fuck!” You erupted, your voice dripping with anger and disbelief as you confronted your father.

His face tightened in disappointment at your choice of words, “Language, dear,” he chided, his tone laced with irritation.

Yeah, never mind all the fucking respect he deserves. Scoffing at him, you paid his scolding no mind, too consumed by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. 

“Might I remind you,” pacing back and forth, you continued with your voice trembling with pent-up rage, “that you promised me a lot. A fucking LOT of times! That I’m the next head, only to have you pass it over to Sukuna – who by the way isn’t even a part of our family. I’m your family, your flesh and blood, damn it! I’m not even processing this properly yet and now you’re telling me that you already got me on a fucking arranged marriage to someone from the Gojo family? Oh, fuck off, father!” 

Your father remained unmoved, his expression unreadable as he calmly countered your tirade. “Honey, it’s just the way it is. Take it or leave it. And, for once, try to act like a respectable daughter,” he retorted, his words like a slap in the face, dismissing your turmoil cold-heartedly.

His indifference fueled your frustration further, and you fought to contain the seething anger threatening to boil over. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, the weight of betrayal heavy in your chest with your fidgeting fingers.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, your father returned his attention to his book that you unfortunately cut him off from reading earlier, effectively ending the conversation. “I’m busy. Come back when you’re done with your tantrum. Now, leave.”

“I’m not gonna do as you say this time. I’m not gonna marry anyone from that fucking family,” you confidently declared with the fire still burning within you. “I’m not gonna be your fucking pawn, father. I’m leaving this family. So, deal with it.” 

Fuming with indignation, you stormed out his office. And, let’s not forget, you slammed the door hard when you left.

This is not the day I’ve envisioned to have today.

—

Back in your room, the weight of the recent events bore down on you like a heavy burden, pressing against your chest with a suffocating intensity.

Yet, there are no tears threatening to fall down anytime soon, just the palpable heartache and silent screams echoing through the depths of your soul. Please, I’m too strong for this.

As a way to make yourself calmer, that can help you gather your thoughts, you decided to go to your restaurant. Yes, the restaurant your father gifted on your 18th birthday. It’s apparently his gift symbolizing his support for your aspirations outside the family’s legacy. 

A bitter scoff escaped your lips, “Well, fuck legacy.” Words heavy with anger. As you made your way out your room towards the mansion’s carport, you know in yourself that you got to leave this place. “Yeah, I won’t go back home here,” you mutter to yourself as you approach your car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you revved the engine, the purr of the powerful machine echoing throughout the carport. But, as you were getting ready to live, your thoughts inevitably turned to the arranged marriage your father and the Gojo family had arranged.

Just the mere mention of this family sent shivers down your spine. Yeah, I fucking hate that family. They’ve been your family’s rival from the start. Always the territorial disputes, the dirty, underhanded tactics, and the arrogance that runs throughout every family member.

And, then there was Satoru – the one your father chose as your groom. Well, he has no choice, Satoru’s the only heir of his family, definitely of flesh and blood.

To call him attractive would be an understatement – Satoru has that magnetic, alluring charm that was impossible to ignore. Heck, he’s beautiful. With those azure eyes, fluffy white hair, and velvety voice, he’s every woman’s dream – except you. You’re not even sure why you think his hair’s fluffy!

But, all beautiful things have ugly sides. And his was a huge ass dent to his looks. He’s a fucking asshole. Clenching your jaw, you tore yourself away from your thoughts and the carport, steering yourself towards the way to your restaurant.

The drive to the restaurant made you forget everything for a moment. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. As you pulled into the parking lot, the sight of your restaurant filled you with a sense of calmness. 

Stepping out into the cool embrace of the wind, you savored this feeling that offers a temporary calmness within the raging storm inside you. 

“I’m so glad to be back,” you murmured to yourself.

Pushing open the door to the restaurant, you were greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling kitchen, the savory aroma of spices and herbs filling the air. Your staff, surprised by your unannounced visit, immediately greeted you with a mixture of surprise and fear. You rarely visit. Rarely.

You may own this business, but, you couldn’t really care less about the business side of these things as you’re too busy learning everything your father taught you with. And, this one’s not a part of it. Or, so you think!

He just gave this one to you when he learned you love to cook – which definitely by the way is a short occurrence in your life. You were bored, you learned how to cook, you made everything you’ve been craving for, and now you were bored, again.

But, you can’t deny the calmness that cooking brings you. It takes you out of your thoughts and just focus on prepping and cooking everything up.

Uraume, your most trusted confidante and your restaurant’s head chef, immediately approached you with a knowing look.“You’re only here when you’re stressed,” they remarked, their tone a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

You chuckled wryly as you made your way towards your office. “Yeah and today is no exception,” you replied, the weight of the previous events pressing heavily upon you. “I’ll whip something up in the kitchen. You know what to do.”

As you entered your office, you felt the sense of zen and calm wash over you. With each passing moment of taking in the familiar surrounding, the tension began to ebb away. You slipped into your chef’s jacket, your mind already buzzing with ideas for today’s creations. 

Glancing at the clock, you noted the time – 11:21 AM. Perfect timing. Your restaurant is supposed to open in a few minutes, but you instituted a rule long ago: when you were here, no one is allowed to enter the kitchen, and the restaurant will be closed to the public.

A tub of orange chicken sounds nice.

—

Sukuna's luxurious penthouse was filled with the soothing sound of water coming from the shower as he emerged from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. With a flick of his hand, he silenced the insistent ringing of his phone, its screen lighting up with a call from Uraume, his most trusted confidante.

Walking across the marble floor towards his bedroom, his thoughts drifted to you, your demeanor from last night.

He knows you’ve been expecting to become the next head. He knows how frustrated you are feeling after the announcement has been made. He just knows. And, it amuses him to see your reaction, the way you wore your emotions so openly. He’s keen on observing you.

“Cute,” he mused to himself with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Dressing himself in a black slack with an unnecessary tight black folded sleeves, definitely outlining his sexy physique, topped with a suspender, Sukuna admired his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, more like it. His demeanor exuding with such confidence, power, and authority.

Adjusting his reading glasses, his mind buzzed with what’s to come for the day – negotiate with the Naoya from the Zenin family regarding the territorial disputes, dealing with the underground firearm deliveries he missed last night – all in a day’s work for a man of his calibre. 

Yet, amidst the chaos of his busy schedule, thoughts of you lingered, an unexpected distraction in his otherwise meticulously organized life.

Shaking this off, Sukuna stepped out onto the expansive balcony overlooking the city skyline. Before he could go on with his day, there was one matter that demanded his attention. Gotta see princess first.

As he reached for his car keys, Sukuna’s thoughts went back to you, a nagging reminder he couldn’t quite shake. How the fuck are you doing now. And, he can’t believe he’s this worried about you.

Brushing aside the thought for the nth time, Sukuna exited the penthouse with a confident stride, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As he was walking towards the elevator, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Glancing at the screen, a smirk tugged at his lips as he read the words: “She’s here.”

��Talk about coincidence,” he chuckled to himself.

Yeah, he can’t wait to meet you.

—

Sukuna stepped out of his sleek black car, the sharp click of his shoes against the pavement. He approached the entrance of the restaurant – which has a sign that says ‘closed’ – and his gaze fixed with a single purpose: to see you.

Pushing open the door that Uraume left unlocked for him, he stepped into the warmth of the restaurant, the savory aroma of the spices and herbs enveloped the cool air. The whole place is completely deserted with only Uraume sitting at one table. 

“Where is she,” Sukuna commanded as Uraume pointed towards the kitchen as their answer.

Sukuna’s eyes swept across the room, his gaze setting on the bustling kitchen where you were too focused on. There was a flicker of intrigue in his eyes as he watched you move, completely absorbed in your culinary hobby. You once told him that it was just a hobby and it sticked to him.

As he approached to observe you, the noise of the kitchen seemed to dim. Sukuna’s presence filled the space around you. Sensing him, a prickling sensation at the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. Can’t this day get any better?

Turning, you met his gaze head-on, your expression guarded. Yeah, still attractive. You roamed your eyes on his whole physique, with a quick glance at his folded arms that showed his defined biceps. Okay, wrong move because the fluttering pterodactyls in your stomach are back.This made you sigh and cut your gaze off him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice tinged with a hint of irritation and skepticism. Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your boldness, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“I came to see you, princess,” he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with charm. You swear even without looking at him, you can see his smug smile that you want to wipe off his face and kiss – okay, what the fuck was that?

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious tone and breathed heavily to clear up your thoughts, choosing to focus on your cooking instead. Sukuna’s presence is a distraction you didn’t need, especially not today. To top it off, you’re not ready for another confrontation.

“I don’t have time for your games, Sukuna,” you retorted, your voice firm. “If you’re here to eat, then see yourself out.”

Sukuna chuckled at this with his hands unfolding to raise it to a low surrender pose, “I don’t have games for you, princess. You know that. Just came here to check in on you.”

“How did you even know I’m here?”

“Uraume.” Oh, yeah. Even though Uraume’s your trusted confidante, they also are Sukuna’s trusted confidante. It just works like that.

Sukuna’s response only fueled your frustration further. The pterodactyls in your stomach long gone. Of course, Uraume would rather reveal your whereabouts to him that tell you how they even got close with Sukuna. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance at that.

"I assure you, princess, I mean no harm," he reassured, his voice smooth as silk. "I simply wanted to see how you're holding up after last night.” Yeah, he’s here to gloat.

Last night. The mere mention of it sent a wave of emotions crashing over you – anger, betrayal, frustration. You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your composure in front of him.

“I’m fine. You can have the fucking title as the head of the family all you want. I’m out of this family,” you replied curtly. Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism, as he leaned casually against the wall near the door.

“Why leave?” He challenged, his voice dripping with casual disdain. “You’re just proving to your father that you’re not deserving to be a head. Too weak for this shit, princess?” 

“Oh, fuck off, ’Kuna. You don’t know anything,” you shot back, your tone sharp with annoyance.

Sukuna’s facade of nonchalance faltered for a moment, replaced by a feigned hurt expression. “It hurts my pride that you don’t acknowledge me that much, princess,” he said, his words clearly laced with mock sincerity.

“I can see it in your face,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of quiet intensity. “You don’t think I deserve to be the head.”

“Because you really don’t,” you retorted, your words cutting through the tension like a knife. “You’re not even blood-related to father, to us. Just a stranger who climbed up the ranks.” Yeah, you’re quite harsh on this one.

Sukuna’s smirk only widened at your brutal honesty. “Yet, a stranger better than the supposed one-and-only heir,” he quipped, his amusement evident.

Fed up with the conversation, you flipped him off. 

Sukuna chuckled, his laughter filling the space between you that made your eyes roll – you swear, you almost blacked out from that eye roll.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’m just a phone call away, princess. You know and I know that I’m on your speed dial,” he said with a wink and a smug smirk yet his tone is surprisingly genuine and a bit flirtatious.

But before he could make his exit, you called out to him, the desperation evident in your voice. “Wait.”

Oh, fuck his captivating eyes. Fuck his infuriatingly sexy smirk. Fuck the way his muscles strained against his tight shirt. Fuck those damn eyeglasses that he doesn’t even have to wear because he has a clear vision! Fuck everything, it’s all too much. I just need a way out so fuck my plan, too.

Sukuna paused, turning back to fix his gaze on you with a newfound intense curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Missed me already, princess?” His lips curled into a smug grin as he spoke, a hint of amusement lacing his words. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gathered the courage to blurt out the unexpected request. 

“Marry me, ‘Kuna.”

[sweet-evie]

A Piece of the Whole

A glimpse into the life of a single dad who's doing his best.

masterlist || pt 2

Content ⚠️: Established Relationship, afab!oc, fem!oc, nameless!oc, she/her/hers pronouns for Satoru's S/O, Tragedy, Childbirth, Maternal Death, Mentions of Blood, Angst, singleparent!gojo, dad!gojo

Never Grow Up Pt 1

May 5, 2012: Sanno Hospital

Throat tight and heart shattered, Satoru choked down the remainder of his grief and promised himself the luxury of breaking down when he was alone. He couldn’t do it now… Not here. Not in front of doctors who offered him sympathies. Not in front of Shoko who sat beside him with equally mournful eyes.

How would he even begin to tell Megumi and Tsumiki?

The latter was especially excited through the phone when he and his partner rushed to the emergency ward almost a full day ago when her water broke.

Almost as if she read his mind, Shoko laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We should get things sorted out. Finish the paperwork and get the kids.”

Satoru swallowed around two mouthfuls of cotton balls and pushed his blackout sunglasses further up his nose — a sorry attempt at hiding how defeated he felt and how his eyes were full to bursting with unshed tears. It almost felt wrong to start moving again, as if the world hadn’t stopped turning the moment she took her last labored breath.

Logic told him this wasn’t the end… He was still Satoru Gojo — still the head of the Gojo clan, still saddled with the responsibility of instructing first year students at Jujutsu Tech, still needed to exterminate curses that cropped up too frequently for his liking. Being a father to a newborn was an added responsibility that he looked forward to for the past nine months and it was all because he had his Love by his side. He promised his lover and his would-be daughter his time and commitment, because if he couldn’t shoulder the burden of sheltering his baby in his own body and going through painful labor to deliver said baby into the world, then he would pour all his effort into taking care of the mother of his child and his new baby.

His Love did the work — uncomfortable, strenuous work that cost her her body image, her mental well-being on some especially hard days, and her general comfort.

What a woman…

What a woman she had been.

He’d asked her once why any woman would willingly do this to herself, knowing the possible complications, the risk, the changes, the toll, and she had smiled at him — amber eyes glinting in the afternoon light of the apartment they called ‘home’ — and told him that any woman who willingly went through pregnancy allowed it for different reasons. But for her, it was because—

“Loving her is loving a piece of you. And I love you wholly, Satoru.”

The strong smell of antiseptic brought him back from the memory he had been reminiscing about. The busy humdrum of a hospital outside the private room reminded him that his life might have ground to a halt, but others’ didn’t.

The Love of his life perished at the cost of delivering the baby she loved so much, and the world wouldn’t care.

“What do I tell her family?” Satoru mumbled, giving Shoko a verbal response at last.

“The truth. You can’t exactly hide it.”

