#but what if it crashes to much or like burns my laptop

[tonycries]

My Oh My - R.S.

Synopsis. Trick or treat! The mean ínmate in Room 6/9 doesn’t want halloween candy - he wants something else much, much sweeter.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, ínmate! Sukuna, slight foódplay, creampíes, bràt-taming, use of “góod girl”, MEAN softíe Sukuna, PÚSSYDRUNK Sukuna, oraI (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s piercings and tattoos, dry-húmping, squírting, spítting, bódy worshíp, exhíbitionism, slight Gojo x Reader, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 6.7k (sigh)

A/N. Yes, the seventh day of k!nktober had to be Sukuna even tho I’m a Gojo-gagger…

“Nanami chill.”

It’s twelve in the dead of Halloween, and Nanami Kento does, in fact, not chill - not when he’s five hours deep into overtime at the most high security prison in all of Japan, running on only three cups of caffeine and the promise of a day off sometime in the next year. 

“You know I can’t do that.” he rubs his throbbing temples, heaving out a sigh as he often does. Taking one long look around the glaringly empty surveillance office, “Especially not today of all days.”

You’re humming in flippant agreement, but that only makes the furrow in your partner’s brows deepen even more. “I know I know. But don’t you think the inmates deserve something a lil’ special today? I mean, he-” Pointing at the grainy CCTV footage on your computer screen - showing one, Ryomen Sukuna, in his padded cell. Watching. Waiting. “-didn’t get a single visitor all year.”

And before Nanami can even think to open his mouth, you’re already dusting down your uniform. Grabbing the bowl of candy propped between you two that you’d swiped from the break room. 

“Wait-”

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Now, you’ve always been told that you’re a little softer than most when it comes to your inmates - which perhaps wasn’t the best quality to have when your section was filled to the brim with the most infamous of yakuza and serial criminals. But they respected you. Hell, Nanami loved to roll his eyes at this one but - you think they almost liked you.

Especially Ryomen Sukuna.

You shiver at the long, long list of crimes of his that you had to memorize in your early days - distinctly remembering the way your laptop had crashed with just how far you had to scroll. 

Honestly, you weren’t surprised that the most wanted crime boss across the globe wouldn’t get anything other than public threats and a few snarling officers that laugh smugly in his face. Though, you have had to sift out a few perfumed fan mail from time to time. 

And even before you’d started this job, you knew of him - who didn’t? 

The King of Curses, they called him. And what a king he was.

Some say he was just a crook. Others say he was a beast that seemed like he had four arms and twice the power of any normal human being. 

Right before his arrest, the Curses owned half of Japan’s revenue - he was untouchable. With his deceivingly innocent signature pink hair, those circling tattoos all across his body, and the dark, dark bloodthirst to get whatever he wanted. Whenever. And fast. 

It’d made international news when he was finally caught - only after a long, agonizing syndicate war between himself and the Six Eyes. It was your first day working here, and you were there to spy it firsthand when he was brought in. Shackles clanking along the metallic prison floor, towering well above the eight officers by his side, being hauled into that specialized cell like some animal. 

And, yet, through it all Sukuna was smiling - smiling like he knew something that everyone in this building didn’t. 

It still burns into your memory the way he’d stopped right in his tracks for the first time on his way up here, stalling for just a second. Two. Before looking right into your widened eyes, devilish grin only growing at your trembling figure.

Ryomen Sukuna had his eyes on you from the moment those handcuffs locked him in here. 

And he still did.

“Hey there, Kuna-” you’re humming after the long, tedious task of unlocking all sixteen padlocks on his heavy metal door. It clamors to a shut behind you with a deafening clang! Locked from the inside. With him. Alone. “How are we doing today?”

Sukuna was sat on the padded floor of his cell, knees brought up to his broad chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he almost looked like a scolded child - had it not been for the custom-made metal cuffs that restrained him up to his very forearms. A matching leather muzzle drawn tight to cover half of his pretty face. 

He was the very epitome of all you should stay away from in this prison. 

And, yet, you find yourself walking towards him, carefully trying not to step on the hefty chains of his shackled ankles. 

It surrounds you like an iron serpent, clinking lightly when he’s raising his half-lidded eyes to look up at you. “Heh- will it reduce my sentence if I say s’better now that you’re here, brat?” 

Sukuna’s deep baritone was husky with disuse, hitching sharply at the end of his sweet little nickname for you. From what little you could make out behind the muzzle, you catch the slow, sultry curl of his plump lips. “Or should I say-” His gaze trickles down to your glinting golden badge, narrowing. “-officer.”

You’re rolling your eyes, “You and I both know we’re past all that, Sukuna.”

“Not past that enough, dontcha think?” he’s cracking his neck with a slight tilt side by side, as if he hadn’t even realized how long he’d been sitting here until you’d wandered your way inside. Cocking his head up slightly at the small glass bowl still clutched in your hands, “Somethin’ sweet from someone sweet f’me?”

“Oh-” you’re sputtering out. He knew exactly what buttons to push to tease and toy with you without even lifting a finger. “-yes, trick or treat! Since it’s Halloween I thought I might as well share the spirit.”

He’s bellowing out a husky laugh that rumbles from deep within his chest, and you have to tear your eyes away from the slight, sinful sliver of tan skin that peeks out at the jostle of his thin cotton t-shirt. 

You hated to admit it - but you almost understood exactly why Sukuna got so many fan letters that you had to throw out. A secret you’d whispered to Nanami over break and then never again after he fully ignored you for a week afterwards. 

Sukuna takes his languid time stretching out his limbs, and you get the distinctly hot feeling that he’s doing this on purpose. One eye cracked to watch your every jolt when the hem of his t-shirt raises just a bit too high, when his long, long legs nudging lightly against your feet. 

You huff, “Well, would ya like some or not? Because I can just give all of it to Mahito in the next cell-”

“Ah, you’re so damn hot when you’re mad.” he grins, and now you know he’s having fun with you. “Fuckin’ demanding, too.” 

He’s bringing up his two firmly restrained arms up to your line of vision. “And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, silly girl, but m’a little ah- preoccupied, here.”

Oh, right. 

Shit. 

It would’ve been so easy to just move your fingers over to the keys in your backpocket and unlock his handcuffs for the slightest second. So easy to shut his cocky mouth up by doing the very things he knows he won’t goad you into doing. 

But you sneak a glimpse up at the camera positioned at the very corner of the room - trained on the hunched over-figures of the two of you - as if to say, “Hey, see, Nanami?” 

“Nice try.” And you swear you hear the great Ryomen Sukuna gasp - gasp - a sharp, tiny inhale when you reach out towards the very back of his muzzle. Your fingers scratching up lightly against his silken tresses as you feel for the clasp, letting it fall to the ground in a sad pile. Soft - it’s the first thing on your mind, and the next was how unfairly attractive Sukuna looked without his muzzle. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

He just beams up at you, showing off his slightly sharpened canines. Facial tattoos almost as sinful as the darkened glint in his eyes, “Heh- as if I’d wanna go absolutely anywhere else right now.”

Before you can snap back - or more likely, make a fool out of yourself to his amusement - he cranes his neck desperately upwards. “So? Jus’ gonna stand there givin’ me a pretty view or what?”

Too soon, you’re realizing what he wants.

And too readily, you’re crouching down till you’re eye-level with his greedy gaze. Hastily unwrapping one of the candies, “Open wide.”

Sukuna only grins. “Get closer would ya? M’not a fuckin’ giraffe now, am I?”

Fuck. 

Wordlessly, you inch closer.

“Closer. These chains aren’t as long as they look y’know.”

And closer. 

“Just a bit more- I don’t bite. Promise.”

And- 

“Good girl.”

Before you know it - Sukuna has you exactly where he wants you. Losing your fragile balance to topple over into his awaiting lap, manspread, cushioning your fall. His biceps flex against his restraints, as if some second nature of his wanted to wrap those tattooed arms around your waist.

“I-” you’re gasping, palms gliding over his feeble uniform. Feeling every curve and divot along his hard front- fuck, he felt like a wall of bricks. So toned underneath that fabric, your chin rests softly on the valley between his plush pecs. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“S’perfect though, isn’t it?” he’s cutting you off, leaning in so close now that you could feel your cheeks heat with each of his feverish puffs of air. The very tip of his nose kissing yours. “Now you can reach me- honestly, why complain when life gives ya lemons, woman.”

Your breath hitches, “I…”

“So? Gonna gimme some of that sweetness?”

You’re still unsure of what’s happening. And all you can do is to wordlessly bring the sweet treat up to his lips, almost flinching when the warm softness of his lips brush up against your fingertips. 

And shit, you know what it must look like on the outside, you know that Nanami’s probably halfway through jumping out of his seat at the surveillance office already. 

But you really can’t bring yourself to think about that right now - not when Sukuna’s wrapping his rosy lips around your fingers. Eyes drooping shut slowly. Lazily. Lingering longer than necessary when his tongue swipes at the candy. 

It all but melts in your hand, and as soon as you’re about to pull back-

“Hold right there f’me now.”

You’re sure if Sukuna’s hands were freed then he’d have claimed a strong grip on your wrist already, because he was just nuzzling his face into your touch. Sighing out, “Can’t have my officer all dirty now, can I?”

His long, pink tongue comes up to just drag along your digits, making you keen at the slight scratch of his soft taste buds. One by one. Each of your fingers. Sucking, groaning. 

Smiling at you slyly, he’s dragging his tongue in between your index and your middle finger, slurping up all the sweetened candy from before. “What? Cat got yer tongue?”

“Y-you-”

“Y-y-y-you-” he mocks, baritone voice a few octaves dramatically higher than usual. Through his smirk, Sukuna bites down on the very tip of your index, making you wince at the sharp sting of his canines. “If ya got somethin’ to say then spit it out like the big girl you are.”

He’s so leeringly smug, watching back as you struggle to meet his intense gaze as if it was his favorite show. Oh, how he wants to tease you about that little good girl routine you put whenever you stop by his cell - always smiling, always in that snug uniform that made you look so irresistible, always talking to him so sweetly as if he wasn’t the king of curses himself.

Never in his life would he admit it, but it was so…cute.

And Sukuna half-expects you to jump back this very second, to throw another one of your pouts his way and scamper off back to the safety of your office. He expects you to-

“Kiss me.”

Oh. 

Fuck.

That was not what Sukuna expected - never in the hundreds of years he was sentenced to rot in this prison.

But, well, looking down at the way you were splayed out so prettily on his lap - your chin jutting forwards, hands steadied on his pecs, glossed-up lips all pursed for him - how could he ever say no?

In a split-second, he’s kissing you. 

And you’re kissing him back and fuck- is it intoxicating.

Sukuna meshes his lips against yours so slowly, savoring. Angling his head just enough to suckle on your honeyed lips, you’re feeling his hips gently buck upwards, drinking up your light groans. 

You mewl when he slides his soft tongue between your lips. And that’s when you learn that Sukuna has a tongue piercing, cold and metallic against your lips. He tastes so sweet - exactly like the artificial strawberry from the sweet earlier and-

“Hah-” you’re gasping at the soft clink! of something sweet, something hard being placed all prettily right in the middle of your tongue - the candy. Brows raising, “Isn’t that-”

“So what if it is?” he’s grunting, not letting you part too far away before sitting up even straight to surge his lips against yours. Mellow. Addicted. Sukuna just loved how sweet you were on him - even more so than that godforsaken candy. He’s craning upwards to nip lightly at your bottom lip, “Got a problem?”

You were so pliant on top of him, swiveling your hips down lazily at his question instead of answering. Over and over. And Sukuna almost finds it in himself to taunt you until you answer- before one manicured hand of yours grips his face, letting his sharp jaw slack open. 

Only giving the candy a few drippingly wet swirls inside your mouth before spitting - a thick wad of candied spit right onto Ryomen Sukuna’s tongue. Glistening against his piercing.

And he takes it. 

Surprisingly, hypnotically takes it. 

He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he mouths in that tiny piece of strawberry candy back. You hear the crunch! of it underneath his teeth, kissing you even deeper to show off how he’d swallowed every tiny shard.  

Curling his legs around your form, it’s all it takes for his gaze to drop half-lidded, chest panting - heaving - he smiles a dangerous curve of his lips against yours. 

Sharp teeth glinting against your own, he chuckles. “I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun, dontcha think, brat?”

You can only take it when he rolls his yearning hips up into yours. You feel so dizzy at the massive outline of his half-hardened cock underneath you - solid, thorough inches girthing upwards against your heated cunt. 

“But first-” His teeth bite down on your lower lip, and he pulls. “-think m’gonna hafta hah- teach ya to be a good girl f’me.”

Clang!

All of a sudden, the heavy ripping of metal rings across your dazed head - and Sukuna’s just tearing apart his durable metallic handcuffs as if they were made of nothing but paper.

“What-” you gasp rubs over where the tough restraints had rubbed his skin redly raw, oh he just basks in all your sputtering disbelief. “You could remove it- but- but that was special grade?”

“Ya really thought a pile of trash like that would keep me put? Of course, I could fuckin’ get out, don’t be silly, woman.” He quirks a slitted brow with genuine confusion - almost as if he was offended at the very thought. And before you know it, Sukuna’s throwing away the useless pieces of junk towards a nestled corner of the cell - hitting exactly on the bullseye of that damn CCTV he hated so much. Both of you watch when it topples brokenly to the ground. He hums, low and sultry, “I just hadn’t found a good ‘nough reason until now.”

Almost immediately, his hands are on you. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Coaxing such pretty whines out of you when Sukuna ravages along every inch of your body, large calloused palms kneading down your tits, your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Ohh- this s’the life.” he groans, all ten of his thick digits squeezing and teasing you. He’s leaning down to nip lightly at your ear lobe, “Almost makes me forget what a naughty girl ya actually are.”

“I’m not-” you answer immediately, but it comes out much more breathless than you intended and both of you know that. 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna jostles the two of you so that you’re fully laid out across his hulking body now, and you’re squirming already - desperately trying to wiggle your hips down to where he was throbbing. To glide the sopping wet place between your thighs down his rock-hard erection. For this, you’re gifted with a branding slap! on the curve of your ass, Sukuna holding you firmly in place. “Doesn’t explain why you’re already s’fuckin’ wet like a slut, my pretty baby.”

You lick up the tattoo on his chin, “But- but Kuna-”

Another needy grind - another smack.

“Now what did I jus’ fuckin’ say?” he hisses, and the primal rasp in his tone just makes you drenched. 

And Sukuna notices - of course, he notices. Drunken red eyes widening, oh, he could almost feel how fucking soaking you were through all those clothes. Too many clothes, in his opinion.

Which is why he has one hand fisting furiously at your smart uniform shirt, not a single word or apology uttered before he just shreds it right off your heaving chest.

“Oh my god-” you squeal, your hands coming up to clutch at the tatters of fabric and your badge. And your lips pout out in such a way that makes his cock just twitch, mumbling out stubbornly, “That was my new uniform-”

“S’what happens when ya get too greedy like this.” His knees raise up a bit more to rub your glissading cunt along the very curve of his fat tip. Just dragging your dripping cunt all along his bulging dick, reveling in the sticky schwf! schwf! schwf! of wet fabric. Sukuna gives an impatient tug on the fabric of your pants, “Now get rid of this before I tear that off, too.”

You couldn’t shuffle out of your belt and trousers fast enough. And oh, even that wasn’t enough for Sukuna - dazedly flinging off what remained of your shirt, your bra, before turning his eyes downwards and-

“Oh, good girl.” he whispers at the sight of you in nothing but your flimsy excuse of panties. So soaked -  translucent, even - your saturated juices making such a glossy mess at your inner thighs. He can’t help but flick at the tiny bow on your underwear, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

“K-Kuna-” you’re barely even thinking at this point, panting. “Wan’ to feel you–”

He’s tittering a breathy moan disguised as a laugh at this, bringing up a hand to cup your cheeks. “Awww, my pretty baby wants my cock?” he coos, squeezing in two of his thick fingers between your lips.

But if Sukuna was looking for an answer, then he doesn’t wait for it. 

A spit-glossed pout finds its way to his lips, mocking your own. And fuck, he was such a little tease. One hand giving your ass another slap! just to watch you whine and pretend that it didn’t make your pussy even more embarrassingly wet - shit, he was having fun. The other pulling out from inside your mouth, delicate strings of spit snap when he’s gliding his coated digits down, down, down-

“Oh-” you tuck your trembly head into the crook of his neck when Sukuna drags his thumb just across your puffed-up pussy lips. Slowly. Tantalizingly. 

“Oh?” he huffs out, licking his lips at just how steamingly wet you were inside. So ready for him. “‘Oh’ is all?” 

Sukuna plants another lingering smack on your ass, and by now you’re sure by now he’s left the bumpy imprint of all five fingers on your flesh. Tracing between your swollen folds gingerly with just the rounded tip of his finger up and down up and down. He gets greedy. 

“Damn brat-” And it’s all the warning you get before he just forces two of his fat fingers into your messily throbbing pussy. Rubbing all around your tightly quivering entrance, “S’what I get for spoiling you too much.”

There’s no hiding from the way he stretches you open so obscenely, having your sloppy hole just gaping around his digits. All wet and cozy inside.

“Oh- m-more-” you mewl. 

But he only continues rubbing saturated little circles around your teasing entrance, humming hotly against your lips. “Hmm, dunno. Think we hafta teach you some manners, silly girl.” And each of his fingers were so thick, stretching out the channel of your cunt until your mouth watered. Your body was limp, hips stuttering down softly into his hold - trying so uselessly to fuck yourself back down onto him, as if he wasn’t easily holding you still with just one beefy arm around your waist. “How about a ‘please’ first?”

You scramble to dig your nails into his bulky deltoids, tracing around his circular tattoos peeking out. “P-please!”

“Nuh uh-” he snickers. “No stutterin’”

“Please!”

Sukuna pretends to think for a few syrupy slow seconds. He nips down softly at the sensitive spots on your neck, having you trembling like a feather in his vice-like grasp. “How about a ‘pretty please’?”

And oh, he grins at the way you’re almost on the verge of tears at this point, your pouty lower lip wobbly with effort. Trying so desperately to comply with the demands of your inmate, you buck your hips so that the soft mountains on his palm graze against your clit. Whimpering, “Wh-what if I w-walked away right now, Kuna?”

“My my, resorting to threats?” he’s whispering filthily in your ear. “Now I know you’re bluffin’ woman. Because I hngh- also know-” So smug when he tugs down the soft cotton of his pants just enough to let his achy cock spring free. “That you’re gonna stay n’ beg f’me like the good girl you are.”

And you hated that he was right.

You hated that he was so big. 

Hefty girth slapping up onto his abs with a wet smack! Sukuna’s red, rounded tip was so thick that you could feel your thighs clench, swiping up a glossy glide of precum onto his t-shirt. Drip! Drip! dripping along the crevices of his veins and down to his eager balls, those tufts of pink at his base. All his solid inches winked up at you glisteningly in the harsh cell light. Just waiting. Throbbing. 

It made your mouth water. 

So you finally answer, voice strained and breaking at the very end. “I- I wan’ you really badly, Kuna.” He sucks in a breath when you bat your teary lashes up at him, “Pretty please?”

“My good girl.”

At this very moment, the only other response you get is a sensual, slow drag of his fingers out of your cunt. The exact opposite of what you wanted - because, of course, this was Ryomen Sukuna. You whine, clawing desperately at his wrist to try and reel him back.

But he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Almost hypnotized in the way he brings his drenched fingers up into his mouth without a second thought. Sukuna moans at the taste. A glossy trail of your messy slick forms down the corner of his slurping mouth, and he throws his head back with a guttural, “Oh fuck- s’sweeter than any of that hah- candy.”

Ah, that did it. 

Only milliseconds later, you’re being spread all flat on the floor with one swift shove of Sukuna’s big arms, panties sliding easily down your shivering thighs. It really doesn’t take much to have your dangling legs splayed out across his sculpted back, his own body shuffling down ravenously to come lips-to-lips with your puffy pussy.

And oh you can feel his smile against your dripping wet cunt, half-lidded eyes boring right up into yours. Long, pinkish tongue lolling out like he was utterly fucked - and if you angled your head just right you could see the way he was deftly spreading both of your swollen folds, the very tip of the hot muscle kissing wetly against your sloppy entrance.

“Shiiiit-” your fingers tangle themselves in his rusty pink hair. Hips jittery and bucking up drunkenly against the cool surface to chase his hot mouth. “Oh- ngh- Love havin’ your m-mouth on me- ngh-”

“Gettin’ all mouthy w’me, huh? Aren’t ya embarrassed to be absolutely ruined like this by a criminal like me?” he huffs out a bout of raspy laughter. “S’all because you decided to be a- fuck- a good- girl f’me, that’s- what.” Struggling to even get out coherent sentences because he didn’t want to part from your pretty pussy. Instead kissing all over again and again-

The bulbous metal stud of his tongue piercing thrashes up so filthily against your hot clit, coating the sensitive nub in all of his heady, swelteringly hot saliva.

And the only time you’re registering Sukuna break away just mere inches is to spit. Once. Twice. 

Thumbing across the stream of see-through spit he just grins up at you in a way you knew to be a pussydrunken expression. Glassy eyes almost drooping shut, tiny dimples cratering at the very ends of his lips, the entire lower half of his face covered in a shiny sheen of slick. Drip! Drip! Drip! right onto the middle of your shamefully spread cunt. 

“Ya got me thinkin’ I’d wanna live out my entire life sentences jus’ for a taste of this pretty pussy, woman.”

Roughly lapping with his tongue against your clit, each one pulling out crashing waves of white-hot pleasure that make you all but sob when Sukuna unabashedly adds in his fingers past your gummy hole.

“You can take it-” he hushes out uncharacteristically soothingly into your inner thighs, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along them. “Take ‘em f’me.”

Sukuna isn’t shy about immediately dragging his fingers along your sopping wet folds. Starting up a ruthless, simpering pace thrusting inside and out of your drooling entrance has you whining.  

“Oh.” your mouth slack-jaws open deliriously, and for the second time tonight you feel like you’re being absolutely split-apart on his thick fingers. Splaying out a hand to glide across your tummy, “You- hngh- you already feel s-so deep, Kuna.”

Your words were cracking with a whimper each time he’s delving into your gushing depths. Building you up, wringing you taut with pleasure whenever he picked up the pace. Alternating between harsh sucks on your cunt and the absolute meanest of swipes against the spongy placeholders of your sweet spots. 

“Already?” he has the audacity to cackle - cackle right in front of your teary face. “M’barely even f-fingering this pussy n’ you wanna talk about deep- lemme show ya-” He spares not even the tiniest ounce of mercy when hauling your boneless body even closer. Brows furrowing at the knocking of his chin at the very base of your cunt, the way his jaw grinded. Sukuna replaces the hand on your stomach with his own free one, guiding it up, up, up until your eyes widened and you could feel your breath tightening in your chest. 

“Here.” Drawing a burning, imaginary line about halfway through - “Here is where my cock s’gonna be so ya better get- better get ready for that, pretty baby.” Looking right in your eyes, Sukuna’s tone is laced with a vicious sort of snarl when he plows on, “Because my good girl s’gonna be able to take it.”

And you’d heard of the type or orgasms that leave you speechless, that leave you so blindsided that you don’t even realize you’re having them.

Because it takes only a few more expert tweaks of Sukuna’s lengthy fingers up against every nook and crevice of your. Scissoring, swirling - round and round until he was dredging up your dizzying orgasm. 

“Oh my god- I think I’m-” your words are garbling together pathetically, wet and as unsteady as each jolt of electricity running down your spine. “I’m-”

“Cumming.” he’s cutting through, tugging you by the thighs even closer to make out impossibly deeper with your convulsing pussy. Rolling his eyes, “I know I know, just shut up n’ cum all over my mouth would ya?”

It’s not like you could do anything else. 

And - as a little punishment - your grip tightens searingly on his scalp, just dragging your drooling pussy all over his pretty features. Letting yourself gush all down his tongue in a steady trickle while you ride him to your heart’s content. 

“Heh- getting so fuckin’- hngh- fucking greedy, aren’t ya?” he mutters out over wet slurps. Still hammering in the pads of his fingers to press up harshly into your bulging sensitive spots. “S’alright. Use me then, use me-” 

Your back arches almost painfully, vision tinging with slight black at the edges, and it’s as if you were out of control at this point. 

“Now now, what do you think you’re doin’ huh?” he feeds into each of your stuttering, slick glides down into his palm while you come down from your high. Eyes narrowing down at you, “And here I thought you were turnin’ into my- hah- g-good girl. Where are those hands going, huh?”

Shit, you didn’t even realize it at first.

Your hands are wandering so sluttily down to where his thickened base was just twitching in his lap. Aching to wrap your trembly fingers wrapping around him - struggling to even close. 

“Oh- oh my god.” your eyes widen after a few sloppy drags of your soft palm down his length. Curving it slightly to the side at the sight of another one of his signature ringed tattoos - right around his fat base. “You have another tattoo here?”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, hips rutting upwards at a sloppy staccato in synchronization with his hands and yours. “Yeah- n’ I already know you love it-” he shudders out, chest panting. “-because I can already feel just how much wetter ya got- shit-”

With all of his almost-inhuman strength, it’s almost too easy for Sukuna to drag your body downwards to his like some silly little ragdoll. 

“Kuna–” you’re dragging out in a breathy tone. Your hands shakily tugging on his t-shirt - your mind finally clear enough to realize that he was still fully clothed while you bare and fucked-out already underneath him. “Wan’ this off-”

Smack!

“Forgettin’ your place, aren’t ya, pretty baby?” he growls, but fuck did Sukuna think you looked so utterly gorgeous like this. All pouty and teary, letting out the cutest whines while you waited for him to do exactly what you said. 

And, well, he might be the notorious king of curses, the most wanted criminal in all of Japan - but that didn’t mean that Sukuna was any match for you. 

“M’only listenin’ because you were so f-fuckin’ good f’me hngh- earlier, brat.” he spits out. Hastily ridding himself of both that paper-thin t-shirt and pants - not tearing, you note with slight disgruntlement. Kissing your ass with another smack of his palm for good measure. You wince when he flicks your forehead, “So ya better not let it get to that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

But fuck, was it so difficult not to. 

Sukuna was so mouth-wateringly gorgeous, all sculpted muscle and what looked to be miles upon miles of tanned skin that you just wanted to bite into. And you realize - with a jolt - that when those other inmates rumored he had tattoos everywhere - they weren’t lying. Thick, circular rings that highlight his bulging biceps, those toned thighs as far as your eye could see. 

Now you really understood the fan mail.

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

Those drippingly wet smacks this time didn’t come from Sukuna’s hands on your ass - instead, it was from calculated, purposeful little slaps of his thick cock onto your clit.

“Heh, as much as I love to have my- ngh! my cute lil’ officer ogling me-” His hand coming up to curl around your throat, forcing you to peer downwards. “-I’d rather you look where it r-really matters, silly girl.”

He sounded so proud - barely lucid already at the very sight of your tight, glistening hole kissing up against his fat tip. 

Dragging a thumb down your wet slit to grin at the size difference even further, he purrs, “Yeah…this pussy has been givin’ me a real treat tonight. Might as well give her one back, hm?”

And he’s so big, so full that you can’t even whine out anything coherent when Sukuna sinks into your sloppy cunt inch by fucking solid inch. Pushing past that ring of feeble resistance, your pussy was greedily swallowing up every bit of his massive girth. Letting out the cutest squelches that make him moan. 

“Oh- would ya look at that?” he bares his teeth in a devilish smile. Head thrown back at how you’re already clamping and trying to milk him with your velvety walls. “Takin’ me so well, ya really are such a good girl, huh?”

Each and every hoarse little praise is panted raggedly against your ear, and your pussy slides up and down his swollen shaft in a sultry back and forth. And Sukuna just can’t tear his eyes away from the way your cunt swallows him up so greedily - so frantically like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him.

“Kuna- hngh!” your thighs quiver up and down. Hips moving in slow gyrations against how he was rummaging all inside you. “Y-you’re stretching me out so good ah-”

He’s still trying to squeeze inside, still pushing and pushing. Pressing a hand down on your stomach, “Told you I’d be right-” Bottoming out. Hard. “-here.”

Each and every juttering ram into your gooey depths have you keening, and his eyes growing even wilder. Grin curling upwards at how every kiss of the very tip of his rotund cock has your spongy cervix bouncing into him, your walls pulsing where he swipes inside. Looking for-

“Fuck!”

That. 

“Heheh- hope ya can take it, brat. Because once I start-” he presses hot peck after peck down your jaw. “I can’t stop.”

You learn very quickly that that wasn’t a threat - it was a promise. 

Every plunge into your melty pussy has you almost bawling, because Sukuna wasn’t gentle - no, he doesn’t even ease you into it. The soft curve of his head presses in so harshly against your bulging g-spot, so thoroughly in rough, wet glides. Each single hammer upwards sinking against wherever drove out the prettiest moans from your pouty lips, having you such a shaky mess underneath of him. 

Exactly how he’s  been wanting you this past year in confinement.

“W-what-” you sputter out, dragging your nails across his neck to mash your lips onto his. Tasting the candy and you and the candy- “This past year?”

Oh. Shit. 

“Heheh- did I say that out loud?” Sukuna rumbles, struggling to catch his breath while he swallows back each keened-out whimper threatening to break out from his lips. He gives your tongue a slow, tasteful suck. “Whoops- hah fuuuuck- you see what this pussy does t’me?”

He brings one large hand down to your jittery hips, the other drawing a tender stripe across your still-sensitive clit. That heavenly feeling just makes you clench, and Sukuna to throw his head back with a withering groan. “S’fuckin’ dangerous- you’re more fuckin’ dangerous than me- hah-”

You giggle at the way he was running his mouth now, sentences slurring together like he couldn’t even find the words. 

“You see this-” he pants, so sensitive that Sukuna can’t help but tuck his face into the crook of your neck. And you feel the burning flush of his cheeks, the way he brings your hand up to pat his plush pec, thumping thunderously underneath his heated skin. “-got me fuckin’ crazy here- ngh! M’on my knees for you n’ you’re all here actin’ like such a good girl.”

As he babbles, Sukuna actually falls back onto his knees. 

Dragging you right along with him to spearhead his cock vertically into your snug channel, his powerful thighs are thrusting up, up, up-

“Oh-” You’re wrapping your arms tightly around his neck when faced with another stinging smack! And this time he takes the opportunity to roll his fat thumb even deeply against your clit. “S’so-”

Sukuna’s eyes were half-lidded now, grumbling out little profanities into your mouth. “What? Can’t even speak now?” He chuckles - but it sounds higher-pitched, breathless like he was fucking losing it. “Doesn’t- ngh- doesn’t matter- this cunt is speakin’ ‘nough for the both of ya. Why dontcha act like my good girl n’ ask what she’s sayin’?”

God, your face burned with such mortification - and it’s all you can do to dart a bleary look towards that smashed CCTV camera once more. Gulping out a breathy, “Wh-what is she ah- sayin’, Kuna?” over those deafening squelch! squelch! squelches. 

He positively beams, “She’s saying…” Nipping down on your lower lip, tasting that familiar strawberry on your tongue. “-that right about now she’s gonna cum.”

And sure enough, a particularly harsh clashing glide across your g-spot has you sobbing, has you twitching - it has you cumming. Over and over all over Sukuna’s relentless cock, and not just that-

“Shit, woman.” Sukuna stares, jaw-dropped in awe at the absolute mess your overwhelmed cunt was gushing out. Coating his erratic thighs in a wet gleam of all your juices, it seeps into his skin, dripping down the curve of his legs and onto the padded floors. “Fuckin’ squirted all over me, you’re fuckin’ ah- unreal- fuck–”

If he couldn’t maintain that gruff tone of it that’s because he was genuinely in heaven. Mouth watering, achy cock twitching up into the cushiony sides of your walls once. 

Before he’s shooting such a sloppy load into your already-messed-up pussy, dumping out thick volumes of seed again and again. It sloshes in all over your insides with every quivering wave of your own orgasm, seeping out from the edges of your sopping slit. Slobbering. Overspilling. 

Sukuna grunts, feeling you shift gingerly up and down to milk each of his stringy ribbons of cum, leaving sinful dredge after dredge that paints a creamy white ring around his base. 

“Fuckin’ wastin’ it-” he’s jeering, plugging in one of his indexes into your already fully-stuffed entrance. “Better keep that shit all inside- m’not gonna let my good girl waste it, m’kay?”