Maybe he could get away with having his Mom deal with that. Their families had never been exceptionally close, but Satoru figured it was the least his mother could do after the woman had initially expressed her disapproval when they announced her pregnancy to his clan.

The main gripes had been the fact that she was not a sorcerer, they were not married, and his lover did not possess any sort of public influence that could benefit the Gojo clan.

Not that it mattered now…

His Love had passed away.

“At least her family would hate me enough not to bother with trying to file for custody. I don’t think they’d be happy about the baby either.”

“I doubt they’d be unhappy. It doesn’t matter if they do try to file, Gojo. Your parenting rights exceed theirs.”

“I know.”

Satoru stared at the empty bed and its flattened sheets. It looked too sterile — too clean. It was a far cry from the blood and the screaming and the smell of death that had permeated the room not too long ago. The smell and horrible aftertaste of death’s door was an all too familiar sensation to him unfortunately — especially after Megumi’s own father had brutalized him five years ago. He hated that his Love had to know what that was like before she succumbed to it.

“Have you met her yet?”

“Not yet.”

Regrettably, he hadn’t thought about the infant ever since he watched the light leave his Love’s eyes. She was the center of his world and truthfully, more important to him than a baby he barely knew. Of course he grieved her.

But now that Shoko brought it up, it added another horrible taste in his mouth. Just a month ago he’d felt so carefree as he laid beside his pregnant partner, shamelessly cooing and fawning over the unborn baby in her womb, making a show of how excited he was to be a dad, and already making plans to teach her plenty of things. Now his life flipped upside down at the onslaught of tragedy that befell his girlfriend.

The doctors had whisked his daughter away to the NICU to monitor her closely and provide care after the mother passed away near the end of delivery. The Love of his life didn’t even get to see her baby before she died… Didn’t even get the chance to speak her name so they could print it out in the tiny tags they kept around newborns’ wrists to identify them in the nursery.

Her last coherent words were impassioned pleas thrown out in the midst of her suffering, punctuated with labored breaths, gasps, and blood — so much blood that stained the white sheets pink and orange.

“Love her, Satoru. Promise me. Promise, please? Promise me. Love her. She needs you.”

Did she feel her own life slipping away? Was her strength sapped bit by bit with each gasp and strained scream? They’d taken her body to the morgue an hour ago, but he swore he could still feel her near bone-crushing grip on his fingers — regrettably a pathetic source of consolation during her labor. His words of whispered encouragement didn’t hold a candle to her pain and suffering. 

It couldn’t save her from rapid blood loss and cardiac arrest.

Pathetic…

The strongest sorcerer of the modern age — abundant in financial resources and political power, yet useless in the face of death and loss. This was his curse.

“It’s only been half an hour. Did the doctor say anything?”

“They might keep her there for the whole day or for weeks for all I know.”

“You should go see her.”

“I—”

Shoko’s tone was soft but firm as she reached out, squeezed his shoulder again, and made for the door. “I’ll come with you.”

=OoOoO=

Entering the neonatal unit was not as complicated as he first assumed. The entrance to the unit was armed with a cache of hand sanitizers, disinfecting alcohol, antibacterial liquid soap, face masks, and other paraphernalia meant to prevent spread of infection. Next to that was a station for handwashing. The place smelled of a strange yet pleasant mix of scented rubbing alcohol and baby powder.

The nurses had asked both him and Shoko to don hospital gowns over their clothes, plus wear gloves and masks. If the situation had been a little less grim, he would have argued with Shoko over whether these precautionary measures were really necessary for him when he had Infinity and his immune system was tougher than beds of nails. She would have told him how ridiculous he was being, and he would have countered with an argument that revolved around the idea that he was the last person carrying transferable diseases in the entire hospital.

But there was none of that…

He was quiet and subdued, even as the smiling nurse led them through.

She was not one of the nurses present during his baby’s birth, so she obviously didn’t know. Satoru wondered if she would have treated him differently if she knew. He let Shoko take care of the technicalities of the conversation. They were talking about IVs and breathing measurements and vital signs — everything that Satoru knew he should be paying attention to.

But he knew, despite his baby’s sensitive condition, that she was completely fine — that she was alive and that she would pull through.

His daughter’s cursed energy signature was readable outside of the unit. It thrummed and doused her in it completely like a second blanket. It wasn’t tightly reined or controlled, as expected from a newborn. She had more than the normal amount a sorcerer would have too — that tiny body housed enough cursed energy to match the output of a Grade 1 sorcerer.

He followed a step behind Shoko and the nurse, sunglasses now pushed to the top of his head so he could see everything. The tiny and insignificant curses that usually plagued hospitals were nowhere to be found — hiding from him most likely. 

Their little group stopped at the eighth infant warmer.

There she was — the fruit of his Love’s efforts.

Tiny, fragile, covered in a pink blanket, eyes half-open, her tiny arms and legs moving, and a nasal cannula in her nostrils.

“Normally, it’s really hard to tell which baby belongs to which parent because they all look so similar.” The nurse giggled at Shoko, gesturing to the rows and rows of dark-haired babies in identical infant warmers or incubators. “But your baby stands out from the rest. She’s hard to miss.”

“She’s not my baby.” Shoko corrected the nurse.

“Oh— My apologies, Dr. Ieiri.” She turned, about to address Satoru.

He was already standing over the tiny bed. The size of the infant warmer when placed right next to his towering height created a comical scene: a six-foot plus giant leaning over a restless baby.

“I can see where she gets her hair, Mr. Gojo. You have a very beautiful daughter.”

Her words barely registered in Satoru’s brain; his mind too preoccupied by the sight of his Love’s sweet angel. She’d begged him to love the little girl — made him promise. She had pleaded with every ounce of breath left in her rapidly deteriorating body.

And the sight of this tiny girl — her small fists curling and uncurling, small body wiggling and twitching underneath the soft blanket, and her head turned to his side with those eyes squeezed shut — broke what was left of his battered heart.

“She’s so small.” Satoru mumbled, seating himself on one of the stools they placed close to the infant warmer. (Truthfully, all newborn babies looked tiny compared to Satoru Gojo). 

Cautiously, he placed his elbows on the transparent edges of the warmer, watching the little girl closer, oblivious to the way Shoko and the nurse watched him.

“Is she a healthy size?” He spoke slowly, quietly; Six Eyes never straying away from the new life he’d helped create.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo.” She watched as Satoru fiddled with the name tag wrapped loosely around the newborn’s chubby wrist. A name hadn’t been given, so the tag simply read ‘Baby Gojo’. “If we could have her name, we could reprint a new tag.”

A name… If they could have her name.

Satoru stared at the thin white piece of photo paper between his fingers.

Born on the fifth moon at the beginning of the end of Spring, delivered at 11:43PM, firstborn child of the head of the Gojo clan, offspring of the strongest sorcerer alive.

The name left his lips unbidden, uttered as a reverent prayer and offering to a love he lost and equally gained. It was the name his Love had chosen — a fitting name for their baby girl and her powerful birthright, his Love had said.

“Satsuki… Her mother named her Satsuki, with the kanji for ‘blossom’ or ‘moon’ and ‘princess.’”

“A fitting name for a lovely girl. Your wife must be so proud.”

“She is…”

She would have been…

Satoru nodded along to the nurse’s kind comments, still wholly focused on watching his daughter. The nurse excused herself to accommodate a colleague’s inquiries, leaving him and Shoko alone amid the row of infant warmers and sleeping babies.

“You could touch her.” Shoko nodded once, noting how cautious Gojo was.

Uncaring of any protests, Satoru slipped off the glove that covered his right hand and gently slid two of his fingers into the space between her curled fingers and tiny palm. Her skin was warm and she was so so so small. It was a sight to behold: a daughter holding on to her father’s finger — a prelude of how they would behave around each other three years down the line. 

He was a stranger to fear, but in this moment, perhaps he could admit to feeling apprehensive — that his most delicate grip could shatter her. Satsuki deserved utmost care and tenderness — the kind that only a mother could give… The kind that Satoru so obviously lacked. He could put a roof over his daughter’s head, give her clothes to keep her warm, provide food in abundance so she would never starve, financially support her so she would never want for a single thing in her life, and protect her from every threat. All of that, and he would still be incapable of restoring the warmth and comfort Satsuki’s mother could have brought her — had she been given the chance.

That’s what hurt the most, he figured… Satsuki would only know of her mom — would only experience her through the thousands of pictures and videos Satoru had stored in memory cards and camera phones throughout the years. Satsuki would never know how sweet and warm her mother was, how affectionate and kind and patient. And no matter how much Satoru would strive to convey all of that through his stories and his actions, it could never measure up — could never bring proper justice to the firsthand experience Satsuki would have had, if only Fate wasn’t cruel to Satoru Gojo and everyone he loved.

He pulled down the mask that covered half of his face as he gently stroked his daughter’s hair. There was so much of it — a full head of white, a blanket of snow. He could fit her entire head in the palm of his hand. He marveled at all of her, now that he had been staring for quite some time. Thin and pale eyebrows matched her long white eyelashes. Her nose, her mouth, the shape of her face — it was all his. In this at least, no one could doubt her paternal lineage. (Not that anyone would dare to question Satoru Gojo if he claimed a baby was his — look-a-like or not).

“Oh my god, she’s all you.” Shoko muttered over his shoulder, echoing his own musings as she finally got a closer look for herself.

“Would the clan elders still insist on a paternity test, do you think?”

It was a half-baked attempt at humor, but Shoko did smile a little underneath her face mask. There was some truth to that claim. 

Satoru’s family weren’t the happiest group of people when they found out he got his girlfriend pregnant. They lived in modern society, but the biggest clans of the jujutsu world held fast to traditional beliefs, even if said beliefs dated all the way back to the 18th century. Satsuki was born out of wedlock, so in their judgmental eyes, she was illegitimate — unworthy of the Gojo name and certainly not fit to inherit any asset or receive support from the clan. But Shoko doubted that claim would stay for long — not if Satoru would have anything to do with it. He got what he wanted one way or the other (and for the most part). She knew her friend.

Shoko wagered that this family conflict would persist for a year or less… Satsuki is and forever will be entitled to the name ‘Gojo’, and Satoru would even put her in line to be the next head of the clan — patriarchal traditions be damned.

“How’s her cursed energy level?” Shoko asked out of curiosity. It had been on her mind ever since she and Satoru wandered into the unit.

“As stable as can be expected from a baby. The amount matches a Grade 1 sorcerer.” 

Shoko reached over the edge of the infant warmer to fix the blanket covering Satsuki’s body. “You think she’ll have Limitless?”

“Maybe. It would be better for her if something unique manifests instead. You never really know until kids hit five or six.”

Satoru continued to speak quietly as he scanned his daughter’s face, watching closely as her little eyelids fluttered and peeled themselves back halfway, revealing bright amber irises. At this, he had to smile.

“She has her mommy’s eyes. Of course she does.”

His Love would have adored her. She’d fawned over Satsuki from the moment they went to their first checkup. She had smiled so wide when they heard the steady beat of their little girl’s heart for the first time, and she told him all over again that her horrible nausea in the mornings, her swollen feet, her migraines, and all her troubles were worth it — even if he so obviously thought otherwise.

“Loving her is loving a piece of you. And I love you wholly, Satoru.”

A piece of him…

Satsuki was a piece of her too, wasn’t she?

Satsuki was the embodiment of her love — the remnant Satoru resolved to cherish for the rest of his days from this moment forth.

Shoko went looking for the nurse and left him alone for a moment, and Satoru contented himself with the view of his daughter staring listlessly into a mess of colors and shapes that her still-developing brain barely identified. Giving her the sincere smile she deserved, he held one of her tiny hands again and kissed her fingers — a promise of the life and future he would give her for as long as he was able.

It would be a long long while until he would see his Love again — longer still because their daughter needed him now. 

Wherever she was, perhaps watching over him and Satsuki, he sincerely hoped his Love heard the utterance of the very same words she’d told him that time he asked. His Love was right…

Loving the girl was loving a piece of her mother. And ever since that evening on Christmas Eve so many years ago, he’d loved every bit of his lover everyday, more than he did the day before until the moment she took her last breath. 

“I’ll take care of our little girl. I promise.”

[zafirosreverie]

Not enough (Bruno x Reader)

For @tolkien-fantasy hope you like it

__________________

You sighed and tried to block the pain from your mind as you let Casita help you to the nearest chair. You were sick of this, of not being able to do things by yourself and having to depend not only on your family, but on the house itself. It's not that you weren't grateful, but each day you felt more like a burden than a person.

"Thank you Casita" you whispered

You didn't even pay attention to the little tile that waved in greeting, you were too busy gently rubbing your hands and trying to hold back the angry tears that stung in your eyes.

You really missed the time when you could do more things, when you could run, jump, cook, play with your nieces and nephew, when simply moving from one chair to another was not an almost impossible herculean task for you. A time that seemed so far away now.

It started just three years after your wedding. You and Bruno were at your best, just enjoying each other's company, being goofy and happy, you had even made plans to make your family bigger (even if he turned red as soon as you mentioned it), it was all so perfect. Until the first blackout.

It had happened out of nowhere, one moment you were buying books with Pepa and the next everything had suddenly gone dark. By the time you woke up, you were already at home, in your bed, with the whole family looking at you with concern while Julieta tried to bring down your fever. Your sister-in-law didn't know what caused it, and despite what she might say, the soft smiles she gave you and how much she cared for you, you knew that a part of her had never stopped feeling guilty, because no matter how much magical food she gave you, you never healed.

Things had only gotten worse for you since that day, blackouts occurring more and more frequently, your joints and muscles getting weaker, condemning you to a life of constant pain. At first, you didn't want to say anything, you didn't want to worry Bruno or give Julieta more work, but when Pepa had to carry you back in her arms because your legs couldn't bear your weight anymore, you had to admit that something was wrong with you.

Your husband hardly ever left your side since then, saying that he didn't help the town much anyway. Alma accepted it, too worried that something could happen to the person she saw as another child, Julieta scolded you for not going to her every time something hurt and Pepa had made it her mission not to lose sight of you in the strange times when her brother was not with you.