“Mhm.” you nod, your drowsy body leaning heavily into his. And Sukuna wraps both his strong arms around you to just pin you to his body. “Might jus’ be the best Halloween I’ve ever had-”

“It fuckin’ better be or so help me-”

SLAM!

“Yo, King of Curses~” both of you snap your heads over to the sudden intruder that’d just crashed the bolted cell door open. He was tall, enveloped by the harsh light from behind - but you could make out those features anywhere. Any guard in this prison could. Throwing over a heavy leather jacket Sukuna’s way, “I tried to wait until your pillowtalk was over but Nanamin can only hold off the bastards on morning shift for so long. So ah chop chop, Suguru’s already waiting for us.”

Gojo Satoru.

Leader of Six Eyes, foe of Ryomen Sukuna. 

Looking at you like he wanted to positively devour you, “Or, well, if your cute lil’ officer’s coming, too, then we could continue this when we get back to the hideout. Don’t you think, sweetheart~”

And Sukuna, oh Sukuna was scowling ever so slightly at the other’s words - but he only had eyes for you. “So, whaddaya say, brat?”

---

In the hazy haven of the surveillance room, Nanami lets out a deep shudder. Head thrown back against his leather chair, he takes a few bleary moments to collect his breath. 

“Fuck…” he groans, placing that small handheld camera monitor on the table. A secret one. One that no one working in this prison building - and least of all you - knew about. All of that had been an accident, really - an unintentional part of the plan. But the way that Nanami has to drag his boxers upwards, zipping his uniform pants back up wasn’t. 

Taking a steadying gulp, he throws away that soiled tissue. Fingers punching in a few numbers on his phone, all according to his rehearsed script. “Yes, hello?” watching the monitor unwavering. Unsurprised. “We might have a situation.”

A/N. *BAM* hits you with random plottwist.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[ohproserpine]

v. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and bloof, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder

"THAT SLAG!"

Velvette's piercing scream echoed through the meeting room, slicing through the air. Vox and Valentino jolted, turning their gazes toward the source of the disturbance.

"Good-for-nothing piece of shit twat assistant!" Velvette paced the room, her movements agitated and frantic as she angrily tapped away on her phone.

In a sudden surge of anger, she flung her device across the room, sending it flying above Valentino's head. A crash punctuated the air as it collided with a window, the impact shattering the glass into shards that rained down onto the floor.

"Velvette, darling," Vox raised an eyebrow, his voice calm as always, "What's got you so worked up?"

He took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma wafting up from the steaming cup as he idly scrolled through his laptop. "Is it that showgirl situation again?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Velvette rolled her eyes. "Of course, it is, you git! It's been literally the ONLY thing I've been banging on about this week!"

Valentino's sigh cut through the conversation as he adjusted his sunglasses. Holding his glittering firearm up to his face, he pressed rhinestones on it with tacky glue, unfazed by Velvette's anger.

"It's just some performer, babydoll. We can find a replacement."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Velvette seethed as she stormed toward them, her heels clicking loudly with each step. With a forceful slam of her hands against the table, it shifted forward, jolting the items on its surface. With a hiss of pain, Vox recoiled, his hand jerking back from the scalding coffee he had spilled on himself.

"The boutique opening is in three days! How on earth am I supposed to find a girl who's got the looks and a set of pipes in time?!" she exclaimed.

Valentino looked up from his bedazzling, a raised eyebrow visible above the rim of his sunglasses. "Have you tried one of my models? I got a lot of pretty little chicas who can charm the socks off anyone. No need to stress yourself out."

"Your models? Do you have any idea how much time and effort it's going to take for me to wrangle those little amateurs into something remotely resembling a professional performance?" Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sod off!"

Valentino snarled in response but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath, "Have it your way."

"If I may," Vox spoke, wiping his hand with a grumble, the sting of the burn still lingering. He tilted his head slightly, raising a single brow. "Have you tried scouting?"

"Have I tried scouting?" Velvette mocked, her hands waving around in frustration. "Of course I have! All I've come across are bloody singers around here, and they all look like they've been dragged through the dirt backwards!"

"Well, have you tried the back district?" he offered, tapping his claws on the long glass table. He watched as Velvette pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse, visibly cringing at his suggestion.

"Why in bloody hell would I go there?" Velvette grimaced as she re-applied her dark lipstick. "I'm not about to waste my time scouring the back district for some dime-a-dozen talent. I need someone who's got class, not gutter scraps."

"Well, there's this performer," Vox insisted, snapping his fingers. A screen materialized with a whiz, displaying a video of a figure in a sparkly silver dress singing and dancing. As the video drew to a close, the camera zoomed in, capturing a close-up of the woman's face. Her features were radiant, a smile gracing her lips as she gazed out at the audience.

Velvette snapped her mirror shut with a flick of her wrist, interest sparking in her eyes. She leaned in closer, studying the performer's features.

"Who's this?" she quipped.

"Dolly, at least that's what they call her," Vox hummed, sliding the screen over to Velvette. "She works at Mimzy's Lounge."

Velvette's expression darkened, strands of hair falling over her eyes as she took the screen in her hands, leaning down to view the image again. The glow of the projection illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her steely expression.

"Mimzy?" she uttered the name slowly, her lips dripping with venom. "That's the cunt who tore up my best showgirl!"

"Drama," Valentino chuckled, spinning his bedazzled gun around his fingers.

"Well, this Dolly girl is her biggest star, and she's been making quite a name for herself there," Vox drawled, gesturing toward the screen. With a tap of his claw on the screen, he zoomed in closer. "She's got the looks, the voice, and the stage presence you're looking for."

"And she's managed to shine even in the shadow of that cesspool," he added with a sardonic grin as he sipped from his coffee.

A flicker ignited in Velvette's eyes as she straightened. "Then it's settled. I'll pay her a visit."

"Sounds like you've got a plan brewing, my dear. Care for some company?" Vox spoke with a smirk playing on his lips.

Velvette shot him a knowing glance before a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why not? I could use some of your charm."

.

"Cher? Dearest? It's time to get up," the radio atop your bedside table rumbled, your husband's voice crackling through the air.

Grunting in protest, you burrowed deeper into the warmth of your blankets, seeking refuge from the harsh bite of the morning. But Alastor's persistent calls refused to be ignored.

"Mon cœur? Cher? W̷A̴K̶E̴ ̶U̸P̷!̶" it blared, the words amplified by hissing static, demanding attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from the cocoon of comfort that had enveloped you. Sitting up, you felt the blanket slip from your shoulders, pooling around your hips. Memories of last night flooded in, and the remnants of Alastor's romantic gesture still adorned your room. The bouquet sat atop your dresser, with scattered white roses delicately strewn across your bed like whispers of affection.

Despite the tender atmosphere, a throbbing headache reminded you of an unwelcome guest that accompanied you into the morning—the hangover.

Dragging yourself to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Then, pushing yourself to your feet, you padded across the room, the cool floorboards sending a shiver through your bare skin. You picked up the radio, its incessant blare akin to an annoying alarm clock, with Alastor's voice still grating on your nerves.

"Alright. Alright. I'm up, love," you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes which still felt thick with sleep.

The radio rumbled with delight at your response.

"Hellish morning to you, my dear!" Alastor's voice boomed through the speakers, his jovial tone slicing through the early morning gloom. Despite your grogginess, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sound of his voice.

"Hellish morning to you too, darling," you returned, laced with affection.

"I trust you had a restful sleep?" Alastor questioned.

"As restful as one can get with a noisy radio blaring in their ear," you sighed, already feeling the weight of the day bearing down on you.

"Hah!" Alastor laughed, the sound making you roll your eyes. "But where ever would you be without my dulcet tones to serenade you awake?"

"Probably catching a few more precious minutes of sleep," you muttered, already regretting the start of another day. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

"Ah, but that's why you love me."

Back in his hotel room, Alastor chuckled to himself as he shrugged on his suit jacket. From his microphone, he caught the rustling of your clothes, followed by the gentle rush of running water.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a gramophone, its boxy form materializing atop his dresser with a soft thud. Soon enough, the needle gently descended onto the spinning vinyl record, releasing a soft, nostalgic melody that filled the room.

I'll never smile again Until I smile at you I'll never laugh again What good would it do?

As Alastor began to sing along, his smooth voice seeping through the rusting speakers of the radio, you paused in the middle of washing your hair, caught off guard by the unexpected serenade.

"Stupid, stupid man," you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head. And yet, despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, warmth creeping into your heart.

For tears would fill my eyes My heart would realize That our romance is through

Exiting the bath, you toweled yourself off and approached your wardrobe, humming softly as you selected your attire for the day. After scanning through the hangers, you settled on a vibrant red hooverette dress. With matching stockings and white heels, you completed the look, the final touch being a few roses plucked from the bouquet Alastor had given you, tucked behind your ear.

I'll never love again I'm so in love with you I'll never thrill again To somebody new

Dressed and ready to face the day, you returned to the radio, the soft strains of music and Alastor's voice still lingering in the air. As the final notes faded into silence, you stood for a moment, savoring the fleeting illusion of domestic bliss for a moment longer.

With a pang of sadness, you glanced at the clock, realizing that it was time to go.

"I have to head out now, darling," you spoke into the radio, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. "My shift starts in a while."

"Ah, until we meet again, mon cher," Alastor's voice replied warmly. "Do take care of yourself."

In response, you leaned down to press a kiss against the speakers, a gesture of your affection. The soft sound of the kiss was barely audible, but Alastor's ears perked up and caught the gentle touch against the metal surface. He chuckled softly, then, with a soft click, the radio fell silent.

As you slipped your purse over your shoulder, a thought crossed your mind—should you bring the radio along? The temptation to have Alastor's voice with you throughout the day was strong, but the risk of further damaging the precious device gave you pause. With a sigh, you decided against it, opting to leave it safely in your room, where it would patiently await your return.

Heading out of your room, the lounge was already buzzing with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. Although no singer graced the stage yet, the speakers blasted with the familiar tunes of Hell’s Top 10 Hits.

"There you are!" Mimzy's voice cut through the lively atmosphere, her smile failing to reach her eyes as she bounded towards you.

"Mimzy," you greeted flatly, acknowledging her with a nod.

"How are ya doin', doll? Just the person I was looking for," she purred with a bat of her eyes. "Alright, listen, I've got a marvelous idea for a performance."

You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself for whatever scheme she had cooked up this time. Mimzy's requests were as extravagant as they were challenging, always pushing the boundaries to maintain her club's "reputation" and squeeze every last dime from these sinners' wallets.

"Let's hear it," you replied, mustering a polite smile.

"So, I was thinking," Mimzy began, tapping her finger along her chin, "how about a duet? A throwback to the good ole days, sharing the spotlight. It's bound to be a performance these wayward fools are going to talk about for ages!"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relatively tame suggestion. The blonde wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or restraint when it came to showmanship. At most, a duet with Mimzy was sure to be a spectacle, for better or for worse.

"And when is this going to be held?" you grinned tensely, hands at your hips. There was bound to be a switch somewhere.

"When else? Prime time tonight!" Mimzy giggled as she threw up her hands with a flourish.

And there it was.

"Tonight?" Your eyes widened, shoulders squaring in shock. "Miss Ma'am, that's cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

"Bushwa! We'll make it work," Mimzy replied dismissively, waving off your concerns with a flick of her hand. "And I've already got the perfect song in mind. It'll be a real humdinger, mark my words."

"Alright," you sighed, hoping for the best but bracing yourself for the chaos that was sure to follow. "Tonight it is."

"That's the spirit! Hell, why don't you take the morning off?" Mimzy grinned as she hurried off down the hallway to make preparations. "I'll see you tonight! Make sure to be here by sunset!"

Standing by the stairs as stiff as a pole, you watched her skip off with an unusually chipper air. It struck you as odd, but you pushed the thought aside, eager to have the morning to yourself. As you turned away, however, your head throbbed once more, the reminder of your hangover cutting through the moment.

"Looks like a ciggy is in order," you muttered to yourself, rubbing at your throbbing temples. Making your way outside, hoping to smoke away the edge of discomfort.

Trudging along the filthy backstreets, you did your best to avoid the muck and other questionable liquids that lined the roadside. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, assaulting your senses with each step you took.

No one spared you a glance as you passed; the citizens of hell were absorbed in their own pursuits or concerns, and you blended into the backdrop of the grim landscape. 

Finally reaching a clearer stretch of street, you took a seat on one of the benches, the worn wood groaning under your weight. The city bustled around you, a mix of sounds and movements that seemed to blur together.

With a weary sigh, you reached into your bag in search of company—nicotine.

Fingers fumbling through the contents of your purse, you felt the familiar shape of the roll, and with a hum, pulled it out. However, as you continued to rummage through your belongings, a sinking realization settled in.

Your matchbox wasn't there.

Dropping your head into your hands with a scowl, you could feel the stress mounting within you, bubbling up like a simmering pot ready to boil over.

Wallowing in your misfortune, you failed to notice someone approaching you from behind. A sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with a tall and slender spider-like demon. His frame was practically drowning in a plush white fur coat, the color almost blending into his skin. It contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the black bodycon dress clinging onto his curves underneath.

"Need a light?" he asked casually as he held up a pink-colored lighter.

You eyed him skeptically for a moment.

In hell, kindness often came with a price. Whether it was a favor owed, a debt to be repaid, or simply a hidden agenda waiting to be revealed, nothing came for free. However, when your head throbbed again, you sighed and relented with a nod, accepting the offer despite your reservations.

Angel Dust ignited the lighter, the flame pirouetting gracefully and flickering in the wind. Drawing closer, you leaned in, offering the tip of your cigarette to the flame. With a gentle hiss, the tobacco caught fire, wisps of smoke curling into the air like ethereal dancers. As you took a deep, shaky inhale, the saccharine poison of the smoke flooded your lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. Shutting your eyes, a sense of calm washed over you as you leaned back, letting yourself be carried away by the fleeting tranquility of the moment.

Remembering you had company, you grounded yourself and opened your eyes. "Thank you ever so much, dear. Can I have your name?" you asked, tilting your head up at him. The stranger moved to sit down next to you, the worn wood of the bench creaking under his weight.

"Angel Dust," he said, and your eyes shot wide open, lips forming an 'O' shape.

"The porn star?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"Didn't take you as the type to watch my shit, toots," Angel laughed heartily as his grin widened from ear to ear in response, his golden tooth gleaming at you like a wink.

"Well, I may not be your typical fan, but your name does tend to make its rounds in conversation," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. Taking a drag from your cigarette, you gestured with it casually. "I saw you in my husb—erm, the Radio Demon's commercial. Hazbin Hotel, was it?"

"Yeah, and don't worry, I know. Dolly, was it?" Angel Dust replied smoothly, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant given the situation. Extending his hand for you to shake, he continued, "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

His confession caught you off guard, but you shook his hand firmly nonetheless. "How did you—did Alastor tell you about me? You two must be close."

Angel Dust hesitated, a grimace crossing his features. His crimson eyes darted away briefly, as if weighing his words carefully.

"Let's just say... word gets around in our circles," he replied vaguely, tugging his coat closer around himself.

"I don't know him that well, though," Angel Dust admitted with a shrug, his gaze drifting off momentarily. "Sometimes he can be a bit..."

"A pompous dick with a sadistic streak?" you suggested, exhaling smoke as you raised an eyebrow at Angel Dust, testing the waters.

Angel Dust laughed genuinely, throwing his head back. "Something along those lines, toots," he grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Well, it's good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," you remarked, a wry smile playing on your lips.

"Believe me, ya ain't alone in that," he agreed. "So, ah—What brings ya out here? Aside from the obvious need for a blow."

"Just needed some fresh air," you admitted with a shrug. "Plus, I may have indulged a bit too much last night and woke up feeling like death warmed over."

"I hear ya," Angel Dust replied, nodding sympathetically as he raked his eyes over your worn-out form, noting the slump of your body and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked so different from the sparkly performer he had seen on stage days ago.

"Hey, I actually caught one of ya shows the other night," he piped up, attempting to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Did you?" you cooed, surprise evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Angel nodded, stretching out on the bench, spreading both his arms across the back of the wood. "Gotta say, ya put on quite the show up there. I mean—ya had the crowd eating out of the palm of ya hand."

A faint smile crept onto your cheeks at his praise, a swell of pride rising within you.

"Well, thank you," you bowed your head in gratitude, momentarily forgetting your fatigue in the warmth of his words. "It means a lot coming from someone like you."

Angel Dust waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, lips jutting out in a playful pout.

"Ah, c'mon. I call it like I see it," he grinned with a shrug. "N'trust me, I've seen my fair share of performances."

Lost in the easy flow of conversation, you surrendered to the comfort of the moment, finding solace in the presence of your spider companion. Hours passed, and before you knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon,  painting the park in hues of golden warmth.

A jarring ringtone shattered the moment, causing Angel Dust to glance down at his phone with a whistle. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through a flurry of notifications, irritation flashing across his features.

"As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, duty calls," he sighed, flicking away ash from his cigarette. "Can't keep the boss waiting."

You nodded in understanding, offering a wave as he rose from the bench. "No worries, Angel. Catch you later."

"Looking forward to it, dollface," he replied with a wink before sauntering off into the city streets, leaving you to enjoy the peace alone. After a few minutes of watching the sunset, you decided it was time to go. You stubbed out your cigarette and rose from the bench, making your way out.

As you approached the streets leading to the lounge, the neon lights of the city burst into life, casting vibrant reflections on the pavement. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, you were enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of the establishment. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music from within.

Mimzy was nowhere to be seen, which came as a welcome relief. And with a last scan to ensure she wasn't lurking anywhere nearby, you made a beeline straight to your dressing room, eager to ready yourself for tonight's performance in peace without a certain blonde talking your ear off.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you began to prepare for the evening ahead, carefully applying your makeup and fixing your hair into place.

A sudden knock broke your routine, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, you swung it open, revealing an imp demon. White blotches adorned his skin, and he sported sunglasses perched high up on his nose. In his hands, he held up a box, his expression expectant as he waited for your reaction.

"May I help you?" you murmured, tilting your head at him, curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah. Are you Dolly?" the imp asked, his tone curt and impatient.

"Yes?" you replied, a brow raised.

"Great. This is for you, lady," he said, thrusting the box of jewelry toward you. "If you could just sign here so I can get the hell out of this shithole, that'd be great."

You accepted the box from the imp demon's outstretched hand, eyeing him warily as he thrust a pen and clipboard in your direction. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly took the pen and scrawled your signature on the dotted line, handing the clipboard back to him with a curt nod.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he turned on his heel and hurried away, disappearing into the crowded hallway of the club.

Interest piqued, you turned your attention back to the box in your hands. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingers along the surface and lifted the lid of the box. Nestled amidst folds of satin lay a pearl necklace, the orbs gleaming as if moonlight itself was captured and trapped within. At its heart, a rose pendant bloomed, its petals of silver. 

Taken aback, you reached for the small card tucked within the box. Gently retrieving, you turned it around to see the words "From Al" penned gracefully in elegant script.

"Oh, you cheese…"

With a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you delicately lifted the necklace from its satin-lined cocoon, feeling the cool weight of the pearls in your palm. As you draped it around your neck, the pendant nestled against your collarbone.

Feeling as giddy as a teenager in love, you turned away from the vanity, your heart fluttering with excitement. With a skip in your step, you crossed the room to the wardrobe, fingers dancing over the array of neatly hung dresses.

Before your fingers could grasp onto a dress, a sudden deafening explosion tore through the air. The sound was thunderous, shaking the walls and causing the ground beneath your feet to tremble violently. The shockwave slammed into you with palpable force, knocking you off balance and sending you crashing to the floor amidst a cloud of dust and debris.

Alarm flashed across your features as your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the ground.

What in hell was that?

Staggering to your feet, you ran out into the lounge. As the dust settled, you could see the entrance of the lounge now reduced to a gaping maw, the doors blown open by the force of the explosion. The familiar sights and sounds of the club were replaced by a scene of utter devastation, with debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and smoke billowing out into the night air.

Two ominous figures cast dark shadows amidst the panicked frenzy of staff and customers.

Struggling to discern the figures amidst the chaos, you squinted, trying to make out the details. One of them was a slender demon, dressed immaculately, with cedar-brown skin and long, fiery red curls tied into neat pigtails.

A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you recognized her as one of Hell's infamous overlords. Your heart plummeted further as you caught sight of Mimzy, ensnared in Velvette's vice-like grip, fear twisting her features as she struggled against her captor.

But it was the presence of the figure behind Velvette that truly sent a shiver down your spine.

The TV Demon, Vox.

His gaze swept over the room with a detached coldness, as if the pandemonium were of little consequence. Suddenly, his icy eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place.

"Mimzy, dear," Vox's voice buzzed with deceptive sweetness as he addressed the shaking blonde. "Why don't you go and have a little chat with your esteemed employee about our... conditions?"

Wide-eyed with fear, Mimzy frantically nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Make it quick," Velvette scoffed, releasing her grip on Mimzy's throat. The blonde stumbled toward you, her movements shaky and unsteady.

"What is—" you started, but Mimzy cut you off, panic evident as she began to drag you backstage. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed you into your dressing room, swiftly locking the door behind you.

"Mimzy, what in hell is going on out there?" you demanded, leaning down to her height and shaking her by the arms.

Mimzy's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to find her words, her entire figure trembling as she tried to compose herself.

"It's Velvette," she finally managed to choke out.

"Why is she here? What does she want from us?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your tone as you searched Mimzy's face for answers. But her response only added to your unease.

"You need to go with them," Mimzy decided abruptly.

"Go with who? What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice turning breathless with disbelief.

"She's out for payback, see? And she won't stop until she gets it," Mimzy explained, her tone grave yet determined, like she had some ace up her sleeve. "I gotta level the playing field, doll. She wants a replacement, and she's chosen you."

"I can't just go along with this!" your voice rose to a shout as you began to shake her again, nails digging into the chiffon of her glove. "My contract with you ends in a year. If I go with them, I'll be their pawn for all of eternity!"

"I can't just risk Velvette destroying everything I've built!" Mimzy defended herself, her tone devoid of remorse. "Do you have any idea how much work it took for me to get this place running?!"

Anger surged within you, fueled by betrayal and fear. "What about me? What about Alastor?"

"Oh, him again!" Mimzy shook her arms away from your grip and pushed herself off the door. "You've been so obsessed with that radio fool, you've forgotten who's been with you since the very start! Ever since you got hitched to him, you stopped caring about a damn thing!"

"I cared! And I still bloody well care, Mimzy!" you shot back, your voice rising with anger. Your eyes blazed with fire, cracks beginning to form on your face as your demon form threatened to break free. "But you were an empty, hollow shell of a woman with naught in her head but money! You'd sell out anyone, even me, to get what you want!"

Mimzy recoiled slightly, her façade momentarily cracked by your words. "You-You think you're any better? Running off with your precious Alastor, pretending like he's the savior of your life. But I know you've heard his broadcasts. I know you've seen the news. He's no better than me, playing you like a puppet while hiding behind his façade of being a good man!"

Enraged, you lunged forward, tackling her against the wall. As fury consumed you, your form contorted and twisted, taking on a monstrous semblance. Your features morphed, sharpening into angular lines, while cracks spiderwebbed across your skin like shattered porcelain. Limbs stretched and warped, turning jagged and broken, resembling the joints of a marionette. Teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and as you bared them in a snarl, your lips curled back in a grotesque mockery of a mouth. "Say that again! I fucking dare you!"

"I'll say it as many times as I damn well please!" Mimzy spat, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with your hollow gaze. "Until you get it through your fucking thick, cracked skull!"

The blonde's hand darted to a nearby object, seizing hold of a picture frame within reach. With sudden, fierce motion, she swung it, the weighty wood and glass connecting with your transformed flesh in a sickening thud.

"Mph—!" Biting your lip to stifle a scream, you staggered backward. Thick blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor and mingling with the cracks in your porcelain-like skin.

"You've got some nerve!" Mimzy's voice thundered as she stood over you, her pale face flushing crimson with anger. "You wanted that fame, and I made it happen. Now you don't?! Fuck! Some ungrateful brat you are! Willing to throw it all away for some man! Do you really think what he feels for you is love?!"

As Mimzy's tirade continued, her words cutting through the haze of pain and anger, a sense of disorientation washed over you. Her words struck a nerve, stirring up memories that you had long tried to suppress.

.

Rain poured down, drenching your hunched form. The world around you blurred into a chaotic whirlwind of colors and shapes, disorienting and suffocating. 

Beneath the fabric of your dress, your knees throbbed painfully, raw from the harsh scrape against unforgiving concrete. Your hands desperately fumbled in the darkness, searching for something to anchor yourself to. Then, finally, your fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of rusting metal.

With a ragged sigh of relief, you realized you had found the gate of your house. Summoning all your remaining strength, you clasped both hands around the cold, wet metal bars and attempted to pull yourself up.

Through the haze, you felt rough hands sneak around your waist, and as your vision cleared slightly, your husband's face emerged from the blur. His once impeccable suit now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through by the downpour. Strands of his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead, dampened and dripping onto his glasses. Cursing like a sailor under his breath, he scooped you up into his arms, expression turning tense as he felt the icy chill of your body against his own.

If you weren't moving he would have thought you a corpse.

"Cher?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, but your response was sluggish, your gaze glassy and dilated. "Merde. Did you drag yourself here all alone?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved, cradling you in his arms as he hurried back toward your house. Once inside, he wasted no time in laying you down on the sofa.

"Al," you finally spoke, whimpering softly as you raised a shaky hand towards him. Alastor immediately moved towards you, hushing your cries as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips.

Your husband moved to cradle your face in his rough hands, and what he saw shattered whatever fragments of his heart were still intact. Bruises and dried blood stained your body, your skin clammy and pale. Streaks of mascara carved paths down your tear-stained face, and your limbs twitched involuntarily. The taste of whiskey still lingered on your lips, and the fearful haze in your eyes mirrored the terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

"Who did this to you?" he growled, his pupils dilating with anger as he knelt before you, gently slipping your torn stockings and muddy heels off your feet.

"Mimzy," you sobbed out, curling into yourself, the weight of it all feeling too heavy on your shoulders.

"I tried to quit. She didn't let me. The bar. She gave me a drink. More and more. I couldn't stop. I was just so upset." Your words were fragmented, broken by the wrenching sobs that shook your fragile form, vulnerability laid bare before him.

"Mon cœur," Alastor hushed, rubbing circles into your ankle with his thumb. "Calm down. Take your time."

You made an effort, though the first few attempts were shallow and rushed. Eventually, you managed to draw in a deep breath, releasing it in a rush before taking another. And another.

"That's it, my dear. Now, what happened?"

Summoning all your strength, you opened your mouth and began to recount the harrowing events of the night.

Earlier this evening, you had mustered up enough courage to hand in your resignation letter to Mimzy. However, her reaction was far from pleasant. An argument erupted, filled with less than savory words being thrown around like daggers.

Before you knew it, Mimzy's rage boiled over, and she tackled you, raining blows upon you with a fury that bordered on madness, beating you with an inch of your life. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Her demeanor shifted drastically, morphing from a raging storm into a gentle breeze. With a sickening sweetness, she offered you a hand up, as if nothing had happened. Weak and disoriented, you allowed her to lead you to her private bar, where she poured drink after drink, urging you to indulge.

As per habit, you found yourself consuming the alcohol with reckless abandon, the burning liquid dulling the pain and blurring the edges of reality

Alastor's heart clenched at the anguish in your voice, his expression darkening with a mixture of concern and simmering anger. Slowly, he rose from his seat and lifted you onto his lap, cradling you gently in his arms.

Taking your hand in his, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur.

"Let me take care of everything, doll," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "She won't ever bother you again."

The tenderness in his voice caused your breath to hitch, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to fall into the reassurance of his presence. It offered a fleeting sense of security amidst everything surrounding you. Yet, slowly as the puzzles fell into pieces, a gnawing sense of dread clawed at your insides.

"Alastor, no," you whimpered, withdrawing your hands and pressing them against his chest, pushing him away with trembling fingers. "Please don't tell me it means what I think it does."

Your gaze pleaded with him, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope that what you feared was not true. However, your husband's smile remained unchanged—comforting yet chilling—as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.

"I would kill for you," Alastor murmured against your skin, his thumb tracing the contours of your wedding ring. Bending down, he pressed a tender kiss against the golden band, sealing his vow with the promise of bloodshed, lips lingering against the cool metal. As he drew back, you found yourself ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, pools of brown reflecting a manic fervor.

"Please let me kill for you."

Tears blurred your vision as you bowed your head, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. You knew Alastor's devotion knew no bounds. Whether it meant causing pain, shedding blood, or delving into the darkest corners of his being, he would do it for you without a moment's hesitation.

A warmth trickled down your cheeks with each blink, tracing a path along your skin. Your eyes burned fiercely, tears cascading down your flushed cheeks and silently dripping from your chin like dewdrops. As you attempted to draw deep breaths, your body shook with a desperation to escape, though you couldn't quite grasp what it was you were fleeing from.

A ragged sound echoed through the room, grating against your senses. It took you a moment to register that the noise came from your own lungs, your breaths torn and jagged as they struggled to find a rhythm.

"Okay," you whispered, the weight of that single word heavy with the burden of guilt and a future tinged with blood.

There was a soft chuckle, accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand moving to caress your cheeks. "Good girl."

.

Snapping back to the present, you found yourself staring at Mimzy as she raged around the room, her fury unleashed on the surroundings, wrecking anything and everything in her path.

A man who kills for you. A man who dirties his hands for you. Is that not love?

A kick from her sent your vanity toppling over, causing bottles of your perfume and whiskey to crash from its surface. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing splintering sounds that pierced your ears. As the bottles broke, the air filled with the pungent scent of flora, mingling with the rich aroma of spilled whiskey.

It must be love.

With a hand trembling from adrenaline, you ran your fingers through your hair, the sticky feeling of blood staining your palm. Rising unsteadily to your feet, you turned to face Mimzy, strands of damp, bloodied hair falling over your cracked porcelain face.

"You ornery washed-up bitch," you rasped out in a laugh, voice breathless and laced with venom. "I should have left you to rot in that forest."

Mimzy froze, her wide eyes locked on you.

"What did you say to me?" she seethed, her voice trembling with anger as she extended her hand toward the shattered liquor glass and the spilled liquid, her fingers curling into fists.

With a flick of her wrist, the whiskey began to swirl and solidify, forming chains that snaked around your limbs, binding you in place. Your muscles tensed against the restraints as Mimzy manipulated you like a puppeteer. Slowly, you reverted back to your regular form, forced to your knees before her.

The blonde bent down, her grip firm on your face, nails digging deep into your skin as she pulled your head up to face her. "You're here because of me! Everything you've ever achieved was because of me! I made you a star, and this is how you repay me?!"

You recognized the anger in her tone, but beneath it lurked a deeper pain and desperation. The poor gal was fighting to reclaim control over a situation slipping through her grasp.

A sudden knock at the door startled Mimzy, causing her to tense. The door creaked open to reveal the imposing figure of Vox filling the doorway. As he entered the room, a wave of static filled the air, crackling and sending goosebumps cascading over your skin. His gaze swept over the scene, taking note of your restraints and bloodied head before settling on Mimzy.

"What is the meaning of this?" 

Under Vox's gaze, Mimzy's confident demeanor faltered, replaced by a nervous tremor in her voice. "I-I was just… settling some unfinished business, mistah," she stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

"You've just damaged the merchandise, sweetheart," Vox stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to you with a wave of his hand. "And we can't have that, now can we?"

With a casual snap of his fingers, the wires from the stage lights above writhed and twisted, tearing free from the ceiling with a deafening creak. They snaked through the air like serpents, wrapping around Mimzy's torso and dragging her away from you with a forceful yank.

With Mimzy taken care of, Vox then turned his attention to you.

"Dolly, was it?" he smiled, voice disarming. "I've got to say, I have always wanted to see you up close."

"You've seen me," you replied with a cold edge to your voice, slowly backing away and pressing yourself against the wall. "I'm here."

"Charmed," Vox smiled, his gaze heating as he drank you in, every detail of you like candy to his eyes. As Vox strode towards you, you instinctively curled into yourself, shrinking back deeper against the wall. He chuckled softly, noticing your reaction, and halted his advances. Instead, he took a seat on the cushion by your toppled vanity, glowing eyes locked onto you.

Pretty Dolly Heart.

Your lips were painted a vivid red, pouting slightly in a frown. Damp, glossy curls framed your face, shimmering in the light and tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through them. Rivulets of blood marred your temple, staining the delicate white flowers nestled into your hair.