"You can't leave me alone with those two, Y/N" she had told you "I'd go crazy"

"You already are" you teased softly

She smiled at you, but you could see in her eyes the same fear that invaded them all. They never told you anything, but you knew that Bruno had tried to look into your future to find out how he could help you or what would happen to you, when would you get better? But he never shared that vision, and deep inside you knew the answer: you never would.

It was hard at first, but you were strong for him, because you knew that the only person more terrified than you was your husband. He was afraid of losing you, of not being able to do anything for you, and even though you felt the same fear of leaving him, you decided that you couldn't let that paralyze you, that regardless of whether you had much or little time left, you were going to enjoy it with your family. 

Your nieces and nephew were quick to get used to your situation. Isabela tried to act as if she could take care of you by herself, she would spend afternoons with you after school and she would fill your hair with beautiful flowers to cheer you up when you felt bad. Often she and Camilo competed over who could make you smile the most.

Luisa was extremely careful with you. She had just gotten her gift just two years before and she was terrified of hurting you with her strength, so she was content to just talk to you from the door. Mirabel, your precious butterfly, was the one who kept you the most company.

The girl was a miracle, you had told Julieta, who lit up the whole room with her mere presence. It didn't matter if Pepa or Bruno were keeping you company, Mirabel was always, always by your side, telling you how her day had gone, what things she had found, showing you her drawings and simply making you feel warmer every time she smiled at you.

However, everyone knew that it was Dolores who took care of you the most. The girl was silent, but her gift had turned out to be the most useful in helping you. She was always aware of you, your heart rate, your breathing, everything. If you started to get agitated, the girl immediately warned any adult who was nearby, she was like your little personal sentinel, always watching over you even if she wasn't around.

So you weren't surprised when Bruno rushed into the kitchen, almost tripping over his own feet. You smiled lovingly at him when he dropped in front of you with concern etched on his face. You were pleasantly surprised how after so many years, he was still incredibly handsome in your eyes and how he could look at you with such love and adoration, as if he hadn't spent the last few years practically having to shadow you.

"What happened?" he asked worried

"Nothing" you smiled "I just got a little dizzy, but I'm fine, Casita helped me"

He smiled back gently, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch as light as a feather. That was another thing he knew you hated: that nowadays your conversations were just to say who had helped you. There were no longer funny stories, innocent gossip or funny anecdotes, your life was slowly ending between the same walls.

"Amor..." you whispered

"Yes?"

"...please"

Your husband's expression changed to one of intense pain. It wasn't the first time you had this conversation, that you begged him to tell you what he had seen in that vision. You weren't stupid, you knew there was no cure, otherwise Julieta's food would have already worked, you didn't want to know how it would happen, if it would be painful or if you would go off quietly between dreams. All you wanted to know was how much time you had.

"Y/N -" he started

"I need to know, Bruno" you interrupted him "I don't even know if I'll make it to next Christmas"

It was a depressing thought, because it was September, and if it weren't for the intense pain you felt all the time and that had gotten worse in recent weeks, you wouldn't be making such a suggestion knowing that Dolores was listening to you. But you felt that now was not the time to be careful.

"Mi vida-"

"Please" you begged "...just tell me, how much time do I have?"

Bruno looked at you with an intense mix of fear, pain, and regret, but with a flash of love, love so deep you could almost feel it in your very bones. He sighed and took your hands gently. His grip was shaky and you knew, even before the words left his mouth, that his response was causing him great pain.

"Not enough"

[whatshehassaid]

“I LOVED HER.” “BUT SHE DIDN’T LOVE YOU. Not like he did. Not like I have”

That isn’t Armand saying Claudia didn’t love Louis. She did. What he’s saying is that Louis was so fucking focused on PINING for Lestats love, superimposing Lestat on Claudia AND Armand that Louis refused to accept love from them. Because he didn’t want Claudia. He didn’t want Armand. He wanted Lestat and he couldn’t have him (whether it be because Louis convinced himself Lestat was bad, or dead, or because Louis is in denial). He tries to make villains out of Armand and Claudia.

“Speaking of mistakes…”

“Vintage Lioncourt.” “I’m not Lestat, Louis.” “Okay….”

“Picked ANOTHER ONE over ME”

“It was NEVER ABOUT ME. Another chapter in the FUCKED UP ROMANCE OF YOU TWO”

“If you want to escape this cage of empathy I’ve trapped you in all you had to do was ask, Louis.”

“Imagine me without the burden of her”

Louis can’t face the fact that he was IMPLICIT in what happened to Claudia in Paris. She wants a companion in Madeline cause she’s not getting in from Louis.

I feel like we may be going the route of Armand and Claudia (probably immediately after the trial and before her death) bonding over their experiences. Not just to do with Louis and Lestat… but their childhoods… being raped… being used… being turned so young…

I’m not 100% on this but if they do include the head swap thing (which is still fucked up, I’m still upset at Armand for that) I feel like Armand will frame it or believe that he can save her if he can just give her a woman’s body to match her mind. And I feel like Claudia will jump at the chance. Again, not 100% with that and it’s STILL super fucked up.. but I think if that happens Armand (AT THE TIME) would believe he was helping her. Like how he “helps” his victims. How he was never helped as a human child and as a vampire. They relate to each other because they’ve never been someone’s first choice… and I think the moment Armand hears her say those words (“it was never about me. Another chapter in the fucked up story/romance of you two”) he’s gonna realize how much they really have in common and feel empathy for her.

It makes a lot of sense with how Armand’s character (especially in the books) is. He has a thing about consent (it’s a bit twisted because you could argue he assumes he knows what’s best for people… and acts accordingly thinking that he’s helping them) But he needs people to consent at least somehow. Even if it’s coerced.

That’s also why I believe after Paris… Louis initially agreed to have the memories of his role in Claudia’s death suppressed. He couldn’t handle the guilt that he didn’t care enough to save her. Armand just took it to the point of constantly suppressing the triggering memories. Plus on TOP of that I’m 100% sure Louis is schizophrenic and it’s causing blackouts.

Armand wasn’t really lying when he said that “I protect Louis from himself.” He WAS being honest. It’s in a fucked up way, but I believe it’s true.

And then with Daniel, that’s a whole other can of worms because I don’t think Armand wiped his memories right after San Fran. I’m starting to believe it wasn’t just Louis telling him to keep Daniel alive. The minute Daniel admits he finds Armand fascinating… and tells him “you can read minds right?” Alluding to the fact that he ISN’T LYING. Daniel is intrigued by Armand… and that immediately catches Armand’s attention. We’ve only seen up to Louis attacking Daniel from an unbiased POV (the tape recording). The rest is MOSTLY FROM LOUIS. Who had had memories taken whether by Armand or by the blackouts… and remember he has a habit of trying to make himself look good in Daniel’s eyes. He tries to convince himself constantly that he’s not a bad guy - but in reality…. He’s done some shitty things too. So it wouldn’t surprise me if some of that was also lies to Daniel. “You’re a liar Louis. Whether you know it or not.”

Something happened in those 4 days with Armand and Daniel that I’m not sure Louis realizes. He may come in and out of actual remembrance where he KNOWS Armand and Daniel fell in love… and he uses it against them both… and then goes back into not knowing what’s happening.

I have a feeling we’re getting the trial/claudia’s death/a reveal about the blackouts etc/the fire from ARMAND. Hence the “imagine me without the burden of her” line that Louis says. He would NEVER in a million years admit to saying that. Definitely not to Daniel.

The Merrick storyline plays into this here. Finding Claudia’s diaries… realizing that Louis really treated her badly and that she hates him for it. And Louis not being able to take it.

I also feel like Lestat and Armand have teamed up in Dubai without Louis or Daniel realizing it. They may be trying to help cure him with the help of Dr. Bhansali.

(Also, devils minion definitely happened in the past… you can just see it in the way Armand sometimes looks at Daniel - and in the books even though he was a stickler for rules… his only exception has ALWAYS been Daniel. He loves Louis, he wouldn’t have put up with any of this if he didn’t… but Daniel? Daniel is really the love of Armand’s life. And Lestat is Louis’. I need them boys to figure this shit out - and with the fact that Daniel wasn’t listed in the Talamasca victims folder? Even though he was attacked, held hostage and tormented… means he is probably in ANOTHER folder - *cough* ARMANDSPARAMOURS *cough* I hope they have Daniel find his name in there cause THAT is gonna be J U I C Y.)

[yanderefreak1213]

Vee's World! (Yandere Shellvision)

Tws: Kidnapping, Forced affection, bondage, constant spying, Villain Vee, Murder, possible gore, Body horror,Abusive relationship, Manipulation tactics, yandere themes, Obsessive thoughts, Possessive thoughts. All around this is gonna be a heavily dark fanfic.

These acts shouldn't be supported in real life, I just wanted to try my hand at horror and my own version of One-sided Shellvision that involved Vee being the one inlove. Description of the story:

Oh no! Dandy's has gone missing! Quickly scrambling to find a replacement they chose Vee and made it into 'Vee's world'. Vee managed to keep their cartoons going, and kept them alive, Vee took control of the whole company though, even managing to out-rank the toon's creator..

The toons are however happy, and even the workers are happy...Ish. They only issue is- Vee has eyes everywhere, un-happy workers tend to..Disappear. The toons don't question it nor do they seem to mind Vee's constant viewing. However a certain catches the Gameshow's host's eye. The fossil toon, Shelly, However..Shelly starts to seem on edge with Vee...Can Shelly escape or is she forever stuck with the tv show host. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was dark in the store, complete black out infact! An Elevator dings, as toons stepped out. Vee smiles as she steps out ahead of the group, causing the group behind her to wait before she gave the all clear "Alright, guys...The machines aren't hard to locate. Remember, we all still have shows tonight so lets get this done fast." Astro and Sprout didn't question much as they hurried off, you see blackouts happen often and while usually the staff fixes it. They were busy with preparing things tonight or they've gone home...So Vee figured it'd be good to get the main characters out for a bit to do it.

Shelly was still at the elevator with Pebbles who nudging her, Vee gave a disapproving frown "Shelly? Why aren't you moving?" Shelly jumped at Vee's sudden voice "Oh- nothing, Vee...Just uh...Not a big fan of the dark I guess...Heh.." Shelly looked around nervously.

Vee sighed a bit, she felt annoyed and was tempted to just leave the fossil toon at the elevator but for some strange reason she couldn't bring herself to do that, despite having pebbles with her, Vee still felt...Concerned? She looked at Shelly "Okay, here's what we'll do then...I produce enough light. Why don't you just stick with me? There's only four so we'll get them done and the lights back on quick. Deal?"

Shelly seemed suprised at the offer, before nodding "Sounds perfect, Vee! Thank you so much!" The tv show host just scoffed before leading the way with Pebble and Shelly following...Ever sense Dandy disappeared the mains are altered who takes Pebbles...However Pebbles tends to prefer Shelly it seems, it was weirdly comforting to Vee to know Shelly has a good guard dog now. The poor toon is too soft hearted to defend herself...

Vee felt a bit irritated when Shelly stayed mostly quiet...Usually the girl was talkative..If she was going to burden Vee with following her she could atleast keep her entertained, so Vee took upon herself to make some "So,Shelly....I've been sitting in on your segments lately." Shelly's attention instantly focused on Vee "O..oh Uh..Have you? How'd I not notice that?.."

Vee shrugged "I don't sit through the whole thing..Anyways..I've noticed you seemed nervous." Vee's focus went to locating the machines for a moment before her gaze focused back on the Fossil toon "You always give nervous glances to some of the staff." It wasn't a secret some of the staff were awful to Shelly, Vee just noticed recently after Astro told her.

She knows it's never been physical but she's not going to let one of the main characters be bullied by something so...Small as a human. Shelly shifted a bit "Oh. it's nothing Vee..Just a little er..Nervous with a crowd I guess." She forced a smile "I uh..Was actually wondering though, uh...I know my segment isn't...As popular as the others but is there uh..Anyway maybe we could invest a bit more money to revise my show room?.." Shelly looked like she was about to be scolded for asking with how she cringed back a bit.

Vee just gave her a look before looking ahead "You should've said somthing sooner, yeah sure. We can discuss that more after the shows tonight if you wanna tell m what you had planned." the other brightened a bit looking suprised "Wait- Really, oh I'd love that Vee!"

Vee shrugged "You don't need to thank me, Shelly regardless of how your segment is doing if you feel like there are things that need improvement on it you should always tell me." Vee hummed "I am glad you brought it up though because I would like to re-work your place a bit...It's so dull.." Shelly nodded a bit "I liked it at first but uh..Now its just..Lacking and it doesn't really feel like a kid's place..Heh.."

Vee nodded in agreement "Right, so after the gameshow tonight I expect to see you in my room so we can discuss remodeling." Vee felt a bit of pride when Shelly lit up. And it continued on like that.

They finished the machines and managed to meet up with Astro and then found sprout who was doing the last one. Shelly let out a sudden gasp scaring Sprout "Sorry Sprout! I just uh...Realized I forgot to finish the script for my segment tonight.." Vee felt her eye twitch in annoyance "Really?..." Shelly looked at her "I didn't mean to..Me and Tisha just got caught up in cleaning I guess..Heh." that struck a nerve with Vee, ofcorse it was Tisha who kept her busy...

Vee's tail lashed slightly, Tisha was an issue for her...Not only was she the only toon constantly rebelling against her, but she was constantly taking Shelly's attention and keeping her distracted... Tisha was a problem...

Before Vee could say anything Astro spoke "I can help you finish them, Shells.." he gave her a soft smile....Vee doesn't see it often...Why is he directing it at Shelly?...She doesn't like that...She...Wait, why does she care?

Vee scoffed "No, once we're done here you need to be on time for your sleep, you duties tonight with toon's dreams...I'll help Shelly finish her script, I already finished my stuff so I have time to kill.." Astro nodded meekly before shooting Shelly and apologetic look.

Eventually the lights came back on letting everyone go back to the elevator, Shelly and Vee went back to Vee's room to finish her script, though the whole time Vee just felt...Annoyed about Tisha...Who is that tissue box to sit here and act like she can talk to main character AND distract them from their duties?

....She didn't get why she was so mad...Really she didn't. Eventually the two finish the script and even started talking about the redesigns in Shelly's veiwing room.

When they were leaving Vee's room Vee made eye contact with Astro...He seemed concerned....But jumped when he saw Vee looking at him as he quickly hurried off. Shelly's giggling caught Vee's attention as she looked over to see the Fossil toon knelt down playing with Pebbles....Vee couldn't help the small smile at the cute sight. Before quickly wiping it off her face when Shelly looked at her "Well, I guess..I'll see you uh..Later? Did you still want me to come by after the show?" Vee just nodded "Obviously, I still have some questions for your showroom." Shelly just nodded excitedly before hurrying off. It make Vee question why no one in Shelly's area asked for renovations...Vee never denied suggestions unless they were overly stupid...She sighed before walking to her own filming area. Her thoughts still linger on the fossil toon....Why was Vee so focused on her...? And why was Astro acting weird around her?..

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 7)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x OFC

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: cunnilingus, PIV sex (all consensual!)

word count: 2.5k

ao3 link

part 1 (smutty!)

masterlist

Despite my penchant for drunken late nights, I had always been one to wake with the sun. It had been my undoing in university; never able to sleep past 6am in the summer despite all the money I’d poured into heavy-duty blackout curtains. Countless days spent nursing coffee after coffee just to clear the thick fog of exhaustion in my brain, but sleep still never coming despite hours spent curled up trying to nap in the afternoon.

So it was foreign, the sensation of utter comfort this morning, my muscles so relaxed as I curled up under the duvet and into the chest of this man. He was just barely stirring too, gaze softened without the burden of cognisance hitting him yet.

I offered him a small smile, nudging my cheek against his shoulder. It was returned, and a slow, lingering kiss pressed to my forehead through the fabric of his mask. It wasn’t until Simon pulled back that he let out a soft chuckle, my smile falling as a frown pulled at my brows.

“What?”

He dragged the pad of his thumb over the corner of my lips, and I could see the skin stained with a faded red.

“Your makeup, sweet thing. Didn’t take it off last night.”

I groaned, rolling onto my back to grab blindly at the pack of cheap makeup wipes on the bedside table. I dragged one across my cheek, stubborn particles of glitter scraping at my skin.

“Here, let me.” He murmured, taking the wipe and swiping at across my lips far more gently than I had. His expression turned serious with concentration, and I really couldn’t help but smile at his dedication to the mundane task. There was something domestic about it, something so bizarrely intimate yet it didn’t make me want to bolt out of the room away from it quite yet.

Seemingly satisfied, he let the wipe drop onto the sheets, but kept his hand brushing against my skin. His hand drifted lower, thumb dipping beneath the neckline of the soft cotton tee. His other arm shifted from underneath the pillow, squeezing lightly at my waist.

I inhaled, gaze dropping to his lips, the mask still tucked up over the bridge of his nose. He smirked, almost imperceptibly, as his hands curled tighter around my middle, pulling me in against his body.

“Now, pet…I do remember you being fucking difficult last night.” His voice was gentle, almost eerily so. “I’m almost in two minds about making you feel good right now.”

I bit the inside of my lip, my willingness to sass back at him almost zero right now.

“I was…drunk. And pissed off about being left high and dry. I’m sorry.”

That seemed to do the trick, because almost immediately he was tugging me into the centre of the mattress underneath him, knocking my legs apart with his knees.

“At least you’ve some humility.” He chuckled, leaning down to nip at the exposed skin of my stomach where the shirt had ridden up. “…God, ‘s not like I could turn you down right now anyway. Look too fucking tempting.”

I gasped, back arching up off of the mattress as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin once more.

“Mmph, don’t tease, I- I can’t-“

My weak attempt at pleading was swiftly cut off by another low chuckle.

“It’s okay, princess. Not gonna make you wait, not this time.” He murmured as his lips dipped lower, fingers abandoning my waist in favour of crushing the flesh of my thighs in his grip. He took in a long, greedy exhale of my bare core, lips slick with saliva as he pressed them against the tender skin.

“God, can’t wait to taste you again…you smell fucking divine.”

He wasted no time in diving in, lapping at the slick of my pussy like he’d gone without water for days. A strangled moan was torn from my throat, my fingers clutching tightly at the short curls on his scalp. I felt him twitch a little as my nails bit into his skin, but it seemed to only spur him on further as he pushed his tongue inside of me.

“Fuck, Simon, don’t stop, that feels good-“ I gasped, my breath starting to visibly pick up. I pressed my hips further down towards him, legs twitching and begging to clamp down over his ears. He kept me still, though, those strong hands rubbing small circles into the space behind my knees as he pushed them down into the mattress.

The vibration of his moan against my clit had me almost folding over in half, a sharp breath filling my lungs with ice as my eyes flew open. I met his gaze- his dark, starving gaze- and wanted to cum on the spot. He never let up on his ministrations as he held eye contact with me, just slipping a hand under my ass to grope at it as his tongue worked me closer and closer to oblivion.

I tried to speak, but all that escaped my lips was a pitiful whine, the shocks from my pussy down my legs forcing me to curl up my toes and scrunch my eyes shut. I tried to beg him to keep going, to not break his rhythm, but I found myself utterly unable to speak. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because he didn’t falter, just licking and sucking and drooling over my pussy like he needed it to survive.

I felt my arms moving up of their own accord, tweaking and tugging at my nipples, and I could just barely feel his lips quirk up in an approving smile as the added stimulation drove me closer to the edge.

When I came, it wasn’t with a dignified muffled moan as it often was when I worked myself alone. It was with a breathless, almost pained cry, the sharp end of my nails pressing so hard into my tits I swore the skin almost broke. Simon didn’t pull away immediately; in fact, it felt like he pushed himself closer, lapping up the wetness from between my thighs like a sinner kneeling before the communion cup.

I collapsed back down against the mattress. I couldn’t do anything except stare at the ceiling, vision hazy as I listened to both of our laboured breaths in the quiet room.

It took a few moments for him to drag himself back up over me, into my field of view. His lips held a lazy smirk as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, the flush just faintly visible over his jaw making my own cheeks warm even further.

“…Please fuck me.” I whispered.

Silence hung between us for a second, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

Hesitance? Guilt? Reluctance?

I got my answer when his smirk widened into a grin, and he crashed his lips against mine.

Ghost and I had kissed before. I’d tasted the faint residue of tobacco on his lips, the spearmint toothpaste he used, as his tongue pressed into mine with an urgency akin to an addict pushing down the first hit of their drug.

But not Simon. No, in this moment, I realised I’d never kissed Simon. His lips felt different, the way he cupped my jaw and pressed his weight into me. It felt new, and genuine, and vulnerable.

I realised at the same moment, that this was his first time kissing Lucy, too.

No more Violet. No more calculated persona, no rehearsed responses to his touch. Just a man and a woman indulging sinfully and religiously in each other.

I didn’t notice that he’d pulled his boxers off. I felt him press his cock against me, and moaned against his lips, brows creasing together in desperate anticipation.

He kissed me harder as he pushed himself into me, the sharp sting of the stretch mollified by his sweet tongue. He paused, drawing back to gaze down at me, eyes asking the silent question.

I nodded without a second of hesitation.

He groaned at his first rock into me, fisting the bedsheets beside my head.

“Shit, Luce, you feel better than fucking heroin.”

If I’d been anywhere other than my current state of bliss, I would’ve made a snarky remark about neither of us knowing what the hell heroin felt like. Hopefully.

“More.” I rasped, pulling him closer to me by the nape of his neck. “Please, Si, give me more.”

He growled in response, bullying his cock into me faster and harder. I cried out, nipples pressed into his chest and sending delicious little flutters through my core at the sensation. I pushed my hips up, trying to meet his thrusts, and his breath stuttered at the action.

“Fuck, god, need to have you on top of me. Need to see your face.”

I nodded, even though I was mostly incoherent. Not entirely aware of what I’d agreed to, I let him flip us over so that I was settled above him as he lay with his head sinking into the pillow. I steadied myself with a hand splayed on his chest, panting as I stared down at him.

I began to move with a tentative rock of my hips. The response was immediate, Simon biting his lip as his head pressed further back into the soft material behind him. I grew in confidence as I found my angle, bouncing up and down on him and letting my head loll back as the mind-numbing pleasure took over my senses once again.

He groaned, the sound deep and rough and intoxicating, his hands flying up to my hips to help support my weight as I rode him within an inch of my life.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, sweet girl. Make yourself cum. Make me cum. Ride that fucking dick.” He panted, his grip tightening as he started to manoeuvre me up and down himself, setting a pace I couldn’t quite keep up with.

I let my head fall forward, meeting his eyes with a wordless plea on my lips. He let out a moan at my expression, hips snapping upwards into mine at such a rate I could feel my diaphragm catching.

“Gonna fucking cum. Gonna fucking cum inside you, come on girl, cum around me. Need to see that face.”

I had no defences left. I broke like a dam around him, every muscle in my body contracting as I let myself climax around his cock. He groaned, the sound strained and utterly animal, and I swore my orgasm doubled the second I felt his cum spurt in fucking ropes against my insides.

Neither of us moved for a long moment, aside from his hand sliding up along my back to support me. I drew in deep, rapid breaths, just staring down at him as he lay underneath me.

He seemed to do the same. Neither of us spoke, just a silent understanding that that was different.

Not fucking. Not hooking up. Making love.

I jumped to my feet, knees buckling the second I put weight on them. His arms immediately shot out to steady me, but I brushed him away as I found balance with my hand against the wall.

“You, uh…you want some coffee?” I asked, cringing internally at how stupid it sounded.

He stared at me for a long moment.

“…You should probably shower. I can handle breakfast.”

Too cock-dumb to argue and too sleep-deprived to know better, I nodded, the thought of warm water over my already pliant muscles a prospect too tempting to resist.

I grabbed a towel and a fresh pair of pyjamas without another word, waiting until I heard the click of the bathroom door to let out a breath.

I stared at one crack in the porcelain tiles as I showered.

Don’t do this, Lucy. You’ve been here before.

…But Simon wasn’t him. Simon wasn’t basking me in adoration and gifts and dates. He was accepting of the fuck-buddy relationship, maybe pushing the boundary a smidge with the morning-after sex, but this wasn’t commitment. This was pure, primal sexual attraction, and it’s not as if he would even want a relationship given the nature of his job.

Oh, dear god, his job.

There was no way he didn’t see my reaction to the reveal last night. The thought, the thought of him absolutely decimating some band of criminals without so much as a crack in his demeanour had set every nerve inside of me ablaze.

Would he be soaked in blood? I thought. Would he come home to me, still in his dirty uniform, and take out all of that pent-up aggression on my pussy?

…Jesus, I needed to go back to therapy.

I shut off the water, towel drying my hair and tugging on a random top and pair of joggers. I padded through towards the kitchen, pausing only when I heard that familiar baritone echo through the hallway.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m aware, MacTavish. No, she’s not interfering. She’s a fucking stripper, it’s not as if I’m ring shopping.”

I would’ve been lying if I’d said I hated to eavesdrop.

“…Yeah, she’s hot. She’s also not a serious thing, so back off.”

I chose that moment to step into the kitchen, tugging at the knots in my wet hair as he stood in the corner on his phone. I smirked.

“You gonna let me say hi to your friend?”

Simon’s expression dropped. I could vaguely hear a voice shouting down the other end of the phone, but he hung up the call almost immediately after seeing me appear.

“…Stupid friend. Ignore him.”

I chuckled, brushing past him to pop a pod into the coffee maker.

“Seems like he was pretty clued in about me. Feels a little unfair that I don’t get to know about him.”

Simon bristled.

“Don’t wanna share you.”

Ah. Now that piqued my interest.

“Jealous boy, hmm? Don’t want MacTavish touching what’s yours?”

In an instant, his hands were on me, caging me against the countertop.

He breathed, his tone dangerous. “I can’t stop you from sleeping with every sleaze that ticks your boxes at the club. But you will not sleep with my teammates.”

I tipped my chin up, meeting his gaze defiantly. “You are so rude to me.”

He smirked, fingers trailing along my jaw. “Didn’t seem to mind it when I was making you cum.”

I held eye contact for a long moment, a mixture of amusement and annoyance swimming in my expression. “I like your cheek a whole lot less when I’m level-headed.”

He chuckles, dipping down to press a kiss to my lips. “And I like you a lot more when you’re sober.”

tag list! <3 @simpxinnie

[wen-kexing-apologist]

You're Mine No Matter What: The Commodification of Sand

I have been thinking a lot in the last couple weeks about the dynamic between Ray and Sand, namely the significant imbalance between Sand and Ray in their relationship to one another that has been at the very least, fun to watch, even as I have been slightly miffed at Sand being so much of a simp for Ray when Ray does not reciprocate these feelings. 

Now, @emotionallychargedtowel had a brilliant write up about Sand’s possible parentification and resulting need to play the caretaker for the people around him, which everyone should read. I loved it a lot because it puts Sand in to perspective, that he can be jerked around and insulted and still have care and still want to help the person who is actively and intentionally trying to insult him. Sand likes Ray, that much has been clear from the moment Ray rested his head on Sand’s shoulder after puking in Episode 1, but Ray? Ray does not see Sand the same way, as much as his puppy dog eyes may lead Sand to believe. 

To Ray, who is rich, and difficult to manage, and holds on so tightly to the belief he is a burden, Sand is a commodity, something Ray owns. And it is absolutely hilarious to me that I was thinking about trying to do this write up and drop it before Episode 8, and decided I should wait. AND I AM SO GLAD I DID BECAUSE RAY LITERALLY SAID AS MUCH TO SAND THIS EPISODE. 

Listen, I love First and I love Khao and I love FirstKhao’s chemistry, but in no way, shape, or form do I want Ray and Sand to end up together, they are terrible for each other, and Sand’s lack of self respect at this point is a motherfucking tragedy. I mean, think about it, what care has Ray given to Sand?

Drove Sand to his apartment after the party (and then ditched him in the middle of a make out)

Offered to buy him a guitar

What care has Sand given to Ray? 