The TV Demon was interested in you, and he wouldn't let go until he went home with you tonight, that much was clear.

"I have a deal in mind," Vox turned to Mimzy with a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. "Are you willing to trade your soul for hers?"

Your blood ran cold with fear.

"As Velvette and I are business partners, our souls contracts are intertwined. I'm sure there would be no issue if you signed the deal with me instead," he added with a chuckle, his eyes swirling with a dangerous allure.

Panic clawed at your insides, urging you to flee from the impending doom that loomed before you. But rooted to the spot by fear, you found yourself unable to move.

"Yes! A-Absolutely!" Mimzy's words shattered the heavy silence, her voice trembling with desperation as she nodded frantically. Her eyes remained nervously glued to the crackling electricity of the torn wires still wrapped around her, the fear in her gaze mirroring your own.

With a clap of his hands, Vox conjured a new contract and a strong burst of wind swept through the room, ruffling curtains and causing objects to tremble on their surfaces. Blue light flooded the walls, casting eerie shadows and filling the room with an ominous glow. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, every hair on your body standing on end as if charged with static energy.

A tablet materialized and floated before you, its screen pulsing with a faint, golden glow.

"Make her sign here, and it'll be done," Vox instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality as he handed Mimzy a stylus, tapping his clawed finger along the screen of his tablet.

With a trembling hand, Mimzy took the stylus and held it out for you, the strings of her magic wrapping around your limbs once again. You attempted to shout out, but Mimzy's magic stitched your lips shut, leaving you unable to utter a sound.

Helpless, you watched as your hand was forced to reach out and take the pen into your grasp, your fingers moving against your will as Mimzy guided them to sign the contract. With each stroke of the pen, a wave of despair washed over you, a muffled sob bubbling from your throat as your name appeared on the screen, sealing your fate.

Vox's grin widened, a glint of triumph dancing in his eyes as he held up your old paper contract with Mimzy, the words now rendered meaningless. With a swift motion, he tore it to shreds, the sound of paper ripping echoing through the tense silence of the room.

"Welcome to VoxTek, Dolly."

[floralcyanide]

― ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴊᴀᴠɪ

After realizing you've had enough of being single, you decide to branch out further into your romantic life on a whim. What you don't expect is to meet someone as a result. or ; In which you converse in letters and phone calls with Javi Rivera, an active-duty military man.

part two

↝ pairing: Javier "Javi" Rivera / Fem!Reader

↝ warnings: long distance, reader has anxiety, kinda slow burn?, kissing, mentions of death

↝ word count: 5.3k

↝ author's note: I enjoyed writing this so much. this is the first time I've written something this long in a while. I hope ya'll enjoy! there will definitely be a part two and it's gonna be spicy so be prepared. (;

masterlist ⋇ divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Your dating life has reached a new low. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge- none of them work for you despite your incessant attempts. It’s so bad that your friends have set you up on blind dates, all of which fail or turn into what people like to call situationships. You end up wasting your time on someone thinking it’s going great, and then suddenly, it ends in a fiery crash or sometimes plain old rejection. You’re so tired of dating. Even your university campus has no luck in the dating pool. But then, one night (after drinking too much box wine and scrolling through dating apps begrudgingly), your best friend has an idea.

“Have you ever like, dated long distance?” they ask, swirling their wine around their glass.

“Not really,” you shrug, taking a sip from yours, “I feel like it’d be harder than dating someone close by, which is already a lot.”

“True,” they sigh, “Ooh! Maybe use one of those pen pal apps?” 

“Pen pal apps?” you raise an eyebrow, locking your phone before tossing it on the couch in disgust, “What am I, nine years old?”

Your best friend rolls their eyes, “It’s not something just kids do, you know. A lot of people make genuine connections through letters. It’s a lot better than Tinder or some shitty dating app at this point. You may as well try.”

“I guess you’re right,” you glance down at your phone, “I’m running out of options here.”

After Googling and scrolling through search results, you hum, “Maybe I could do one of the military pen pal programs. That seems promising.”

“Yes! Get you a military man!” your best friend squeals, and you can’t help the giddy smile that grows on your lips.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you say, and your best friend shakes your shoulder excitedly, “But if it doesn’t work out, I’m just going to die alone, I guess. At this point, it’s less stressful.”

Your best friend snorts, “If we make it to thirty and we’re both still single, we could get married.”

“I love you, but if I had to spend the rest of my life with you, I’d probably go insane.”

“You have some killer jokes, kid. You’re already stuck with me, so sorry.”

That following day, you do a deep dive into all things pen-palling. You decide to sit down at your desk and type up a letter, but it feels too wrong like it needs to be handwritten instead. So, you move your laptop aside, pull out some notebook paper and a pencil, and start your first letter. Except, you aren’t sure what to say first. Then, when you start writing, your handwriting annoys you, and after that, you think your tone is off. You end up scrapping half a tree by the time you start actually writing a decent letter. You introduce yourself and state where you’re from, explaining you’re in college and what you wish to do after graduating. You don’t dive into too much detail but give enough away so your possible pen pal has something to respond to. You also sprinkle in some questions for them to answer as well. You reread your letter, finally satisfied with what you’ve written, before folding it and sliding it into an envelope. You go back to your phone to see where to send the letter, writing down the location along with your name and address on the front.

Life goes on for a little while, and you actually forget you sent a letter to some random person in the military until one day, your best friend is sifting through the mail you tossed onto your counter.

“Uhh, what’s this?” they call out from the kitchen as you surf through Netflix in the living room.

“What’s what?”

“You got a letter from some dude named Javier?” your best friend says it as more of a question than a statement.

You scrunch up your nose and eyebrows in confusion before finally settling on a show you and your best friend have seen a million times already, walking into the kitchen.

“Let me see.”

Your best friend hands over the letter, and you scan the envelope carefully. Javier Rivera. It doesn’t sound familiar to you, but then you notice where the letter is from.

“Oh shit,” you flip the envelope over and tear it open.

“What is it?”

“It’s the pen pal thing!” you say, voice raised in shock, “I didn’t think someone would actually respond.”

“Oh yeah,” your best friend nods, “I forgot about that. I figured you chickened out on it because you never mentioned it again.”

“I didn’t chicken out,” you trail off, taking in the meticulous handwriting of the letter.

Dearest Pen Pal,

Thank you for sending your letter. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much it meant to me to receive it. I’m Javier, but everyone calls me Javi. I’m the same age as you and have been to college myself. I joined the military for personal reasons, but I haven’t regretted it yet. Your career path seems interesting, and I hope you succeed in the rest of your studies. 

Your best friend hovers over your shoulder, also reading the letter.

“He seems cute,” your best friend giggles.

Javi answers some of your random questions and goes on to say he anticipates your next letter. He also says that if you’d like, he’d send a photo of himself next time. Your best friend has a field day with that.

“Oh my gosh! What if he’s hot?” they gasp.

“Who knows? I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t, anyway. It’s cool to talk to someone I’ve never met over letters.”

“True. But bonus points if he is hot.”

You scoff as you fold the letter up and put it back in the envelope.

When your best friend leaves later on, you immediately bolt to your desk and write your letter. 

Dear Javi,

I’m glad my letter found you well. Thanks for the hope in me, I definitely need it. College is fun, but it’s super exhausting. I don’t think I asked in my last letter, but where are you from? Also, what did you major in while in school? I’d love to see what you look like and put a face to your name. What military branch are you in, and what do you want to do with your experience when you’re back in the States? Sorry for all the questions again! I’m just super curious about things. If this letter reaches you sooner than later this time around, I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.

You wrap up your letter, albeit a little shorter than the last one, and slip it into your mailbox ASAP. This time, you won’t forget you sent it.

When the following letter arrives, it’s early December. You hastily remove your scarf, coat, and wet snow boots at your front door before opening the letter immediately. When you pull the letter from the envelope, a photo falls onto the floor. You pick it up, and it’s a small picture of who you assume is Javi, all decked out in his military uniform. Okay, your best friend was right on the money, he is pretty cute.

Dearest Pen Pal,

I had a decent Thanksgiving. I hope yours was better than mine! I’m from Miami, Florida. I went to school in Muskogee, Oklahoma, and while I was there, I studied weather phenomena and chased storms. It was a whole thing, but I’ll get into that later. And I don’t mind all the questions. I think it’ll be fun getting to know each other. 

Javi explains what branch he’s in and also admits he doesn’t know what he’s going to do after the military as of yet. He talks about his Thanksgiving and wishes you a Merry Christmas if he doesn’t get to communicate with you before then. You decide to send a photo of yourself back to him, digging out your Polaroid camera when you go to your bedroom to respond to his letter. You touch up your makeup a little and make sure your hair isn’t absolutely a mess before taking a photo. Sitting down to write your letter, you aren’t sure how to react to the photo Javi sent. You don’t want to be weird, but you also want him to know that you think he’s attractive. 

Dear Javi,

I love the photo you sent, and you look pretty dapper in your uniform. I’m sending a picture of myself, too. Chasing storms sounds very interesting. Please tell me more about that! 

You rattle off some things you have done while in school, talking about the places you have traveled to over the years and the people you’ve met. You gush about your best friend, especially. 

So far, you’re probably the most intriguing person I’ve talked to, Javi. Not everyone can say they’re a storm chaser, you add. 

You polish off your letter, which ends up being two pages long (three if you count the back on the first page, too.) You neatly fold up the paper and slide it into an envelope. You don’t expect a reply until New Year because of the amount of mail that will be coming in and out of the base. Javi is stationed on the other side of the country from you and may be moved out of the country if needed. 

As you expected, it isn’t until a month and a half later that you receive a letter from Javi again. It’s a long letter- a few pages total this time. The letter is in a Christmas card, and it’s signed by Javi. You immediately hang the card on your refrigerator door so you can look at it daily. He talks about how his holidays went, how all the guys on his base called home or were able to FaceTime their family. Javi asks how your holidays have gone and showers you with compliments over the photo you sent him. You can’t help but feel your stomach flutter at his words. 

Over the next few months, you and Javi write back and forth diligently. You know just about everything about Javi, and he knows almost everything about you. You feel like there’s something he’s keeping from you, possibly the storm chasing he had brought up, but you don’t push it. He will tell you when he’s ready. And there’s also some stuff about your life you’d rather wait to explain as well. In your last letter, you wrote your email and phone number so that Javi can communicate with you in other ways. You’re able to guess how long it takes the letters to get to Javi, so around the time you expect them to get to him, you’re giddy. You anxiously await a phone call or email any day now.

It’s August when your phone rings with a call from an unknown number. You have had such a long day- school for several hours, then work immediately after in the evening. You can’t help but wonder who could be calling at 9 pm. You make yourself comfy on the couch with your favorite beverage before answering the phone.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, it’s Javi. Is this the right number?”

You nearly choke on your sip of drink, “Oh shit. Hi! Yes, this is the right number!”

Javi laughs from the other end, and you decide you want to hear that laugh again so badly. 

“Sorry I’m calling so late over there. The phone was surprisingly available, and I got your letter today saying I could call. So I did,” Javi said.

“It’s okay,” you shrug, even though he can’t see, “I just got home from work, actually. So perfect timing.”

“Great. How was your day?”

The two of you spend about an hour on the phone, relishing having an actual conversation in real time.

“I’m so glad to finally hear your voice,” Javi says after a natural pause in conversation, “That’s not too cheesy, right?”

You snort, “It kind of is, but it’s cute. I’m glad to hear your voice, too.”

After another ten minutes, Javi sadly admits that he has to hang up since it’s almost dinner time where he is. 

“We should talk again sometime if you’re able to,” you smile, biting at your fingernail nervously.

You hope he calls again, but letters will always suffice just fine.

“I’ll try my best. Maybe sometime next week?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, pulling the phone away from your ear so you can silently kick your feet in excitement.

“Alright, then. Talk to you later,” Javi says.

“See ya,” you grin, and the call concludes.

It isn’t the following week that he calls, but the week after that. Javi discloses that he sent a surprise in the letter he just mailed. He also slips up and says it’s almost his birthday, and you immediately have an idea. After your long conversation on the phone, asking some questions here and there about certain things he likes that you didn’t already know before, you decide to send Javi a package.

You send a postcard from your home state, some non-perishable snacks, socks that were his favorite color that he could wear when not on base, notebooks he could write letters in, some fun pens to go with the notebooks, and a birthday card. After signing it, you leave a lip print on the card just to test the waters. You’ve come to really like Javi over the last year, and you wonder if he likes you back. Sometimes, he’ll be flirty in letters or over the phone, but nothing too crazy. Nothing that gives you alarm bells that he likes you in the way that you like him. So, you’re taking a leap of faith. 

A few weeks after sending the package, you get Javi's phone call while doing some class work at your desk. You spin around in the chair aimlessly as you answer the phone.

“A kiss, huh? That’s cute.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little something to remind you of me,” you say.

“It’s definitely not nothing,” Javi teases, “I think you want to kiss me.”

 Your ears grow hot at the sound of Javi’s voice deepening in playfulness.

“And so what if I do? There’s nothing you can do about it,” you bite back with just as much playfulness.

“Are you sure about that?” Javi says, a knowing lilt in his voice.

“What do you mean?” you furrow your eyebrows, stopping the chair from spinning entirely so you can focus.

“I’m most likely coming home for Christmas this year, but I still have to work out some stuff,” Javi says, an edge of excitement in his voice, “I’d like to possibly see you.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice squeaking, “Really? You want to see me?”

“Of course I wanna see you,” Javi chuckles, “We’ve been corresponding for a while. I’d like to finally see you in person.”

You suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up, but in a good way. You’re sick with nervous excitement. 

“O-okay,” you grin, “I’ll be finished with the semester at the beginning of December. Depending on when and where you want to meet, I can ask off from work.”

Javi has family not too far from where you live, and he wants to stop and see, so the two of you agree to meet in a city that’s basically halfway. December 20th is the day you’re supposed to meet Javi after a year of conversing through letters and over the phone. Who would have thought, right? That some random idea from your best friend would have led you here? Speaking of which, your best friend is beside themselves with excitement just like you. You called them immediately after hanging up with Javi.

“When you get married, make sure to thank me!” they say half-jokingly.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, trying to stifle a grin, “What if we don’t like each other when we meet, though? What if it’s awkward? What if we don’t have anything to talk about? What if-”

“Hush!” your best friend shushes you, “It will go fine. It will go great. In fact, you’re going to have a splendid time.”

“I guess you’re right,” you sigh, eyeballing the photo of Javi you have pinned to your corkboard over your desk.

“I’m always right,” your best friend giggles.

It’s now the end of your semester, and you’re beyond excited for a few reasons. In a week, you meet Javi, and this coming Spring semester is your last. So, for the time being, you’ll be finished with college. You come home from your final exam and start making a packing list. You’re staying at a hotel in the city where you’re meeting Javi for a day or two, depending on how things go. You have so much to do before going on the mini trip that if you didn’t have a list planned out for everything, your head would surely fly off your shoulders. You have to wrap gifts for your friends and family, pack your bag, clean your apartment, and put up decorations for the party you and your best friend are throwing for Christmas. 

Deciding to surprise Javi, you get him a gift for Christmas. It’s a wool sweater you think will fit nicely and a beautiful, deep color that you figure will compliment his skin tone. You carefully put the sweater in a robe box, taping the sides shut and signing your name on the tag before putting it under the Christmas tree. You managed to put up the large tree by your lonesome and didn’t kill yourself doing it, so you considered it a win. After wrapping a few more gifts and stuffing them under your tree, you check the time. It’s a little past dinnertime, and you decide it’s probably best to finally pack your bag for tomorrow. 

A melatonin gummy is definitely in your future so you can get some sleep, or else you’ll toss and turn in an anxious fit all night. After finishing up packing as lightly as you can muster, you settle into bed. When you wake in the morning, you get a text from an unknown number, which you assume is from Javi’s cell, letting you know he is getting on his flight. You almost quite literally jump out of bed before hitting the shower and getting ready. You take your time fixing your hair and makeup, picking out a cute but comfortable outfit for your 2-hour drive. 