Driven him home and taken care of him when he was blackout drunk 

Hung out with him when no one else was around to care: Paid

Hung out with him when no one else was around to care: For Free

Cooked food for Ray 

Changed his work schedule to play at the hostel party

Cooked breakfast for Ray 

Let Ray use him as an excuse to not go to work and instead spending the day with him on Sand’s birthday 

Helped Ray change his clothes 

Followed after Ray and tried to stop him from drunk driving after Ray called him a whore 

Saved Ray from his car accident

(Most likely) agreed to something from Ray’s dad 

Took care of Ray when he was injured including helping him shave and bathe.

Tried to save Ray from getting caught with drugs by the cops after Ray interrupted his time with another guy and kissed him without consent

Tried to fight the cops to get them to let Ray go after Ray essentially said that he owned Sand.

Sand is poor, he’s booked and busy, he’s barely got time of his own to spend on the things he enjoys, he is fundamentally a caretaker, juggling school, multiple jobs, and his mother’s health. We see how much of grind Sand’s life is in the montage at the beginning of Episode 5, he does not have room to slip another person in to his life, hell, the boy barely has any friends. He’s never hanging out with anyone unless it’s Nick and he’s at home. So it is very important to keep in mind that Sand is making time for Ray. Sand has a life that is jam packed and stressful, and Ray keeps asking for more and more of Sand’s time. Time Sand cannot really afford to give and gives it anyway. 

Sand is a caretaker, Sand has a crush on Ray, Sand cannot say no to Ray’s puppy dog eyes and chronic need for help. And the tragedy here is that there is a world where I can see how Sand convinced himself that he and Ray were maybe moving in the same direction. Because Ray couldn’t let go. They fucked once, and Sand said that Ray was going to keep wanting him, and he was right. From the very beginning of their relationship to one another, Ray has been the one constantly asking for and initiating physical intimacy with Sand. The first time we see Sand initiate anything really isn’t until Episode 5 when he goes slack jawed looking at Ray before they kiss and even then Ray is the one that leans in to meet him. Ray is the pursuer here, Ray is the one that stalks Sand, Ray is the one that interrupts Sand’s next one night stand, Ray is the one that is always asking if he can stay over, that is asking for help, that is asking for sex. So of course Sand is going to start thinking some type of way about what he and Ray are to each other, even if they haven’t had any conversations about the nature of their relationship. 

But I think Sand is so used to taking care of other people that he hasn’t really gotten it through his head that Ray doesn’t not feel the same. We see every twist of the knife in Sand’s face in Episode 5 whenever he is reminded of that fact. But I think that despite the shit that Ray has put him through, Sand hasn’t fully realized, or at least, he is refusing to admit it to himself that there is no scenario where Ray falls in love with him, because to Ray, Sand is a commodity. 

Sand is something to be bought. 

Sand is someone Ray can go to when he wants to be serviced. 

Sand is his favorite toy. 

Ray doesn’t like Sand, Ray likes the attention, Ray likes being noticed, Ray likes being cared for, because in his life, his friends mostly ignore him, his father mostly ignores him, his mother is dead and he grew up knowing that she hated him. Ray fell in love with Mew because Mew gave him attention and care, because Ray held him in the bathtub while he sobbed, and Ray has never been able to let go of that idea. But so too, has Ray not been able to let go of the other person who is providing happiness on tap. 

favorite photo ever, courtesy of @liyazaki

There are two critical details to remember about Ray. One- Ray is rich, Two- Ray has substance use disorder. Which means that Ray is constantly looking for the next thing that will make him feel good. He drinks to forget, he does cocaine, Ray by nature of his substance dependency does not have a concept of delayed gratification. Ray is extremely rooted in the present, in whatever dopamine hit is within the closest reach. And Sand and his natural tendency to give everything he has is one of the easiest things for him to reach for. Every time that Sand has tried to set a boundary, Ray has crossed it because he knows Sand has feelings for him, he knows he can manipulate that if he just begs cute enough. When he wants sex, he can get sex, when he wants adventure, he can get adventure, when he wants care, he can get care quick, easy, and cheap. Ray paid Sand once for his time, and learned he could be bought, and he has held on to that one time subscription fee extremely tightly. 

When it comes to Ray and Sand, there is no winning for Sand that is not defined by the two of them never seeing each other again. Because the second that Ray paid Sand for his time, Sand became Ray’s property, and Ray has never stopped thinking of Sand as such. And we know this is true because of everything Ray does and says related to Sand showing any level of autonomy that runs counter to Ray’s vested interests. 

Ray pays for Sand to hang out with him, and soon afterwards, Sand tries to bring a girl home from the bar for a one night stand, only for Ray to interrupt them. Sand ends up going home with Ray instead. Ray convinces Sand to keep making out with him in the car, and then casts Sand aside the second that Mew calls. Sand tries to put up a barrier and Ray is like “yeah sure I’ll care about your feelings, why don’t I buy you a guitar?” because Ray is rich, and so his first solution to conflict is to throw money at the problem, but Sand is easily sated by a little bit of crossed thumbs. 

Sand tries to set another boundary in Episode 6 after he learns that Ray has a crush on Mew, and Ray blows right through that boundary by as @emotionallychargedtowel calls it, “aggressively falling apart”. Ray, to be fair to him is not getting drunk and falling to pieces to intentionally rope Sand back in to his gravity, but Sand’s long held tendencies to help people are going to send him back to Ray every time, because Ray is desperately in need of help and no one else can really be fucked. 

If we weren’t already aware of Ray’s tendency to think of Sand as property, we get another great indication of Ray’s mentality around Sand in the same episode. When Ray is going off on everyone at the bar on Mew’s birthday, Sand tries to step in to stop Ray’s escalation. Ray does not take kindly to this, and says to Sand’s face, in public “You don’t wanna be a singer. You just want to make money. If you want it so much, why don’t you sleep with me?” thus associating Sand’s moments of physical intimacy and sex with Ray as purchasable, as commodities. Why? Because Sand could be bought once, and thus can be bought again. Ray doesn’t think about Sand as a suitor, he thinks of Sand as a whore, and again he says as much when Sand runs after Ray to try to stop him from drunk driving. 

Sand: “Stop thinking about Mew and focus on me for once. Can’t you really see that I care about you?”

Ray: “Why would you poke your nose in my business? What are we to each other? What are we?” 

Sand: “Right. We are nothing to each other, but at least I am your fellow human. I don’t want you to drive when drunk. You can risk your life all you want. But don’t you dare risk other people’s lives too.” 

Ray: “Let go of me you shit. Let go. Or I need to pay you, whore?” 

And thus we have our answer to Ray’s initial question, “What are we to each other?” “whore”. When Ray is wasted, and pissed, and Sand is showing active defiance over Ray’s behavior, Ray reverts immediately back in to the mindset that Sand is owned, that his behavior, his choices, his morals can be changed if enough money is handed to him. Because Ray has bought Sand before, because Sand is poor, and Ray is rich, and Ray thinks that the only thing that Sand could possibly want is more money. 

Sand will commit crimes for money (making and selling plum wine). Sand will hang out with Ray for money. Sand will sing for money. Ray comes from a world with money, it is not absent struggle, but Ray’s struggles are more internal, engrained in his family dynamics. He has never had to worry about making enough money for rent, he has never had to worry about violence being done to him or a loved one from debtors when they can’t pay their interest on time, Ray has never had to live in a world without money, and it is clear from the first episode that Ray is someone that looks down on  poor people, the way he immediately accuses Sand of stealing from him when he wakes up in Sand’s apartment. 

And again, to be fair to Ray, he is not the only one. A couple of the other rich boys look down on Sand the same way. Mew wants Ray to lower his standards and settle for Sand, as if a relationship with Sand would somehow be lesser, when Sand is a good person who cares about and takes good care of Ray, he’s just poor. Top, similar looks down on Sand, he stole his boyfriend, he thinks absolutely nothing of Sand. 

Ray gets in a car accident, Sand saves his life, and then Ray’s expectation from there is that Sand will take care of him. Sand (who has very limited funds compared to Ray) buys him a drink, he helps him strip, he helps him shave, he waits hand and foot on Ray. And how does Ray repay him? By jumping in to a relationship with Mew the very second an opportunity presents itself, leaving Sand once again in the dust. Because Ray doesn’t ever actually take Sand’s feelings in to consideration when he is making decisions. Sand is a plaything to Ray, and Ray has a shinier new offer dangling in front of him. 

Sand, once again, tries to set a boundary, establish a barrier, remind himself and remind Ray that they aren’t friends, they haven’t been friends, and Sand is trying to be the bigger, better person by letting Ray go, by telling him he is happy for Ray to have finally gotten what he wanted in his relationship with Mew. And throughout the entire exchange, Ray keeps looking so confused when he hears Sand’s consistent rejection of Ray’s wishes about how he and Sand will move forward in their relationship to one another now that Ray is dating Mew.  

“So what’s up with Mew? I heard he broke up with Top” Sand asks, and Ray swallows hard, in a way that I personally read as guilty. 

“Good, you can finally end the secret crush. Such a waste of time, right?” a confession from Sand that Ray picks up on. 

“Are you okay?” Ray asks, this is the second time that Ray has tried to check in on Sand after his relationship to Mew got in the way of his relationship to Sand. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re seeing someone you always loved. It’s a dream come true.” Sand once again is not acknowledging out loud or honestly his own feelings, but he is putting his own feelings aside to acknowledge Ray’s feelings. To try to, even still, even after how shittily Ray has treated him, even after how much Ray has taken Sand’s care for granted, spare Ray from feeling bad about fucking with his feelings. 

“Can we still be friends?” Ray asks, because he hasn’t ever had actual consequences for his behavior before. 

“Friends? You and I have never been friends from the get-go. We have nothing in common. Besides, I don’t know why I should be friends with you.” Sand replies, again trying to create a barrier between him and Ray that allows him to be free from Ray’s gravity. 

“But, when I’m with you, I’m so damn happy.” Ray says, because shit like that has always worked with Sand in the past: “Can we hang out together?”, “jerking off feels so good when you’re hungover”, “can you help me?”, and for the first time it really seems like Sand is sticking to his guns. 

*deep breath from Sand, who seems like he is fighting back tears he is so upset at hearing that Ray is happy with him and yet having Ray deny that in favor of chasing his next piece of ass* “You will be too when you spend time with Mew. What you did with me, you will get to do it with him. You might even be happier.”

Sand tries to walk away and Ray grabs him by the arm, because Ray has never once let Sand maintain a boundary, “Sand.”

gif from @liyazaki

“Let me go already.” Sand replies, and Sand here is begging Ray not only to literally let him go, but metaphorically, emotionally, to free Sand of this back and forth. To release him from this existence as someone to be jerked around, whose feelings can be trifled with because Ray isn’t fully capable of seeing Sand as a person with his own feelings that are impacted by the choices that Ray makes. 

And because Ray cannot let it go, cannot just let his precious toys leave him, he remains adamant about blowing past barriers as often as possible when it comes to his interactions with Sand. Sand literally asks Ray to let him go, and not long after that Ray is wandering back in to the study room where Sand is, trying to get them back on good terms. But again, to point out that Ray commodifies Sand, what is it that Ray is asks him for? Is it to go out to dinner with him? Is it to just hang out and chill? To go to the bar? Is it to apologize for his behavior? 

No. 

Ray asks Sand to come with him to do social work, to come with him to play music for children. Why? Because Sand knows how to play guitar, and Ray knows that he can wear Sand down eventually. But it bears reminding that Ray’s social work is court ordered, he is literally asking Sand to suffer the (very minimal) consequences of Ray’s drunk driving with him, and he’s trying to pick the social work option that is the least miserable, the least amount of work, and he is trying to rope in the only person he knows who can get him out of the types of social work that involve manual labor. Because Ray cannot play an instrument, so he would not be able to play music for children without Sand’s presence. 

Once again, Ray proves that he is not capable of associating Sand with anything other than a service provider. 

Or, as we see later on in the episode, as property. 

Because here Ray is, fucking with Sand’s feelings, dating Mew, making out with Mew at the party and there Sand is, not wanting to be at this party in the least but going anyway because he feels bad about what he did to Nick by stealing and sharing that TopBoston audio file, trying to move on, trying to kiss a random stranger with mutual interests at this party, only to have…

Ray interrupt them before they can kiss, squeeze himself physically in between Sand and Freddie #2, and asking if the two of them have slept together. 

“Did you sleep with him?” 

“Damn it, Ray. Are you high? How about you go to sleep?”

“I want to sleep with you. Or what, should we invite Mr. Freddie here to sleep with us? Let’s do it, I’ll go first,” 

AND THEN RAY GRABS SAND AND KISSES HIM WITHOUT HIS CONSENT (which I am pretty certain Mew would consider cheating especially after the whole ordeal with Top) when Sand was just about to consensually kiss someone who wasn’t Ray (again, Ray is unable to let Sand ever exhibit his own autonomy). Until Freddie #2 leaves them alone, assuming they are in a relationship, and not wanting to get involved with “someone else’s boyfriend”

“What the fuck is this. You have Mew now. What do you want from me? Go guard your boyfriend,” 

“I can have feelings for as many people as I want,” 

“But you can’t do this to me,” 

“Stop fooling yourself, Sand. You like me,” Ray points “You love me. You can’t walk away from me. You’re mine no matter what.”

gif by @moonkhao

and there is a reason why they put Ray in the fucking Joker’s costume for this episode, cause that boy is acting toxic as all hell. So even now, Ray isn’t sated, Ray made his choices, Ray picked Mew, Ray left Sand in the dust, but Ray cannot separate Sand’s autonomy out from Ray’s possession of him. I love Only Friends for the level of hypocrisy they allow their characters to have. Ray is allowed to date and have feelings for Mew, and to want Sand, but Sand is not allowed to move on from Ray, Sand is not allowed to have feelings for other people, let alone just make out with a stranger or fuck somebody else without any feelings involved. 

And I cannot stress enough that this is shitty behavior on Ray’s part, this isn’t cute, this isn’t funny, the extent to which Ray is possessive over a person he has no right to act that way towards is inconsiderate, rude, and objectifying. Sand is not allowed to have his own thoughts, Ray must put words in his mouth. Sand is not allowed to move on from Ray, Ray will keep pushing Sand’s boundaries until Sand relents because Ray knows he can manipulate Sand’s feelings for him, Sand will always be a caretaker and Ray will always need taking care of. Sand is maybe waking up to this fact, or maybe the horror in his eyes when Ray is yelling at him is Sand realizing at the very least that Ray knows how Sand feels about him, and Sand is admitting to himself in this moment that like Nick, he can’t help but love this person who has treated him poorly. 