After getting your belongings and the gift inside your car, you shoot your best friend a text letting them know you’re leaving your apartment and that you’ll text when you get to the airport. Taking a few deep breaths, you crank your car and head off. You are deep in your thoughts the entire ride, not evening singing along to your music most of the time. What if Javi decides he isn’t impressed by what he sees? You try to push away your anxiety as you near the airport. Finding parking after circling around for a while, you hurry to grab the gift and go inside. It’s hectic, considering it’s five days until Christmas, but you get through TSA without a hitch. You find the coffee shop where you and Javi agreed to meet and sit at a table in the corner. You scroll through social media, trying not to panic. You text back and forth with your best friend for a while until you receive a message from Javi saying he’s landed. Suddenly, an icy, numbing nervousness runs through your veins. You take a deep breath and tell yourself it will be okay, and everything will be fine. 

You decide to meet Javi at his gate and return to the coffee shop. Getting up from your seat, you shake yourself off a little before walking to the gate where Javi is to exit his flight. You aimlessly check your phone every five minutes out of anxiety. People start to leave from the corridor, dragging their carry-ons with them. Suddenly, you spot Javi walking out with the crowd, his face turned downward at his phone. When he looks up, he has to do a double-take when he sees you. You can’t help the grin that plasters your face.

“Hi,” Javi grins back as he approaches you, taking in your appearance fully for the first time, “Is it okay if I hug you?”

“You don't have to ask, silly,” you roll your eyes playfully, setting the gift by your feet before allowing Javi to pull you into him.

You wrap your arms around him, your nose buried in his shoulder. He’s dressed in his uniform, much to your delight, meaning you get to see how handsome he looks in person. 

“Don’t tell me that’s for me,” Javi gives you a jokingly dissatisfied look when he pulls away from you, his eyes darting to the gift beside you. 

“Would you kill me if it was?” you say, picking it up and handing it to him.

“Nah,” Javi waves you off, leaning down to dig in his carry-on for something, “Besides, I got you something, too.”

“Javi,” you drag out his name in annoyance, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did. It’s Christmas,” Javi smiles, secretly enjoying how you say his name in person.

You both go to baggage claim and the coffee shop before opening your gifts. You and Javi match each others’ stride, your hands accidentally brushing against one another a few times. Finally, Javi decides to throw caution to the wind and grabs your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. You glance down before smiling at him, trying to hide how giddy you are from the simple gesture. When you arrive at the coffee shop, you sit in the same corner you were previously in and settle in your seats.

“So,” Javi slides his gift over to you, pulling his toward him, “What’d you get me?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” you lean over the table in wait, your smile from earlier still not quite leaving your lips.

“That I will do,” Javi says, carefully opening his gift.

“This is a lovely color,” he pulls the sweater out and fully takes it in, “Very soft. You did a great job because I love sweaters.”

“I’m glad you love it,” you sink into your seat with relief.

“Now, open yours,” Javi pushes your gift in your direction with a single finger. 

“Is it going to explode in my face?” you joke as you pull the wrapping off.

“I swear it won’t,” Javi laughs.

You open the box to reveal a beautiful necklace with your birthstone dangling from the chain. 

“This looks expensive, Javi. Please tell me you didn’t spend an arm and a leg on this,” you gasp.

“No promises,” Javi shrugs, getting up from his seat and walking behind you, holding out a hand for the necklace, “May I?”

You gently place the jewelry into his palm, lifting your hair so Javi can put the necklace around your neck. His fingers brush your skin lightly as he clasps the chain successfully, “There we go.”

Javi sits and admires how the necklace falls onto your collarbone with a glimmer in his eyes, “Looks beautiful on you.”

You’re nearly this close to being on the floor, curled into an inconsolable ball. Instead of doing that, you cover your face in embarrassment. 

“Gosh, thank you for the gift, Javi,” you move your hands from your face, “I wasn’t expecting something so stunning. I would’ve gotten you something slightly better if I had known.”

“You can’t sit here and tell me this wool sweater wasn’t pricey enough. It’s okay, you know. Besides, I like giving gifts I know someone will love; the price doesn’t matter.”

You sigh, shaking your head with a smile and resting your chin on your fist, “Whatever you say, Javi.”

Javi mimics your position but reaches his other hand out to wrap it around your wrist gently, “I love it when you say my name.”

You stare at each other momentarily, just taking each other in. It had been a year of wondering what Javi was like in person- how tall he was, how he smelled, how he carried himself. You realize he has a million freckles on his face that you never noticed in the photos he sent. Javi brushes his thumb over your pulse point, and you’re close to losing your composure. You’re both so wrapped up in drinking each other in that you nearly jump out of your skin when the barista calls someone’s name for their order.

You compose yourself, but Javi lightly chuckles at your facial expression.

“I’m super awkward sometimes, but you know that already,” you try to joke about the situation instead of dying of shyness. 

“It’s okay, I think it’s cute.”

“You’re going to make me turn into a puddle if you don’t stop,” you cover your face again, the tips of your ears burning.

Javi just laughs again. You realize his laugh is better in person than over the phone.

Over your order of coffee and iced tea, you and Javi decide to have a proper dinner later on in the day. Both of you are pretty tired and would appreciate refreshing yourselves at your respective hotels first. You hold hands again while exiting the airport and offer Javi a ride to where he’s staying.

“It’s just a walk down the block. I’ll be fine.”

“But it’s cold,” you frown.

“I’ll live, I promise.” Javi pulls your head to his chest before planting a kiss on the top of it.

Your body grows warm at the endearing gesture, “See you later?’

“See you later,” Javi smiles before making his way out of the parking garage.

You immediately call your best friend when you get in the car and discuss how the initial meeting went while on your way to the hotel.

“Did you kiss?!” they squeal.

“Not yet,” you say, “I don’t expect anything to happen today. We held hands, though.”

“Spicy!” your best friend says, “Next thing you know, you’ll be having kids.”

“Will you ever be quiet?” you jokingly ask your best friend.

You take a well-needed nap after checking into the hotel, setting an alarm for an hour from the time you laid down. When you wake up, you notice it’s snowing outside. The place Javi wants to take you is a few blocks away from his and your hotels, and you figure you’ll enjoy the snow during your walk.

You fix your makeup a little and add some final touches here and there to your face and hair before deciding on one of the skirts you brought. A thick sweater and some tights are thrown with it, and you’re ready to go. Javi shoots you a message asking if you’re ready, and you respond quickly before leaving the hotel. The evening is pleasant, with the snow falling softly for the entire duration of your walk. When you arrive at the restaurant, Javi is waiting for you at the door, as handsome as ever in some black slacks, a dress shirt, and a heavy petticoat draped over his shoulders. He wraps an arm around you as you both enter the restaurant, where you’re immediately whisked away to a table with a nice view. Wine is ordered, and you take a moment to drink Javi in as he sits across from you. You nearly have to pinch yourself to believe this is real and actually happening.

“So,” you lean forward, hand tucked under your chin, “You never told me about your endeavors while in college. I’ve been dying to know about that storm chasing you brought up but never knew when to ask.”

Javi smiles, “Yes, it was a very wild time in my life. I don’t talk about it often. What did you want to know?”

“Why did you do it? Just curious.”

“Well, Javi clears his throat, “It was actually my best friend Kate’s idea. She had this big project that required extensive information about storms and tornadoes in particular.”

“Gotcha,” you lean back in your chair, “Ever see any scary storms?”

“We saw a few, but the scariest one was a five on the Fujita scale. It didn’t end very well for us,” Javi casts his eyes down.

“You don’t have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to,” you reach out your hand to put on top of Javi’s, sensing the topic is touchy.

“No, it’s something you need to know about me. So I’ll tell you,” he explains, “It was me, Kate, and three of our other friends, Addy, Praveen, and Jeb, working on the project together. We didn’t anticipate the tornado to be as strong as it got, and everyone but Kate and I ended up dying as a result of being caught in the storm.”

“I’m so sorry, Javi. That sounds scary and awful. I’m glad you made it through that,” you frown, and Javi meets your eyes for a moment.

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m one of the ones who survived. It bothered me a lot, so much that I decided to drop out of college and go into the military. I needed some stability in my life after that.”

“I understand,” you say, “We can talk about something else if you’d like. I know this is probably hard for you to think about.”

The rest of the evening is spent laughing over stories of Javi and his late friends and the ones he’s made in the military. You tell him wild stories of you and your best friend, some of which he couldn’t believe. After a few too many glasses of wine, the two of you decide to call it a night. 

“I had a wonderful time,” you say as Javi hooks your arm with his, and the two of you leave the restaurant.

It’s still snowing lightly, and the temperature has dropped significantly. You pull your coat closer to your chest. Javi notices and opts to wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side to warm you. 

“I had a great time, too,” Javi grins. 

He walks you to your hotel, and you thank him for dinner. 

“Heading out in the morning?” you ask as the two of you stand outside the hotel entrance.

“Yes,” Javi says, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, “I’m seeing my aunt and uncle and then heading to Miami for my parents and sister.”

“That’s good,” you nod, “I am having a Christmas party with some friends and family in a  few days, and I’m looking forward to it.”

“Sounds fun,” Javi says, and you notice the two of you don’t really want to depart quite yet, but you must.

“You should probably get back. It’s getting cold and late,” you nudge Javi’s arm with yours.

“Yeah, I should,” he trails off, his eyes not leaving yours.

For a moment, you stare into Javi’s eyes, taking in their color and the length of his eyelashes. Before you realize it, you’re both leaning in. Javi slides his hand up your neck to cup your face, his skin warm despite the freezing air. He guides your face to his, his eyes fluttering shut as he gently presses his lips to yours. Your eyes close, too, and you allow Javi to take control of the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. When it’s time for air, you both pull away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Javi whispers, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Same here,” you say, playing with the curls at the nape of Javi’s neck.

“I should get going,” Javi frowns, “But I will definitely keep in touch the best I can over the next few days.”

“Okay,” you say, “Enjoy your Christmas.”

Javi begins to walk away, and you turn to go inside your hotel. But then Javi pauses, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Wait, what are you doing New Year's Eve?” he asks, and you can’t help the grin that sneaks up on your face.

“Depends. What are you doing?”

“Anything with you.”

[theghostkingisdead]

dpxdc - Neglected Child AU

As one of his first acts as Ghost King, Danny basically created ghost CPS. Mostly they help new spirits come to terms with the fact that they're dead, but situations like Danny's are a lot more common than the Observants had lead him to believe. People who come back from the dead or are exposed to large quantities of unstable ectoplasm often lead sad, short second lives. Either because they are unable to obtain the nutrients their new forms require, or because their communities turn against them in fear. This is a story about Jason Todd.

There was a lot Jazz loved about her job. She loved helping young ghosts find acceptance. She loved matching cases with foster Fraids. She loved meeting new people. She loved the rare excuse to travel dimensions. But some days, Jazz was intimately reminded of why this program was formed in the first place.

Knock, knock, knock.

Jazz looked up from her laptop. “Come in!”

Apple – the ghost of a dryad whose tree was chopped down two summers ago – poked her head in.

“Uh, Lady- I mean, Ms. Phan-, no,” Apple took a shuddering breath. Jazz smiled encouragingly. The girl had only been working here for a season, and already she was making excellent progress. “Ms. Jasmine, there’s a city spirit here to see you, uh, on behalf of a uh, potential client.”

“Thank you, Apple, you can send them in.” Jazz said.

Apple flushed green, closing the door with a sigh. Jazz guessed she had about two minutes before the impromptu meeting began. She used the time to sweep some papers off her desk and into a drawer. It had been some time since she’d had a walk-in like this. Jazz had a strict open doors policy when it came to her office, despite the technical fact that her door was often closed; it was just easier to focus that way! She had no idea why most ghosts preferred to submit claims by mail, really it was much better for them to speak with an officer in person.

Thirty years ago, Jazz would’ve had trouble describing the spirit that walked through the doors. Fifty years ago, even looking at it would’ve been painful. But Jasmine Duchess Phantom had been living in the Infinite Realms for almost eighty years now, and liminal senses reached out subconsciously, cataloging scents and colors that her mortal mind would have balked at.

The shape of a steel-colored skeleton peered out at her from a billowing cloud of grey smoke, which curled around its feet and seeped across the floor. Jazz tasted gunmetal and sugar, smelled stale urine and burned bread, felt desperation-fear-hunger-love crash violently against her. Like a cliff to a wave, Jazz stood her ground, letting herself be tested. This spirit was old and afraid; when it spoke, it spoke in a million overlapping voices.

“My apologies for barging in unannounced, Your Grace. I come before you with an issue of great import. One I have reason to believe our King may have a personal interest in.”

Jazz nodded, “My doors are always open, City Spirit. I’m always happy to help. But before I hear your petition, may I know who I am addressing?”

The skeleton did not move that she could see, but Jazz heard windchimes like chittering laughter.

“I am Gotham, Your Grace. My apologies for my rudeness. I have little reason to travel these days and am unaccustomed to necessary introductions.”

Jazz nodded, committing the name and its taste to memory. “No need to apologize, Gotham. Your situation is not unique amongst your kind. Have a seat,” Jazz gestured at the plush couch across from her desk. “What troubles you so, to bring you so far from home?”

There was more windchime tittering, and Jazz wondered if the spirit was laughing or just readjusting itself on a plane she could not see. A nervous tick, perhaps? Maybe she could send Apple for something to make Gotham feel more at ease. Bullet casings or chocolate chip cookies would be equally soothing to this entity, Jazz guessed.

Gotham folded into itself, form blurring slightly before reforming on the couch, leaned forward with elbows on knees. “Many years ago, a mortal man pledged himself to my service. I accepted him as a City Guard, my mortal Champion. This man has many children who have likewise pledged themselves to my protection.”

Jazz smothered the urge to interrupt. She loathed the idea of child Guards; the fact that this City Spirit was here now asking for help meant that this instance had gone just as well as it usually did.

Unaware of her internal judgement, Gotham continued. “The second child died and revived some seven years ago, I…” This time, the rattling sound emanating from Gotham shook the room with the force of a thunderclap. “You have to understand, I don’t claim kids as champions, so technically he was never even under my protection. And when he came back, he ran! I don’t have power outside the city, you know, so even if, well, it’s not like there was anything I could have done differently,”

Jazz was aware that she was frowning. She could only guess what her aura felt like to Gotham, whose smoky aura was rapidly thickening. A bird puffing itself up to look bigger. A cheap trick. If Jazz were in a more compassionate mood, she might have felt embarrassed at such a juvenile display from a spirit decades older than herself.

“You neglected a child, or-” she cut off Gotham before it could protest, “allowed a child to be neglected. For seven years. What changed? Why petition him now and not then?”

Gotham chittered, “Well, you see, he came back to me just over a year ago, retook his pledge and everything. And, well, things were rough, I thought the fraid was just readjusting itself, but, er-”

“Tell me.”

“Well, the problem is I don’t exactly know what the boy is anymore, but he’s more ghostly than not, and his fraid’s fully human. If this infighting between my Guards goes on for any longer, it’ll tear me apart. I figured The King might want to step in, considering this boy might be a halfa, maybe he could help him and the fraid get back to normal.”

Jazz grinned. “Rest assured, Gotham, The Crown will indeed be taking special interest in your case.” Words dripped from her lips, caustic even to her own ears. “Now, why don’t you go outside and give Apple the rest of the details. I have some visits to make.”

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

inappropriate

Summary: You had been undercover on and off for a year and finally you made the arrest to get you back home to your husband. But your husband Marcus has other plans, finding you just before you could get into the interrogation room to show you just how much he missed you.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (unprotected sex), a little jealousy, established relationship, semi public sex, highly unprofessional behaviour lol, breeding kind, pregnancy secret

A/N: This won the vote to what unhinged smut do I write today. Din might be up tomorrow.

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„Such an obedient girl for me,“ Marcus hummed and you sighed and smiled, your head falling back, your eyes closing as he slowly fucked into you from behind. 

„Just for you baby,“ you moaned quietly, your hands on the table he had bend you over not even three minutes ago, the only light in the room coming from the mirrored window in front of you, the man you had finally brought in sitting alone at the table, his hands cuffed, waiting for his interrogation to start while your husband fucked you in the soundproofed room behind the mirror. 

An interrogation you would lead. 

After Marcus had fucked his jealousy out of his system. 

You had been undercover on and off for almost a year, something your husband understood and knew what it entailed. 

It did not mean he particularly liked it.

He preferred not to have to see when a target you were undercover for got his hands all over his wife. His jaw twitching as he watched the live stream of the current mission from the security of his office at the FBI headquarters. 

After you messaged him that today might be the day you finally would make an arrest, he had logged in and watched the whole feed, including the way the man you had been chasing for years had his hands all over you and he could see the fake smile you gave him as you tried to keep him entertained. 