Because Sand is a caretaker, and caretakers, at least in my own experience, are used to having their own wants and needs trampled over. No boundary withstands first contact with someone in need of help. I have tried to reach out and give support to people that I know didn’t like me after they went through hard times together, I don’t talk to my friends about shit that is actually and actively impactful to my mental health and wellbeing, many of the people I am friends with frequently only reach out when they need something from me. If they needed homework answers, or if they needed observation, or if they needed to be picked up early in the morning from the airport and otherwise they never really talked to me. Like, I get a lot of where Sand is coming from with his need to take care of Ray because Ray is a young adult, going through a lot, in need of a lot of professional help he isn’t getting, and Sand can’t not be compelled to help him as much as he can. 

And listen, in my opinion some of Sand’s actions with Ray are justified from a safety perspective, Sand is a caretaker, Sand knows Ray is willing to drink and drive, Sand puts his pride aside to try and ensure that Ray doesn’t leave in his car, and then follows him to make sure that he doesn’t get in to an accident. Those actions make sense to me.

gif from @bird-inacage

Sand doesn’t want Ray to get in to any more legal trouble, so tries to hide the evidence of drugs and get Ray out of the party, which in a normal circumstance I would generally be in support of, but crucially, as @neuroticbookworm and @lurkingshan have touched on in some of their posts Sand cannot afford a run in with police.  Not in the same way that Ray can. Ray is rich, Ray says he can handle the cops, and he can because he can buy them off, the way that Top bought them off. But Sand doesn’t come from a world where he can skirt consequences. 

But there are many places where Sand lets himself get trampled over because he has legitimate feelings for Ray, and Ray won’t let Sand make his own choices long enough to wake up, look around, and realize that Ray has literally given him nothing of substance in return.

[plutopitou]

◇ Carry the two of us

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

genre: fluff, sfw

Suffering from another cycle of depression, you start to feel like a burden to Katsuki. Your aches pinch his soul as he’ll do whatever he can to care for you

word count: 1.4k

warnings: recovering depressed reader, angst if you squint that’s about it :o

I’m pretty new to doing sweet sfw but this one is rlly personal to me so i hope yall enjoy :)

A lingering aroma of cooked spam awakes you from your extended sleep into the edge of the afternoon. But it was the emptiness of space on your right that had your attention first.

A small pale yellow glow peeks beneath the blackout curtains you begged Katsuki to install with the excuse of being helpful for him, for the times he can only rest in the mornings after a grueling night shift.

You didn’t mention you thought of them for yourself first. Your days started to shift into the nights as the night became your day; yet you still wanted to sleep through it all.

Your heart couldn’t let go of the dismay in Katsuki’s face when he continued to arive home to see you still stationed where he left you ten hours ago.

Only in dreams could you hold his hand to your heart and say how sorry you are for acting like this. Why you couldn’t find the answer to the weight pinning you back down to the bed and drowns you in false comfort.

“Did you eat today, sweetheart?”

A light “no” is muffled beneath the comforter, the sound ricocheting to your ears, cursing yoursef for how pathetic you felt you sound.

Two days passed and your house chores and errands are only piling up, forcing you to confine back in the warm cacoon you lie in.

It can be days since you last had the energy to shower but it will never stop him gracing a kiss to your cheek every rising sun and setting moon. To Katsuki you were far from what you thought of yourself to be in such hard times, even if it was hard for him to express it to you.

You just needed time and patience.

Footsteps rustle through the room until it reaches right beside your head.

The comforter is carefully peeled back, your eyes squint from the light now pouring into the bedroom. You look up to see him glazing down at your fatigued figure. His body radiates a warm tenderness trying to break through to you. White light from the now opened curtains gleaming behind him causing his hair to appear lighter.

“Do you feel like getting up today?” His rough voice asks lightly.

You shake your head no, pulling the blanket closer to your chin, you wanted to block away the incoming feeling of embarrassment.

But he doesn’t look at you that way.

This wasn’t completely unusual for Katsuki, your depressive episodes were something that’s happened plenty of times before. Yet each time you curse and convince yourself he’s had enough of you and will finally leave.

“Let’s just sit up for now, ‘lright?” Your mind fights with your lips to not disagree with this arguably simple task. It takes every fiber of your being to let him help you lean up against the headboard and not burry underneath like a rabbit seeking shelter.

You just wanted to go back to sleep.

Katsuki smolders down your wild hair with his palm, kissing the crown of your head softly before turning to the doorway.

It was then you noticed a white office shirt thrown to the side, his loose trousers and white tank fitting the crevices of his lean muscular body, a outfit usually worn after he only has paperwork at the agency.

You grasp his hand before he leaves. “Wait. Don’t you have a full shift today?”

“Left earlier to get some paperwork done and took a couple personal days off.” He replies rubbing doting circles on your knuckles.

An overwhelming sense of guilt and burden fuels your mind. Feeling like such a case. Your boyfriend, who thousands rely on to protect, has to take time away for you.

He can see the gloomy blue sheen your eyes, noticeably morphing your demeanor into something soft and fragile. It pinches his soul.

You loved feeling the deep scars and roughness of his large palm. “I want to be here with you, okay? Don’t feel bad.” He gives your soft hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I know.” You sighed. “I just feel a little guilty. That’s all.” Vulnerability leaks from your words, shooting daggers from his palm to his center.

“You know, it breaks my heart when you’re hurting like this when I’m not here.” He sighs lowly, dripping remorse for your sudden low spirit.

Muttering his return in a few minutes, he leaves after your empty answer.

He returns settling a tray of cooked spam, rice and a perfect egg sitting on top. A small yet filling meal, one you both would eat constantly together in the beginnings of his heroism to pinch a few pennies and make ends meet.

You envied all his strength as you both lay comfortably in a beautiful spacious home for two.

“Katsuki, I don’t think I can finish all of this.” You mumble, chopsticks piercing the yolk as you play with the rice absentmindedly.

Holding a little notebook and pen, he settles next to you in bed. “Eat whatever you feel you can, don’t force yourself. I’ll finish whatever’s left after.” He replies as he continues to write.

The pen writes gracefully against the paper, his handwriting is sharp yet curved at the end of each stroke; each letter having a perfect gap against one another. You believed you can learn a million things about someone based on their penmanship, and Katsuki’s was assertive yet mellow.

You slowly eat slices of the pork and rice as Katsuki leans over to show you what he’s written. “I made a list for us of chores and fun things we can do together for the next couple days.”

You glimpse through the bullet points. It consisted of laundry, dishes, mopping, watch movies, cooking a meal together or take out, eating outside and more.

Your heart swells.

Your lips form a small grin as you finish reading through the more fun activities with sprinkled chores he wrote down. However, doing anything with Katsuki, even if it was watching paint dry, there was never a dull moment. He wasn’t the type to be outwardly goofy but was always able to make you laugh just from a few words of his dry humor.

Katsuki fights a smile as he watches your reaction. His soul hopes you can see the effort he makes as someone who loves you unconditionally. Depression in his household as a child was not depression, it was being ungrateful, selfish, and laziness. He refuses to let the cycle continue; he understands the push and pull of your pain.

There were thousands that counted on him but you were always the one that came first.

“Y’know,” he continues. “Even if we do half of one thing in a day on this list, it’s still enough isn’t it?”

Tears of merriment are quickly pushed back. You didn’t want to start crying, instead quickly noding; consuming another slab of rice to your mouth in distraction.

You wondered what selfless deeds you achieved in your past life to afford someone who without a second thought stands by your side as he has.

As he continues to write, he leans to you with a gaping mouth, cutely signaling to feed him a little. You laugh putting a little rice on your half eaten spam, pushing it into his mouth.

Katsuki finishes whatever you had left and picks up the tray, stopping by the doorway. “There’s some more things I wrote on the back of the notepad, you should read it.”

You glance up at him. His eyes lock to yours with a soft gleam of nurture targeted to your lying figure before he leaves to wash the dishes.

Grabbing the paper, you flip to the back of the page.

There are no bullet points, just neat penmanship with your name written on it softly with care.

‘Every morning I wake up, the first thing on my mind is to see your beautiful face, to cherish your whole being and never wanting more than you to wake up and look back at me. There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do to be by your side. You’ve always been more than enough and it’s time for me to take care of you. Every moment you open your gorgeous eyes is enough for the day. Let’s take care of one another; even if you feel low or can’t find the strength to, I’ll always have enough to carry the both of us.’

-Katsuki

Hope u guys liked this one it was pretty hard to write how i envisioned

Geto and gojo x reader coming soon ;) and dabi eventually ok bye bye luv u

Please like, follow and reblog ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ��

[awkward-fink]

In times of sickness - Captain John Price

„John, could you lend me a hand over here? I could really use some – John?” You slowly bully your way into the house again, your arms fully laden with grocery bags. Normally your husband would have already materialized at the door at the first sounds of you coming back from the market, would have taken your bags and helped you put them away, but today he wasn’t even at the door, you couldn’t even him walking the old wooden stairs.

Furrowing your brows, you set down the first haul of bags on the kitchen table, which was halfway cleared from breakfast items and the bad feeling in your gut only intensified. Your husband had begged off your Saturday market run, against his very nature, citing tiredness and wanting to go sleep for another hour. But this had been three hours ago.

“John?” You cautiously call up the stairs, but there is no reaction. With hurried steps you go up the stairs and towards your shared bedroom, opening the door and slipping into the darkness right behind. Seems as if your husband didn’t even open the blackout-curtains. It was stifling inside the bedroom, a sweet scent lingering in the air.

And there your husband was, in bed and buried underneath his own and your blanket, forehead sweat slicked and breathing even louder than his normal relaxed snoring. Now you were worried.

“John? Love?” You whisper softly, taking a few steps closer, but your husband doesn’t even move, doesn’t even twitch as your voice reaches his ears. With nearly silent steps and only the light shining through the barely open door, you creep closer to your husband’s bedside, reaching out to put the back of your hand against his forehead. Instantly the heat hits you hard, sweat clinging to your skin as you draw your hand back again. A fever, a high one. Damn.

“Oh Honey…” You murmur under your breath, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses onto his temple, watching his brows furrow and then relax some. Your husband isn’t sick often, but when he is, its thankfully over in a few days. But those days that he is sick, you prefer to stay in right beside him.

“Don’t worry Love, I am going to take good care of you.”

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

Captain John Price doesn’t get sick, never. He has too much to do to become sick, chores and work and house improvements for example.

So no, that man really doesn’t have the time nor the free time capacity to be sick.

But when he does, he is down for good. Thankfully only for a few days, but those days are hard. On him and you.

He won’t move much, doesn’t want to eat much. He doesn’t want to be a burden on you and just wants to sleep and sweat that sickness right out.

He doesn’t like you getting to close in that time, you could get ill and he really doesn’t want you to fall ill as well, he would feel so bad about it

Would much rather you be ill, and he can care about you every second of a day with soft cuddles and self-made soup than he be ill and you doing the same for him

Double standards all the way

Thankfully doesn’t have the man-flu and won’t be dying anytime soon.

Will be back to normal at the latest 4 days after falling into bed like a log, will take a self-indulgent shower (best is with you under the water as well) of at least 15 minutes to feel like a new man again

That man. I swear. This man will hide sickness and illness if he can get away with it.

[mushiemellows]

drunken love confessions: frobin, 4

(For Drunken Love Confession prompts, still accepting requests)

"I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back."

It took a lot to get Franky drunk. He teetered on stilted legs as he wandered from the banquet in the Thriller Bark ruins, plagued by a haze of vague memories of dancing on tables…maybe? He wasn’t sure. The world rocked around him, grass and dirt on an island that was actually a massive castle-boat in the middle of the ocean. 

No, that wasn’t right. 

He swayed with the world around him, grass and dirt on a ship that he’d built himself moored to a castle-boat-zombie-island-thingy. Franky didn’t quite know how he’s managed to find himself back on Sunny’s deck, but you know what they say. People always come home in the end. 

His eyes must have been on the fritz because he couldn’t make out fore from aft. Bunks were in one of the directions…but which one? He didn’t know. Fifty-fifty shot. He liked his odds. The cyborg stumbled into the door on his left with boundless hope for his bed, but was sorely disappointed to be greeted by the cold blues of the aquarium bar. Bright eyes snapped up to greet him, sourced from a shadow backlit by glowing glass. Eyes, hands, legs, lips, bangs, books, boots, bust; all his new favorite little shapes, even if he hadn’t found the right time to tell her just yet. 

“Franky?” Robin looked up from the seat with a frown, “is everything alright?” 

“’S’isn’t th’guys' room,” Franky slurred with a blink and a spin back toward the exit. He stared at the flat wall, certain that he’d built a door to the bar when he’d designed it. One of his prostheses rose to knock against the boards with a hope that the way out would appear. He mumbled to himself, “where’s th…?”

Two hands manifested out of nowhere at his waist to guide him just three feet to the right and back out onto the deck. He was halfway across the grass when he realized that the hands were attached to a body, one that supported him through his blackout stupor. “A bit too much fun at the party?” The demon under his arm laughed low. 

“Nahhhh, m’sup’r.” 

“Oh, are you?”

“‘Course I yam, pretty lady! Whud’else would I be?!”

Robin slowed to adjust her grip on his core and her support of his heavy guns. An extra hand blossomed to card through his drooping updo, pushing the fallen tower of turquoise away from bleary eyes. “You’re right,” she smiled, “I don’t know what else you would be.” 

“I’m—I—and you, and I, and we, but,” he swayed as they reached the door to the boys’ bunks. Eyes fluttered shut. Internal systems beeped in an alert. Beverage concentration levels had grown dangerous to the carbo-capilary distribution mechanism. He wasn’t built to run on ethanol. “Fuck, uhhhhhh beep beep. ’S too much. Purge mode activated,” Franky rolled off of her and toward the little water closet under the stairs. 

“Wait!” She extended a hand, one from herself and one from his shoulder to try and stop him, but it was too late. The cyborg burst through the door and dropped like a steel boulder onto his knees in front of the toilet. Her phantom hand caught his flaccid updo right as he spilled his guts. A night of celebration all came back at once to haunt him, followed by tears of apology and embarrassment. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool, especially in front of a crush. 

Franky babbled senselessly into the bowl through each wave of nausea. A garden of hands sprouted all around him to fetch towels and blankets and glasses of water, though one more tangible than the rest knead soft circles into the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades. “‘M sup’r s’rry, d’worry ‘bout me, pretty lady. Y’go back to read’n ya book. Don’t wanna b—,” he attempted before the machine rejected another phase of improper fuel. “—burden ya.” 

“Burden? Never,” Robin crooned behind him. Even more hands held his hair out of his face, now tenderly scraping nails along the nape of his neck. His touch wandered to blindly entwine himself in a thousandth comforting limb. Two of his big, prosthetic fingers nestled against her palm. He briefly considered kissing her hand if his mouth didn’t still linger with the taste of phosphoric acid. 

“You’re s’fuckin’ nice t’me. I love ya so goddam much, every time I look’atcha I get this funny lil’ feelin’ in my chest and at first I thought’t wuz’a malfunction thingy but I did some testin’ and I realized ‘m all fuckin’sup’r and ’s you. Ya know that? You! ’S fuckin’ wild, huh? But I,” he paused to let loose one more time, “I don’t wanna freak ya out ’n we’re stuck on this’ship togetha ’n I don’t wanna make it weird but I got all these dreams’a bein’ with ya ’n—’n—’n I just know the world’s bett’r with you alive in it. Yeah? Yeah. You’re too nice t’me. So sup’r. Stay with me t’night?”

Robin chuckled as she knelt at his side, pressing one quick kiss against his clammy temple. Real hands pushed his hair back. “Oh, Franky,” she hummed, “I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom in this moment. I’ll stay with you tonight, if only to make sure that you’re safe. The rest we can talk about in the morning once you’ve sobered up. How does that sound?”

Franky smiled, hopeful even through his illness, cheek iced on the porcelain bowl, “yeah, Nico Robin. That sounds sup’r.” 

[highonmarvel]

thank you SO much for answering my question (the one with Brock Rumlow). I just think his character is VERY underrated and his darkness and gruffness is just...wonderful, especially in Infinity War (when Steve goes back in time) and in The Winter Soldier.

If you don't want to write for him, it is totally fine.

If you are willing to write for him, here is my request:

Reader grew up in an (mentally) abusive household. Her self-worth is very low, but she manages to go to college. During college, she meets Brock. He, of course, works for S.H.I.E.L.D.S, and let's say he's a very important agent, not just the STRIKE leader. Reader gets together with him (ofc, he manipulates her into that), but he gets abusive, like...really abusive. Being raised in that household, she thinks she deserves that and she stays.

One day, her friend calls the police, and reader wants to go with them, but when the police arrives at their house, right then Brock arrives home and he sends the police away (abuse of power) and then he beats reader again and noncon maybe..

THANK U SO MUCH for reading my shit...idk if you are comfortable with age-gap and everything else, but thank you again.

Stay safe! Have a great day and remember: you are loved!

oh, i especially like the ending here, with him arriving home just as she’s right about to get away. love it! i’m cool with age gap, i like it. if you wanna be super sure, make sure to check out my requesting guidelines here! but in general, i’m pretty much okay with anything. sorry it took so long, i really, really hope you enjoy. alright. let’s go:

Breaking Point

Brock Rumlow: Brock seems too good to be true at first, and when that’s revealed to be a farce, some bad timing really pushes things over the edge.

especially for the beautiful @thehydraethereal, please enjoy. seriously, please do. i tried my best.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I am going to hell.

Non Con Warning!

There were very few things your parents did right—in fact, nothing they did benefitted you in anyway: the constant belittling, sometimes yelling, but when they weren’t making sure you knew just how much of a burden you were, just how much your mother regretted not having an abortion and your father regretted that night, how much pain and exhaustion your existence causes them, not to mention the ridiculous amount of money they have to spend on an oxygen thief, they ignored you and your needs. Sometimes they got tired of dealing with you, and would resort to complete neglect, going as far as locking you out of their bedroom so you couldn’t ask for food or even just a hug. You learnt to take care of yourself pretty early on in life, and you always knew you were your best shot at getting out of this alive.

Surprisingly, you found yourself to be brilliant when you started school—all your teachers (which your parents would never meet with on parent-teacher night) praised your intelligence and creativity, but when you went home with this supposedly good news, your parents either didn’t care or straight up told a six year old to fuck off and die. Your entire schooling career had been straight As and perfect attendance—despite the days where your mother was blackout drunk and couldn’t drive and your father refused to take you to school, you made a plan, always worked around their abusive behaviour. Very early on you knew your parents would never pay a dime for university, and so you worked hard to get a scholarship, and you got it! Here, is where their negligence may have paid off—the only time your mother ever smiled at you was when you said you were leaving for college and you wouldn’t be living with them anymore.

But even now, being on your own, you can never really shake the nearly two decades of constant harassment they subjected you to. Even though your teachers all through grade school assured you you were bright and had so much to offer the world, it didn’t make much of a difference when the two people who were supposed to love you guaranteed and unconditionally just constantly drilled into your head that you were, at best, good for nothing and, at worst, a huge burden no one could ever love or even appreciate. If you were worthless to them despite eighteen years of what you thought was good behaviour (you never snuck out, never drank or did drugs, never did anything but your schoolwork and clean the house) what good would you be to literally anyone else?

It’s chilly when you step out of your dorm building, making you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you adjust the tote bag on your shoulder, the heavy books weighing you down slightly. The walk to the other end of campus for your next lecture is dreary as the grey sky is above: you had tried to call your mother—even through all these years, part of you hoped that maybe if she sobered up she’d apologise for everything she’s said (you knew your dad was a lost cause)—but she didn’t pick up. To make matters worse, she texted you telling you to leave her alone, and you’re pretty sure she blocked your number because the message you sent begging for just five minutes of her time never went through.

You slow down as you enter the corridor where a few of your classmates are gathered behind a pillar, looking curiously towards the doors of the lecture hall. Ducking behind them, you ask one of the girls what’s going on.

“Like, ten guys in black went in there,” she whispers, “We think they had, like, guns and stuff, too. But it’s been quiet.”

“Is Professor Brown in there?” you ask with wide eyes.

She hums in confirmation and nods towards the entrance. “We saw him go in and then these guys appeared out of nowhere! Like they’re ninjas or something,” she mumbles, and you furrow your brows as you straighten up.

Just then, there’s a bang! and the small group jumps. But it’s only the doors bursting open, revealing two guys holding Professor Brown by each arm and practically dragging him across the courtyard.

A tall man steps out, and by his confident stance and firm tone you can tell he’s in charge here. “Nothing to see here,” he says, quickly side-eying the students you’re huddled in with. “Lecture’s cancelled. Take a nap or go to the bar or somethin’.”

The group disperses and leaves you standing there. And from where the small amount of bravery comes, you don’t know, but you muster up enough courage to walk over to the man that stands much taller than you. He has his back turned to you and is talking to two of whatever task force just dragged your favourite professor out of here, who eye you suspiciously as you approach. The man dismisses them and turns to you with what is initially an unimpressed look, before he looks you up and down and something lights up in his eyes. You shift nervously under his gaze and clear your throat.

“Excuse me, sir, I— I’m sure you can’t tell me what he’s done but, do you— do you know if Professor Brown is gonna be back?”

“No, sweetheart, he’s lucky he ain’t dead,” he deadpans, making your stomach drop. He takes a step closer to you and you instinctively take a step back. “What’s your name, darlin’?” he asks in a sweet tone, but the gruffness in his voice counteracts the easiness you guess this is supposed to bring.

You stutter out a response and he smiles, reaching out a hand for you to shake. “Brock,” he gives his name in response. “Brock Rumlow.” You tentatively shake his hand with a nod, slightly intimidated by his grip that’s just a little too strong. He lets go and crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking down at you. “What’re you studying?”

You want to answer him but you check your watch and come to the conclusion you could probably get some of your dissertation going if you hurry back now, or even just take a nap, get a few more hours of sleep seeing as you spent the night crying after your mother’s cruel behaviour.

“I— I’m gonna run now,” you say, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I could fit in some work seeing as I— I don’t have anything now so—”

“How about getting a drink with me instead?”

Your eyes go wide and you’re sure you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“Can just be coffee,” he shrugs, and unfolds his arms to tuck his hands into his pockets. “I won’t keep you too long, promise.”

You stammer nervously around your words as he looks down at you expectantly. “Th— Thank you but— but I really should get back to, um, to my dorm and—”

“That work’s not going anywhere, come on. Maybe a caffeine boost will help you in the long run—half an hour, 45 minutes tops.”

You chew your bottom lip and let your eyes dart around your surroundings. There’s no one here except these police or military or secret service guys, and you have a feeling if you leave alone he’s gonna follow you and wear you down either way.

“O— Okay,” you reply, to which he smiles warmly at you in response. Surprisingly, he offers his arm, and you loop yours through his and let him guide you.

Brock is definitely a dangerous guy, and you two attract stares as you walk off campus, obviously, because he’s a muscular guy in black tactical gear and you’re clearly a little anxious on his arm and regretting your decision to wear sundress today. Despite whatever security force he’s got going on, though, you can’t help but feel a little safer with him nearby—he’s more than equipped to protect you, and he’s being nice, taking you out for coffee, maybe he’s trying to help calm your nerves, or take your mind off the weird scene you saw earlier that he definitely can’t explain yet.

When you finally get to sit down in a quiet corner of a cafe that’s got a few students scattered around, all immersed in their books, and some people with laptops undoubtedly writing screenplays they think are genius, Brock again asks you what you’re studying. You’re a little confused at first, and tell him Professor Brown’s your chemistry teacher (which makes you surmise he was busted for cooking up a couple Breaking Bads), assuming this is some kind of informal interrogation, because why else would he be interested in you? But he shakes his head.

“No, I mean your course. Is this your first year? Are you enjoying it so far?”

You offer a weak smile and give a brief outline, but he presses you for more details, seeming to have a genuine interest in what you have to say, and smiling when you get excited about certain topics, listening—really listening—to you, and for the first time in your life, you feel seen by someone, and not just someone payed to educate you.

“Oh!” you eventually exclaim when you remember to check your watch. “I’m gonna be late! God, it’s been an hour already! I’ve got to go,” you say, and hastily stand up, but Brock puts his hand over yours and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

“No, stay,” he encourages. “It’s not a big deal if you miss one class, is it?”

You look to the door and then back to him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider his words. He must be right, right? It’s not a big deal. You’ve worked hard all your life, and it’s not like it’ll be difficult for you to catch up, you’re just missing one lecture.

“Um, yeah,” you nod as you sit down again. “All right. It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

“That’s right.” He smiles as he flags down a waitress to get two more coffees.

***

Staring at your busted lip in the mirror, you wonder how on Earth it got to this point. You knew Brock had the potential to be violent because that’s his job, but when did it get to the point where you couldn’t even say “I’m leaving the house” without bleeding? You think back to that first day, and how he had convinced you to stay with him for coffee, and you can’t help but curse yourself. If only you had just listened to your instincts, just gone to class like you would under any other circumstance. Why did he have that power over you? How did he convince you to stay? You know why, but you don’t really want to think about it. You know it’s pathetic but that was the first time in your life you were asked to keep talking, the first time you had spoken about yourself without being told to go away, that your voice is grating and whatever you have to say isn’t worth the strain on their ears.

But this is how it works, right? You can only pick one—be heard and deal with physical abuse, or be ignored and deal with psychological damage. And besides, Brock isn’t abusive, is he? Yes, he’s rough, but that’s just in his nature, and he is a SHIELD agent, after all—this violent instinct just comes from his training, his commitment to keeping people safe, and that just misdirects sometimes, it’s not like he can turn it off. And you have to admit, you do feel safer when you walk down the street at night with him or go to bed and not make certain all the doors are locked. His toughness is protective.

You sigh as you wipe the last of the blood off and gather cold water in your palms. You splash your face and let the cool liquid drip down into the basin, along with a little bit of blood. You need to look on the brightside: Brock’s letting you go to school again! You hadn’t been dating him long before you joined a study group at your university, excited to meet some new people, make new friends, and just learning in general made you gleeful, like a little dork (the one degrading name you’d wear proudly) but Brock was suspicious. You brushed it off, thought he was only being protective, of course, but when you were sitting at his kitchen island, eating dinner and telling him the news, his appetite disappeared and was replaced with something like anger.

“You’re not doing that,” he said, firmly, jaw clenched and forearm resting on the table with his hand balled into a fist.

“What?” you had asked with a frown, genuinely confused, “Why not?”

“You really shouldn’t be hanging around kids, baby.” His voice had dropped, gravelly tone making your body stand on alert, ready to bolt for the door if the way he was looking at you was any indication of danger. “They won’t treat you right.”

He stood up and slowly stalked over to the kitchen door, casually turning the key to lock it.

“Well, it’s— I’m not really hanging out with them, we’re just studying.”

“But you don’t need it,” he says softly, walking back into you to cup your face with his calloused hands. “You’re bright, you’re brilliant, they’ll only slow you down. You could be five years ahead of them, you know that?” The stark contrast between his bruised knuckles and his soft eyes makes your mind swirl in confusion.

“In fact,” he continues, “You really don’t need school anyway. You’ll live with me.”

You could tell that wasn’t a question. And though you were hesitant, you accepted, because how nice would it be for once in your worthless life to live with someone who actually cared. But eventually, he started getting bolder with his claims about the people around you, until he declared it wasn’t safe for you to go back to campus at all, that it wasn’t even safe for you to leave the house, and any time you questioned him, a good bruise reminded you of your place, that you were only to listen to him, because he wants what’s best for you. Right?

You had been good the last few weeks, so when you begged him to let you go back to school, promising you’d keep your head down, wouldn’t say a word to anyone and come straight back to him the second you could, he smiled and allowed it. He also gave you your phone back, he took it when he noticed reading world news was only upsetting you, and there’s no reason to worry about that stuff—that’s the stuff he takes care of everyday on the job.

After more or less making yourself look presentable, you return back to school. You haven’t heard anything from the school or your professors about your four month absence, but you’re sure it’s because Brock took care of it for you. How thoughtful, you think.