He was so pent up by the point your team finally had all they needed to make the arrest he slapped his laptop shut when he saw you put the man in cuffs and made his way through the already dark building, up to the seventh floor where your devision sat and waited. 

He waited for you to step through the doors of the elevator. 

He waited for you to lead the suspect towards the interrogation room and past him so he could look into his eyes. 

He waited for you to lock the door behind you as you stepped into the room next to the interrogation room, so he could have you back in his arms, his lips crashing down on yours the moment you turned towards him, his body pushing you against the door as he kissed you deeply, his hands all over your body. 

„So proud of you,“ he mumbled against your lips and you smiled, your hands coming to touch his cheek. You hadn’t seen him in almost a month, and he had let he beard grow out. 

The door in the next room opened and the suspect was lead in by one of the other Agents of your team and Marcus head turned for a moment before he looked at you again, his eyes dark. 

„I have to get in there soon,“ you said and he nodded. 

„I don’t need long,“ he promised, before he kissed you again and walked you towards the desk that was standing under the gallery window, setting you down on it. His hands making quick work of the blouse you were wearing, getting you out of it. 

„Brought you your change of clothes. Thought you would want to burn these,“ he said and you smiled, sighing when his hand cupped your tits, his thumbs playing with your nipples. 

„My hero,“ you kissed him before you jumped off the table, getting the rest of your clothes off and turning around, your hands on the table in front of you, your ass pushing against his crotch. 

„Fuck,“ he groaned his hands on your ass, before you heard his zipper and then his belt. 

You felt the head of his cock poking against your ass before two of his fingers entered you, both of you groaning quietly. You were soaked for him.

„Just fuck me, baby. We have time for that tomorrow,“ you whimpered and he did, slipping into you slowly, his head falling against your back with a groan.

„Want you all over me when I put him behind bars,“ you whispered and he hissed before he bit into your shoulder and began to fuck you, his hips slapping against your ass every time his cock filled you. 

„I turned the cameras off by the way,“ he said and you laughed.

„You really think they don’t know what we’re up to in there? It’s not the first time,“ you teased, not even having thought about that. His hand wrapped over your mouth the next moment and he pulled you up against his chest, fucking up into you. 

„You gonna let me cum inside of you before you walk into that room and lock him up for life?“ He whispered against your ear, his other hand running down your stomach until his fingers began to play with you clit. 

„Gonna have me dripping out of you while you tell him how long he’s gonna be locked up?“ You felt him grin against your neck and you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

„And then you gonna come home with me and I’ll keep you in bed until you can’t walk…“ he groaned. 

„Gonna finally fuck you so full of me, you gonna get pregnant and have my baby,“ he groaned and you moaned against his hand, coming undone as he fucked into you a couple times more before he came, fucking you full of him. His hand left your mouth, turning your head towards him so he could kiss you. 

There was a knock on the door and you both laughed. 

„This was highly unprofessional Senior Special Agent Pike,“ you hummed and he grinned, pecking your lips. 

„I agree Special Agent-in-Charge Pike,“ he smiled, before he pulled out of you and helped you getting dressed. 

He secured your badge on your blazer when you unlocked the door, finding one of your Agents and best friends waiting in front of the door with a knowing smile.

„You really need to learn to keep it in your pants, Pike,“ they said as they looked at Marcus who had a sheepish smile on his lips, his hand on your hip. He kissed your cheek, looking into your eyes. 

„Call me when I should pick you up. I know it’s gonna be a while. I’m gonna get everything ready for this weekend,“ he kissed you again and then slowly walked down the corridor towards the elevators. 

„What is he gonna prepare for this weekend?“ Your friend asked, handling you the file for the coming interrogation. Not that you needed notes. You had enough evidence gathered and been on this case for the last six years, even before you met Marcus. 

„You really wanna know?“ You grinned, watching after him. He gave you a wink as he stepped into the elevator, just before the doors closed. 

You turned your head to look at them and they made a face, before they shook their head. 

„You told him yet?“ They asked and you shook your head.

„Don’t think he’s gonna let me out of his sight if I tell him I’m pregnant. So let’s lock this asshole up, so that I can go home to my husband,“ you smiled, before you schooled your face and went into the interrogation room. 

[htmljoon]

Imagine Miguel has slowly been falling for his personal assistant at work, as much as he’s been trying to ignore those feelings. He plays them off as fondness for a coworker, you had a mentor mentee relationship, of course he’d care for you. But he realizes just how deep his feelings truly are when he’s been at the office all night, not even realizing it had gotten well into the morning of the next day. He’d been so strung out and hyper fixated on the project that was due by the end of week that he’d completely lost track of time. The blank eyes behind his glasses are slowly scanning the documents on his laptop screens, deep blues painting his unusually pale skin just below them, clear evidence of his exhaustion. But his heart stops, and the room feels a little warmer, a little more colorful, when he hears you down the hall. The familiar hissing sound of the espresso machine stirs something in him, but it was white background noise compared to your beautiful voice. You were singing a song like you were up on a stage, full of emotion and enchanting like a siren. “Through drought and famine, natural disasters, my baby has been around for me…” You performed, deft hands working the latte maker like you did every morning for your boss. Soon the mechanic whirring stopped, giving Miguel an even better listen to your captivating music. His heart was pounding between his lungs, all fatigue having been stripped with each passing note. His eyes widened as the click of your heels grew closer, your humming growing louder, and then you startled in the doorway, nearly dropping the latte you made for him every morning. “Shi—“ you caught yourself before the curse word slipped out in front of your boss. You heaved a loud, breathless sigh, gripping your chest and doubling over. “Oh my god, you scared me, Mr. O’Hara! What are you doing here so early, sir?” He prayed you didn’t catch the pink hues dusting his cheeks, or the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and you stepped closer. The gentle smile you gave him as you set his morning coffee down on his desk had butterflies blooming in his stomach. All he wanted to do was grab that hand and reel you in so he could crash his lips against yours. “Just… prepping the project that’s due Friday,” he grumbled in a gravely voice, throat dry from lack of use. You sucked your teeth and shook your head. “You’ve been up all night? That won’t do at all. I’ll order breakfast from that place you like down the street. They have breakfast empanadas, right?” But you had already pulled out your phone to search the menu, giving him another glance and smile that has his knees weak before you typed away on your screen and headed back for the door. When he glanced down at his mug, his gaze stuck on the heart you drew next to his name, and his breath hitched in his throat. He could melt in your presence, you burned as brightly as the sun. And there was no denying he was falling in love with you.

[mytheoristavenue]

DS Incel!Gyutaro Shabana x Reader x Chad!Tengen Uzui + Wives- Treat You Better

Summary: Nothing makes your best friend, Gyutaro angrier than your crush on Tengen Uzui.

Warnings: rivalry, incel mindset, misogyny, fem!reader, bisexual!reader, bisxeual!hina/makio/suma, polyamory

Most everyone knew of your terrible crush on your friend Tengen. You'd gone to middle school and high school together, so imagine your delight when he told you over the summer after senior year that he'd been accepted onto the football team of your first choice university.

Naturally, you both drifted a bit after beginning the first semester, but you weren't bothered by that. He was busy, you were busy, it was fine. You'd always heard a rumor that he was a player, which kept you from persuing him. That's why when you began to see him with different girls around campus, you didn't bat an eye.

After all, you had your own friends and busy schedule, you didn't have time to get torn up about what your old friend was doing behind closed doors. That didn't keep you from wishing you were one of those things, though. Two such people you'd crown close were the Shabana siblings, who had their own reputations, so they couldn't really judge you for looking past Tengen's. At least that's how you felt. In reaility, they had a lot to say about it, especiallyreality the older brother.

"You know that guy's a total man whore, right?" He groaned, opening his laptop for class to start. "Fuckin' him would guarantee you a disease."

"That's fine, have you seen him?" You dismissed with a dreamy sigh. "Catching something from him would be a blessing."

Gyutaro couldn't believe what you were saying, it was so gross. "Oh yeah, I'm sure those pretty pink eyes of his are a small price to pay for a lifetime of having your shit burn when you pee."

"Oh, shut up!" You snapped, punching his arm. "You're just jealous that he pulls and you don't!"

"I could totally pull if I wanted!" He retorted bitterly. "Just got better shit to do. And besides, you know he has a fuckin' harem, right?"

"Oh, he does not." You rolled your eyes, taking out your books and computer.

"He so does," Gyutaro insisted. "Ume told me."

"And how would she know?" You snickered, brushing your hair behind your ear, making him pause for a moment. He hated it when you did that, it always made him crash like an old desktop.

"Mukago told her." He stated simply, believing his baby sister like a professional textbook as a reliable source. "Nakime told Mukago, Douma told Nakime, Mitsuri told Douma, and Suma told her. Suma's one of his girlfriends."

"Wow, I guess word travels fast, huh?" Your smile fades a bit. You did know who Suma was, you'd met her a few times through Tengen.

"Oh, God, don't look now..." Gyutaro groaned, interrupting your thoughts, tilting his head toward the set of stairs that divided the sides of the lecture hall. There was the man of the hour, striding up to you with a confident and serene smile.

"(N/N)," Tengen titled his head, crouching beside you. "How's my favorite girl today?" Even though you knew his words were disingenuous, that didn't keep them from giving you butterflies. His eyes flickered over to your friend who adamantly ignored him. "Shit, my bad, I didn't realize you were in a conversation." He raised a fist to Gyutaro as a greeting, who begrudgingly bumped it with his own. "Hey, dude, good to see ya, keepin' my little buddy company I see."

He simply scoffed, turning away, signaling that your crush could have a word with you. With a smirk, Tengen shifted closer, whispering to you. "So listen, sweets, I'm havin' this party Friday and I was hopin' I might see you there."

Gyutaro could already guess your answer, mouthing sarcastically as you spoke. "Oh my gosh, I'd love to! Thank you!" What he didn't anticipate, however, was for the 'jock' to then turn to him.

"Hey, man, you should come too!" He chirped enthusiastically. In reality, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew Tengen was a good guy. Other than hearing that he got around, he'd never heard a rumor about him that didn't solidify him as a cool guy.

"Whatever, maybe."

-----

Gyutaro didn't like this at all. Walking you and Ume into a frat party like some sort of bodyguard felt terrible and powerful at the same time. You'd dragged him along because he refused to let either of you go without him. Now here he was, dressed in an outfit you'd picked for him, hair styled by his sister in a much nicer half up-half down than his usual one. The two of you had even held him down to paint his nails and apply makeup to his face. The only thing that made it worth it was the way you looked at him, red-faced like you'd never truly seen him before.

"(N/N), you came!" Chirped a deep voice from deep within the house. Through the crowd emerged Tengen, followed by a small posse of women. "I'm so happy you're here," He smiled before turning to your guests. "And you brought the Shabanas, oh hell yeah!" He extended hands for them both to shake and Ume graciously accepted, gushing internally. Gyutaro on the other hand cocked a brow at his hand before reluctantly shaking it.

"Well, listen," Tengen smirked, raising a hand towards a nearby doorway. "Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen, we got plenty so don't be shy!" His attention shifted back to you. "As for my little buddy here, I was hoping to have a bit of a talk with you..." He smiled softly, leaning close to your ear. Gyutaro didn't miss the way the women Tengen was with snickered behind him and it raised his guard that much more. "One on four..."

You swallowed dryly, not caring what his last words could have meant. Your long-term crush wanted to talk to you away from the bustle of the party, this was huge! "S-Sure, let's go," You nodded, much to your friends' chagarin.

"Don't worry," The jock smirked, straightening his back again, taking your hand in his. "I'll bring her back in one piece, promise." With that, he turned away, leading you down the hall, followed by those three beautiful women.

Ume tugged on her brother's jacket sleeve, begging him to go with her to get a drink as he watched you disappear into a bedroom with someone he hated. Some party this was.

-----

"Make yourself comfortable..." A chipper, soft voice called when you entered an empty bedroom. Suma, the girl you'd met before placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the bed. She sat behind you, laying her head against your back, seemingly already very comfortable with you.

"Easy up, baby," Tengen's cool voice called as he sat on an armchair at the foot of the bed with one of the women in his lap and another sitting on the floor, her head on his thigh. "We don't know if she'll say yes or not."

"Y-Yes to what?" You asked, swallowing a hard lump of nerves, feeling Suma's silky hair leave your shoulder.

"First off, I'd like to clear up a few rumors," He said calmly, lounging with his magenta gaze trained on you. "I'm not a whore, and I don't have an STD." Your face caught fire and your jaw fell slack. Had he heard what you and Gyutaro had said in class? He must've. Before you could apologize, he continued. "And this isn't a harem. The four of us are..."

"Polyamorous." The woman in his lap said, her soft lilac eyes running over you as if she wanted to see more of it.

"That's right, pretty." Tengen praised, pressing his lips to her scalp. "Forgot the word." The woman on the floor pouted up to him, nudging his thigh with her chin. "Oh, my bad, where are my manners?" His hand came down to her head, raking a blonde money piece into the rest of her inky hair. "(N/N), these are my girls, Hina, Makio, and you've already met Suma." He formally introduced. "Girls, this is (Y/N), a very special friend of mine."

"So..." You stammer, feeling like a mouse in a trap. "That means...you're in multiple relationships or..."

"No, just one," Suma clarified into your ear with an affectionate nuzzle. "We all love each other a lot..." Your face reddened with the implications of her statement.

"W-What does all this have to do with me, though...?" You manage to ask, trembling against the cuddly girl, eyes pleading up to Tengen for a straight explanation.

"I'll cut to the point," He smiled sweetly, leaning forward to place a hand on top of yours, followed by Makio, Hina, and then Suma. You felt microscopic under their gaze, wrapped in a mysterious comfort. "We like you," He admitted with a charming smirk. "We all do, a lot."

"O-Oh, uhm..." You flustered, breaking eye contact, trying to slip your hand away but his fingers were already closing around it, pulling you closer. "T-That's very sweet of you but, I-I'm not sure I'm interested..."

"Oh, don't say that, give us a chance!" Suma whined into your ear, snuggling closer, arms snaking around your middle. "You're so pretty and sweet..."

"Suma, chill," Makio warned, flashing her a stern look from over the edge of the bed. "You can't just beg her until she says yes, that's not how love works."

You couldn't help but feel dizzy, suffocating on her Japanese cherry blossom perfume, mixed with the way your tummy would turn at her touch. "W-What is it that you want me to say yes to...?"

"We want you to be our girlfriend, sweetheart." Hina piped up, her stare still gentle and needy as it was earlier.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, baby." Tengen finally spoke again, shifting beneath her. "Look, I know you've had a crush on me for a while, but I didn't wanna act on it because I didn't think you, ya know." He paused to smirk, his shaved brows bouncing with mischievous intent. "Swung that way."

"W-What way?" You swallowed dryly, shuddering when you felt Suma's lips press into your trapezius.

"I didn't think you liked boys and girls," He answered with a knowing grin. You weren't sure how he found out, you were only out to a few very close friends. Not even Ume and Gyutaro knew. "I also didn't think you'd be cool with this," He laughed sheepishly, still somehow remaining. "Sharing, that is."

"If I said yes," You muttered, peering at Hina and Makio shyly before your eyes flickered back over to Tengen. "I would be dating all of you? I'd be all of yours?"

"And we'd be all yours," Makio smirked, playfully batting her lashes at you as she scooted closer to the end of the bed, abandoning her boyfriend's lap for yours. "'Course we'd all also belong to each other."

"You can share us, can't you, cutie?" Suma spoke up again, peppering kisses on your back."

You felt a depression in the mattress to your left, followed by a weight on your shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hina's long onyx hair spilling over your shoulder, covering your torso, and pooling on your lap. "Don't feel pressure, love, this isn't for everyone." She sighed, snuggling into your arm. "But we have so much love for you between the four of us, you'd never get lonely."

Finally, Tengen stood, looming over you with a saccharine smile. He leaned down and you felt a pair of hands tilt your chin up to him. Slowly, his lips met yours in an innocent yet loving kiss, not a hint of sinful motive behind it. You couldn't help but melt like butter in a pan when his lips brushed yours, especially feeling ghostly kisses pepper your thigh, nape, and shoulder.

"C-Could I have some time to think about it?" You asked, breathless and entranced as he pulled away, just a hair from you.