When you hear a feminine voice call your name, you want to turn around, but you remember what you promised. You pull your hoodie over your head and walk a little bit faster, but she easily catches up to you.

Wanda joins you in step and smiles at you, and though you raise your eyes to meet hers, you don’t smile back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hesitantly bowing so she can better see your face. When you don’t respond, she reaches over and pulls your hood back, casting you into light.

“Hey!” you yell, and she gasps, taking your face in her hands before you can cover up again.

“What happened?” she whispers, ghosting her thumb over the cut on your lip.

“Nothing,” you reply, a little too quickly, making her raise an eyebrow. “I’m fine.”

Before you can process it, she’s grabbing your hand and leading you into the nearest bathroom, which is thankfully empty.

“Sit,” she instructs, pointing at the counter lined with sinks, and you obey her without a second thought, hopping up with your back facing the mirror and letting her examine you. She’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, but the look she gives you is of serious and genuine concern. You don’t know her well, only that she’s the one who invited you to the study group, and she lives on the same floor as you did in the dorms, so you spoke to her occasionally. The fact that this woman knows nothing about you but is clearly determined to help, it makes you tear up. You roll up your sweatpants to reveal your shin and thighs stained with ugly shades of yellow and blue and brown, at which she winces.

The room is silent for a few minutes, and it feels like you’re holding your breath waiting for her to say something.

“We’ve got to get you out of there.”

You want to sigh in relief, but you also know that you can’t get out of there, that he will always find you. Nearly immediately you regret showing this to her. Neither of you said anything about Brock (in fact, you’re not even sure if she knows his name) but both of you have the same idea of him.

“N— no, Wanda, really, that’s okay. I— I need to get going,” you hurriedly stammer out as you adjust your clothes and pick up your book bag.

“Do you have your phone?” she asks, moving to block the door when you try to leave.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I do, I need to go—I shouldn’t have even come, Brock’s not gonna be home tonight so I’ve gotta prepare dinner for myself and—”

“He’s not going to be home tonight?” she interrupts with a sad yet hopeful look in her eyes.

You look away from her and decide to just push past her, regretting you said anything at all. This time, she lets you go, but not without yelling from behind you, “Keep your phone on!”

***

Later that night, it’s approaching 20h00–Brock has left but you haven’t eaten anything, and though you tell yourself it’s from the nerves of being left alone, you know you’re anxiously waiting for Wanda’s call, your heart pounding against your chest, leg tapping furiously as you stare at your cellphone sitting across the table. When it rings, you all but jump out of your seat as your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. You almost forget to press Accept before raising the phone to your ear, breathing uneven and voice shaky as you answer, “H— hello?”

“Is he gone?” Wanda’s comforting voice comes through on the other end—she’s clearly in an anticipatory state, but just hearing the care her voice carries makes you feel a little lighter.

“Yeah,” you croak before clearly your throat and mentally reprimanding yourself for being so paranoid. “Yeah. He’s… he’s out. For the night, I think. He’s not gonna be back until I think tomorrow morning, or maybe even the day after.”

“What’s your address?”

You give her Brock’s address as you make your way over to the window, peaking out into the front yard, afraid he’ll just materialise and barge him.

“Okay,” she responds after scribbling it down. “I’m calling the cops.”

“What? Wanda, no!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

Part of you wants to argue with her, say he’d never do that but… he might. You’ve never been on the receiving end of 100% of his strength but you know you’ll never make it out alive if it gets to that point.

“Please,” she pleads, desperation so evident in her voice you cup your hand over your mouth to stop the sob that threatens to come out. “I’ll come with them, I’ll be there, you won’t be alone, I can keep you safe.”

Safe. Safety: the one thing you’ve wanted all your life.

With a few hiccups you nod, forgetting she can’t see you through the phone. When she asks, “Are you there?” you reply, “Yeah. C— call them, but please come, too.”

She assures you she will before hanging up, and you’re left in silence once again. It could have been a minute or an hour before they showed up at the door, you have no way of knowing because of your nervous pacing and your mind racing a million miles a minute. When the doorbell rings, you swear your soul must have leapt out of your body for a second, that you momentarily had a heart attack but that human survival instinct brought you back to life.

Your hands are trembling so hard you wonder how you haven’t dropped the key as you slowly unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peer out into the dark. Wanda is standing behind two tall police officers, and she gives you an encouraging smile that makes you want to cry for the third time today.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” asks one of the policemen, carefully watching your movements. “We have reason to believe domestic assault may be taking place in this residence. If you could come with us—”

His words are cut short by the crunching of gravel as a car pulls into the driveway and all four heads turn to face the black SUV coming to a stop. It’s like you’re paralysed, completely still as you watch his heavy boots hit the ground and hear the door slam shut. When he circles to the other side of the car and towards the door, a brief flash of confusion crosses his features, but he quickly regains his composure, and it was a subtle display, so subtle you doubt anyone else in the world could’ve spotted it but you. Your eyes dart nervously from Brock to Wanda, who is glaring at him so hard you’re sure she’s willing daggers to pierce straight through his nonexistent heart.

“Evening, officers,” he greets, casually as he takes the few steps up to the door. “Can I help you?”

He joins you in the doorway, standing just a little bit in front of you to discreetly hide your terrified features from the two men.

“Agent Rumlow,” Officer Two greets with what’s clearly deep admiration, and you see Wanda resist the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he responds, changing his stance to lean against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there a problem?”

The two officers give each other nervous looks before the first speaks up again. “We were,” he clears his throat, then continues, “We were responding to reports of domestic assault, sir. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Though you can’t see him, based on his faux sympathetic tone, you can imagine an exaggerated display of his brows furrowed in confusion. “Can’t say I do. Do you know anything, sweetie?” he turns to you and gives you an ugly grin, a face you know all too well—that look he displays when you piss him off and he’s got an excuse to punch you this time.

You gulp and shake your head, looking down at your shoes.

“Well then—”

“Bullshit!” Wanda suddenly calls, stepping up to Brock. “You,” she begins, pointing a finger at him, her voice trembling with anger. “You are a fucking maniac! You—”

Before she can finish, Brock waves his hand and the officers grab Wanda by a shoulder each, snapping her out of her rage and into a bit of panic for a second.

“Sorry to bother, sir,” is the last word one of them gives before turning back to the car.

“Wanda!” you call out, not taking a step forward before you’re blocked by Brock’s large body. Between him and the doorway you’ve got a gap to see them dragging her away. You watch with horror as she repeatedly calls your name, unrelenting in her kicking and screaming, calling out to you, and you’re… useless. You can’t help her. She did all this for you and you can’t do a single thing for her.

In shame and fear, you take a step back, breathing heavily. You jump when the door is shut and the click of the lock makes you queasy. There’s a rattle as Brock drops his keys into the bowl near the door and sighs as he turns to face you.

“What was all that about?” he questions, in between a laugh, and you can do nothing but stare at him in horror as tears spill from your eyes.

“Well?” he asks, taking a menacing step towards you, becoming bigger and bigger before you as you cower in paralysing fear. Before you can process it, he wraps a hand around your neck and nearly lifts you off the floor as he pulls you towards him. “Fucking answer me, you cunt!”

You claw desperately at his forearm to get him to relent as his breath hits you in harsh puffs through his flared nostrils—he’s seething, practically to the point you can feel his body temperature rise and rise. When your attempts become feeble and he can feel you struggling to keep consciousness, he lets go and you fall to the ground, gasping for air as your nails dig into the weathered floorboards. You cough a few times to regain feeling in your lungs before a swift kick to your chest knocks the wind right back out of you. You go sliding a few metres across the floor, splinters poking under your fingernails making your eyes water, wrapping your hands around your neck as if that’s gonna help.

“Brock” you try, but your voice comes out as barely more than wheeze, “Please—”

“You gonna answer me?” Another kick sends you backwards, sprawling onto your belly. When you attempt to crawl forward, he presses his boot down harshly on your lower back, making you cry out as you reach an arm behind you to try and pry him off. “What was all that about, sweetheart?” he seethes through gritted teeth before delivering a kick to the side of your head, sending a warm trickle of blood running down from your temple.

“I didn’t— I didn’t call them—”

“But your little friend did.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and you whimper. Leaning down to meet you halfway with your head pulled up off the ground, he drops his gruff voice to an almost animalistic growl. “Big mistake.”

If you didn’t turn when he did, you might have broken your spine in half, still trying to claw at him as he drags you by your hair to the bottom of the staircase and tosses you carelessly onto the steps—they’re carpeted, but that doesn’t soften the blow, and a ringing sound echoes through your skull as black spots dot your vision, disorienting you for long enough to let Brock tug down your pants.

“Maybe you need a reminder of what you are, and who you belong to.”

As he’s unbuckling his belt, you take the chance to push yourself up and run up the stairs, but you trip on your pants he hadn’t even bothered to take halfway off and he easily catches your ankle, pulling you down again and making your chin hit the stairs. Your teeth clatter together painfully and you’re sure you would’ve bitten straight through your tongue if it were in the way.

Finally rid of his belt, he grabs the end of it and whips so the metal buckle slashes against your face, making a deep gash down your cheek and nearly clawing your eye out in the process. You sob as your skin is ripped and reach a hand up to cup your injured cheek. Brock takes the opportunity to to press your other hand behind your back and practically crush your wrist with the impact of his boot to keep your arm pinned down.

He tries to finger you before quickly giving up and spitting into his hand, the lewd sound making you let out another sob as you try to wriggle free, a feeble fight which he effortlessly ignores.

When you feel his tip line up with your entrance, you let your head fall in defeat. Maybe it’s better this way, to just go limp and accept whatever comes your way. You’ve been worthless all your life, maybe this will make him think you’re worth something, if you just let him do what he wants, stop fighting him, because every single time you express opposition, you get hurt. You thought Brock was the only person to listen, but he’s not listening to your pleas for him to stop.

Eventually, he grows bored of your crying and grunts in frustration, turns your head to smush your face against the dusty carpet, somewhat effectively silencing you as you try to stop crying to preserve oxygen, taking shallow breaths as if that will have much of an effect. His slow pace makes it more painful, somehow, like he’s saving this memory, taking his time and making sure every one of his thrusts hits deep enough to make you jerk forward before pulling out of you almost entirely, and doing this over and over again. Gradually, your cries die out, voice slowly disappearing and throat hoarse and as painfully dry as your cunt. You taste blood in your mouth and can feel that the blood from your tearing walls is the only thing slick enough to keep him going. Now, it’s only his groans and the sound of skin on skin when he slams into you, but when he starts to lose focus, his rhythm hesitant, he lets go of your arm in favour of gripping your hips, his nails indenting your skin, like a tattoo of his name that’s impossible to erase even if you sliced the skin off, like it’ll just grow back if you ever heal, like the scars are a reminder of your breaking point.

The very moment you decided to stop fighting, to give in, just allow yourself to be worthwhile to someone, whatever it takes.

⊗

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs

[abiiors]

i have had a massive migraine for over four days now and all i want is ross taking care of me 😩😩😩

oh no baby, i'm so sorry :( hope you feel better soon ♡

i've never experienced a migraine before (or only experienced it once, jury's out) so i'm basing this off of google

you blink and try to readjust your blurry vision, then smile at ross when you catch him frowning at you. you're fine. everything is fine. it's just a migraine--you've had those before and you'll live, there's no need to make him worry when he's hanging out with his family after so long.

"you good, love?" his sister asks as she passes by and you give her a tight-lipped smile and a nod. the nod turns out to be a mistake though as the pounding in your head increases instantly.

"m'good! just tired."

fortunately, she seems satisfied by the answer, quickly diverting her attention back to her kids. (who laugh and cheer loudly at that moment and make you regret your entire existence) you knew this was going to be a long day when you woke up this morning, you just didn't expect to fight the urge to vomit all over his mother's backyard at 10 am.

what you don't know, however, is how ross watches you from the other side of the backyard, pausing halfway through a play fight with his nephews.

he knows all the subtle signs--the way you wince at the sunlight, the slight furrow in your brow, and the way you hold your temples and massage them when you think no one's looking. but ross sees it all. and so he sets the baby down and makes his way to you.

"you doing okay?" the suspicion on his face is evident and you try to keep your voice neutral.

"i'm fine, babe. go have fun!"

still, the scrutiny in his eyes stays and you try to give him a bright smile which turns out to be a fucking mistake.

smiling so wide makes the ache compound tenfold. the sun in the sky is so strong, so bright. honestly, it feels like everything out in the world is intent on harming you. and the children shriek again loudly.

you can't help yourself then. you scrunch your eyes shut and stumble forward only for ross to catch you.

"woah... what--"

"i'm fine, i promise, ross," you sigh knowing this facade is useless. "it's just a migraine..."

"just a migraine?" through your blurred vision you see him raise an eyebrow. "baby, you look so pale. why didn't you say something?"

"didn't want to take you away from your family, babe," you pout and the incessant pounding reaches a new high. "fuck, the painkillers i took are useless!"

"you're coming with me," ross insists, "come on. let's go back to our room. there's blackout curtains there."

"but--"

"no, absolutely no buts. we are here for three more days, baby. spending some of that time taking care of you isn't going to be a big deal."

even though his tone is scolding, his voice is incredibly soft and gentle. you know he's trying to keep his volume to a minimum and as much as it makes you feel guilty to take him away from his nephews and nieces, you do really want to be taken care of.

"there we go," he says softly only you get back to the room and get in bed. the black-out curtains mercifully do a wonderful job of blocking every last ray of sunlight.

as a cherry on top, you feel his fingers on your scalp, massaging gently.

"you need to tell me these things, okay?" he says, pressing small kisses on your temple as ross pulls you into his chest. "i want to take care of you, especially when you're not feeling well. that's never going to be a burden for me."

"i know, i... you're right, i should have." you wince as another wave of pain hits and your stomach churns with nausea.

"alright no more speaking now. you let me know if you need anything else but i need you to sleep okay? the painkillers should kick in soon."

"'kay."

his fingers continue to play with your hair and massage your scalp, occasionally coming down to trace the shape of your brows, and over your forehead, and down your nose. it's more soothing than anything else. it's soothing enough to lull you to sleep.