"'Course you can, pretty girl." He cooed, shifting away further, motioning for his girlfriends to do the same. "Girls, give her some space." You felt like you might pass out, dizzy from the sudden overwhelm. "We'll let you go, I bet your friends are startin' to worry. Go enjoy the party, baby."

With that, Hina helped you stand they all walked you out of the room and down the hall to the main room. "Just come find one of us if you wanna talk, okay?"

You nod, still blushing with your hair messed up. The polycule disappeared into the crowd, giving you much-needed space, just in time for another set of feminine arms to catch around your neck from behind. "(Y/N)! Where have you been, we were worried sick!" The sensation of her presence made your skin buzz, reminding you of the way Suma had doted on you for the past hour.

"I wasn't worr-" Gyutaro huffed before noticing how rigid you were, placing a hand on your shoulder, and turning you around. God, were you flustered. Your cheeks were pink and your hair was tangled, the thought of what could have you in such a state made his blood boil. "What the hell did that asshole do to you?" He snarled, grabbing you by the shoulders sternly. "Did he take advantage of you? You didn't drink anything he gave you, right?"

Suddenly, a dopey grin cracked across your face. "H-He..." you swallowed, correcting yourself. "They...asked me out."

[cannibalizedlove]

My bestiest bestie recommended you and I have a BIG idea. I've always thought about a fic where y/n (any gender) moved into this creepy-ish home. After awhile of being there, there had been strange movements and noises and etc. Often the ghost of the house (timothee chalamet) visits only when they're asleep to either caress their hair or cheek because timothee is afraid to show himself to them; especially from fear of scaring them. He is a very beautiful ghost too. When the reader falls in love with timothee, they can only feel him. The reader is the only person that can physically touch him because of how strong their love is. (I might be a bit cheesy).

and the best part of this story is that when the reader dies in the future — the two lovers can and will always be happily together.

A very fluffy and sweet story! With some slight angst.

This is such a cute idea!! I love a little angst-y, cheesy story so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Love your and your besties blog as well!!

Hauntingly Yours.

Information and warnings — Gender neutral reader, gender never specified, Ghost Timothée, old hollywood Timothée, slow burn, very, very long fic.., reader death, Timothée doesn’t know what technology is, hurt/comfort, lover boy Timmy, fluffy angst.

You had recently moved into your new house, an old, southern gothic home from the early ‘20s.

When your friends helped you move, they joked that it was haunted. The rickety house was a bit beat down, chipped paint, leaky faucets and creaky floors galore, but it had good bone structure and charm that you couldn’t pass up.

You enjoyed the aesthetic of the house, and knew the more deserted area it was in would have a positive effect on your writing.

You had been in a slump, your book was 30 pages behind the deadline and your editor was livid. You believed if you were to move away from the loud city, the bustling streets and lit up buildings you could connect with the words and let them flow onto the pages.

It was about a week into settling in, and you were starting to believe your friends. In the dead of the night the floors would creek, and sinks would turn on randomly. When you would write, you felt a cold air touch your neck, and an almost humming sound would whisper in your ears.

You had finally had enough a few nights ago. You were about to lay down for a late sleep, when a loud crash came from the kitchen. You ran quickly to the room, finding a mug your mother had gifted you from your last apartment completely shattered on the floor.

After sweeping up the remaining pieces, you grabbed your laptop, getting to the bottom of this.

You began researching the area and house, and your jaw hung open as you found out the history of your home.

In the late 1930’s, a beautiful star was on the rise. Timothée Chalamet was an actor like no other, he was gorgeous, talented, and had incredible range.

He lived in a gorgeous home, it was in the southern part of the state, off the grid and away from the busy city he desperately needed to get out from.

It seemed as everyone loved him, except the man who took his life.

One night, as Timothée was alone in bedroom, he was shot dead. The shooter was later identified as his costar in his upcoming film.

As you read on, you became increasingly aware that you lived in an old hollywoods stars death bed.

What you weren’t aware of was he knew you lived here too.

Timothée had been alone for all these years, he had felt so alone. He would roam the hallways pacing back and forth for hours before returning back to the bed in which he had died in.

Until you came along.

You were beautiful, and so talented. He loved just standing in the doorway and watching your fingers tap on your weird bright box late at night, he didn’t quite know what it was but he enjoyed reading the words that popped up on it.

Timothée was terrified of letting you see him, so he’d only come into the room late at night, while you were sleeping. He’d softly caress your cheek or pet your hair, watching as your chest moved up and down in your slumber.

You couldn’t sleep, you were too horrified by the idea of sleeping in a deadman’s house, but mostly you were pissed that your real estate agent hadn’t told you about the haunted backstory.

As the late hour rolled around, Timothée had walked into your room, shocked to see you awake. He tipped toed around you too see what was on your light box, as he saw his passing plastered all over it.

His phantom heart sank. Timothée never wanted you to find out about him, he knew you’d be scared and leave him alone once again.

You felt the energy shift, a shiver ran down your spine and you decided enough was enough. You grabbed your phone and began to dial the number of your real estate agent, trying to find out how badly your pockets would be broke if you canceled your contract early.

That was until your phone was flung out of your hands, cracking the screen a bit.

“Hello?! Who’s there!?” You called out with wide eyes, trying to pretend you weren’t terrified in your own home.

A soft whisper rang through your ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You knew you weren’t alone.

You ripped a piece of paper off and drew a “yes, no” sign with two pens on top of eachother like the game you learned back in elementary school. This was the only way you knew how to talk to the other side. You sat on the dreaded bed, putting the paper in the middle of the mattress.

A weight shifted on the end of the bed, you knew this was Timothée, he was sitting with you.

“Is there someone here with me?” You asked out, hugging yourself for a sense of security.

Timothée picked up the pen and put it on the “Yes” part of the sign, watching you with tears in his eyes as he watched the utter sense of horror fill you. He was scaring you, something he wanted less than anything in the world.

“Are you the actor who died here back in the ‘30s?” You muttered out, watching as the pen once again went to the “Yes.”

“Are you able to speak to me?” Another question, Timothée swallowed thickly as he began to speak, believing you wouldn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry to scare you mon amour..” A voice softly whispered out.

You jumped, falling off the bed and panting profusely. Timothée was equally shocked, his voice had never been heard before, and was utterly confused by your abilities.

“I can hear you.. I’m going fucking insane. I’m actually insane, oh my God.” You tugged on your skin, pulled on your hair and looked around like a madman, truly believing you were either asleep or finally losing your mind.

“You’re not insane, Dollface. I’m right here.” The voice called out, it had that old hollywood transatlantic accent mixed with a french one, and it had you.. swooning. Impossible, you’re not weak in the knees for a ghost.. right?

Timothée made your way towards you, and sat by you on the ground, “No one has ever heard me before, Mon Cherie. I’m so alone, all I do is roam the hallways and watch you work, I’m overwhelmed with desire when I see you.” His voice filled the room, and you calmed down slowly but surely.

As you guys continued talking, you found yourself relating more and more to him. He was a kind soul, who didn’t deserve anything he had went through. When he talked about his death, you felt water drop on your knee, and you knew he was crying. You comforted him, telling him that he was okay now and how nothing could hurt him anymore.

Throughout the conversations, you found yourself falling harder and harder into a love for him. He was incredibly talented, smart, and insanely witty. You knew if anyone walked in, they’d think you were absolutely mad, but funnily enough, you had never felt so grounded and happy.

“If you were alive when I was, I bet we would’ve been the best of lovers, Sweet Pie. We could’ve rocked Hollywoods world!” Timothée laughed, you chuckled with your head hanging low, you desperately wished it was true. You wished you could’ve loved him back then, maybe he never would’ve met his terrible fate and you could’ve grown old together. You both could’ve lived in this house, and he could’ve reached the level of stardom that he had deserved.

Soon when you lifted your head back up, complete shock struck you as you were now face to face with the man you had been speaking to all night.

He looked straight out of a black and white movie, he had a sharp nose, heavy lashes, perfectly set curls, and soft freckles that kissed his entire face.

You screamed, throwing your hands on your mouth.

“What?! What’s wrong?!” Timothée exclaimed, his eyes were wide and he grabbed your arm.

“I can.. You! I can see you?! I can FEEL you?!” You had explained in complete shock, locking eyes with him, and staring at his large hand on your arm.

Timothée was overjoyed that you could finally be with him, but he quickly feared that you would be scared of him, more than you were before.

“You’re.. beautiful, Timothée.” You said with a sigh, moving closer to him and gently running a thumb across his cheek. “Much more beautiful than the pictures, I didn’t think you could get prettier.” You giggled, bringing him into a tight embrace.

Timothée hadn’t felt a hug in decades, he began to sob, shaking like a leaf as he held you close. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be seen.” He said through intense tears, and you shushed him quietly, kissing the top of his head and wiping his tears.

“I see you, Angel.” You began to cry with him, and the two of you fell asleep holding each other.

The days went on and you were falling for him more and more, since you could see and feel him now, you did everything together. You taught him what a laptop was, and you showed him new movies and explained how CGI was a part of every film now. He thought it was tacky, and said that hollywood had declined since his time and you laughed with agreement.

It had been about a month since you first met Timothée, and you were head over heels for him. Today was different than the others, because you decided you were going to tell him how you loved him. You cooked the two of you breakfast, and held his hand over the table as you ate with him.

“May I tell you something, dear?” You muttered, rubbing your thumb against his boney knuckles, holding eye contact with him as he had a bit of syrup on the corner of his mouth. He was a complete goof, and you loved him for it, he deserved to know that.

“Of course, darling, what is it?” He asked sweetly, smiling widely.

“I, well, I love you.” You exclaimed, you looked down as you said it, feeling like a fool.

“Oh, Mon Cherie.” Timothée began to cry, he was a very emotional man, and you loved that about him.

He left his seat and picked you up, swinging you around, “I love you more than you know!” His voice cried out.

For the rest of the day, you were clung to his side, you spent the entire afternoon kissing and holding him tightly. You loved him, he loved you and that’s all you needed. When the day had come to a close, you needed a shower. You broke apart from Timothée and left him with a peck on the lips.

You had gotten a towel, and began to undress, jumping into the shower. Everything was normal, you shampooed your hair, hummed songs and went to grab your soap. It fell out of your hands, and with closed eyes you went to grab it, in a terrible accident you slipped on the bar of soap. You screamed and slammed your head on the faucet insanely hard. For a moment you heard Timothée rushing into the room, and the next moment you heard and felt nothing.

You woke up to Timothée crying as he held you close, you were confused as you heard ambulances outside your home and men rushing in your direction. It felt like you were seeing with your eyes closed, and Timothée was whispering comforting nothings into your ears.

It had finally clicked for you, you had passed away due to the hit to your head. You were terrified. You began to scream and cry but your body wasn’t moving, you wanted to yell that you were alive and for them to stop wrapping your body, but Timothée held you down and told you that there was nothing you could do.

Months later your friends and family had a funeral for you, you stayed back, in that southern home.

Every morning you woke up to Timothée in your shared bed, and every night you’d eat dinner, and go to bed with him. You felt at peace, you knew that you and him would be in love forever, and you knew that nothing could tear you apart.

Your souls were intertwined in that home, till the end of time.

[seeingivy]

fall concert

roommate eren x f!reader 

eren surprises you with a night out. 

**find the mini-series masterlist here 

content: mentions of drinking, annie and jean are horny drunks, eren being a simp, touching ur thighs? idk, scars again, reader tries on clothes and gets frustrated so like that kinda, stranger things joke

an: ok I delayed letting things crash and burn so my moots who have finals can be happy for a few more days. ok enjoy bitches there’s more jealous eren where we’re coming from

previous part linked here

- 

“Eren. Why are you…twitching?” 

You had been watching Eren for a better part of the last five minutes. The two of you were studying, your papers sprawled around the table as you finished up the last of your assignments. He seemed flighty, more than usual, like he was going to fall off of his chair any second. 

“I’m not twitching.” 

“Yes, you are. The entire table is shaking. Do you need to take a break or something?” 

You look up from your laptop again, Eren’s glasses perched at the top of his nose. You never known he wore them until a few days ago, when the two of you started studying together at home. 

“Can I try them on?” 

“What? Why?” 

“I just wanted to see if I look as cute as you do when you wear them.” 

You watch his cheeks turn a bright pink, as he very begrudgingly hands them over to you. You place them on the bridge of your nose, securing your hair behind your ears, and giving him a big smile. 

“Do I look cute?” 

“Yes. Very cute. Now give them back.” 

You twist them off your face, placing them back in Eren’s hands. 

“I’m lucky you don’t wear them all the time. I’ve got a whole thing for glasses, going on.” 

You try to ignore the fact that Eren has been wearing them ever since you said that.

He stops twitching and reaches in his bag while responding. 

“Ah. I just…have something for you.” 

You get up from your chair across from him, sliding into the one directly at his side. You hold out your hands in front of him, shaking your fingers at him to give it to you. 

“Okay. Hand it over, Yeager.” 

He places a small, white envelope with your name scribbled over the top into your palm. You give him a reassuring smile before sliding your fingers under the envelope, ripping it open. It’s a piece of paper with a green sticky note pressed on top. You run your hands over the sticky note, recognizing Eren’s handwriting immediately.

y/n. since you give me my own personal concert every morning when you take a shower, i figured id repay the favor and take you to a real one. 

You rip off the sticky note to find a concert ticket for the Monsoons, one of your favorite bands mind you, at the stadium in the city. You scan your eyes over the ticket, realizing Eren had bagged you floor seats for the concert, which was on Saturday. 

You look up at Eren, who was still nervously twitching in the seat next to you. You spring over the chairs, knocking both of you to the ground as you wrap your arms around him. You’re basically screaming at him - thanking him for getting you floor tickets, asking how much they were, that you needed to get an outfit. 

He sits up on the floor - where the two of you are still sitting after you knocked him down - and takes your hands into his. 

“Do you always knock people over when you’re excited or is it just me?” 

“Just you.” 

He rolls his eyes, prodding his fingers into your forehead, murmuring something about how ridiculous you are under his breath. 

“Plus. No one ever does stuff for me like this.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah. I think it’s the first time someone has ever surprised me with a gift or something I wanted.” 

“Well, that’s stupid. You can expect it from now on.” 

You press yourself into Eren’s chest, wrapping your arms around his again. You can feel your cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so hard and your head pounding a little, the excitement of the moment finally catching up with you. 

- 

You groan in frustration, hanging the last dress you had picked out back on the rail as you swipe your shirt back over head. 

You had been trying on dresses for a better part of the last hour - trying to find a perfect one for the concert, which was tomorrow. You had no luck - the color was unflattering, showed off too much skin, didn’t fit right. 

You feel Eren rap his knuckles against the door, asking if you were done yet. You open the door, groaning at him. 

“That one was somehow the worst one.” 

“You didn’t even show me any of them. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” 

You shake your head. That would be embarrassing. Not that you care much about that type of stuff - Eren has literally watched you parade around in your pajamas before but this was somehow different. You tried to avoid this situation altogether - Eren taking you dress shopping - but he was the only one who was free to give you a ride. 

Armin’s parents were in town, so Armin and Annie were immediately out of the picture. They’d still be joining you at the concert tomorrow, since Eren had bought them and Jean tickets as well. Jean had lacrosse practice so he couldn’t take you either. Not that Jean or Armin were better options, but they were better than Eren. It felt too vulnerable and personal to tell him any of this and you didn’t really want him to pity you either. But here he was, watching you drown in your frustrations. 

“This is so stupid. This is why I hate shopping, nothing ever looks right on me and I just end up irritated at the end of it.” 

Eren can see the frustration building up - by the way your shoulders are tensed up and your eyes are all pinched together. He can’t figure out how to fix it - he can’t really tell you that you’re his favorite thing to look at, that sometimes he can’t keep his eyes off you no matter how hard he tries, can he? 

“Can I pick one for you?” 

“What?” 

“A dress. Let me pick one out for you, it’ll take like five minutes.” 

“You can try. I’m sure it’ll still look stupid anyways though so don’t waste too much time.” 

He watches you slump onto the seat in the changing room before running out into the store, scattering the aisles to find the perfect dress for you. He’d done this hundreds of times - helped his mom, Mikasa, his brother, Armin - find the perfect clothes to wear. Some part of him found it relaxing, picking out the fabrics and looking at all the different colors. 

His mom looked best in neutrals - dark browns and creams. He thought it made her eyes look the best, her brown eyes sparkling gold in the sun. Mikasa was best in red, maroon specifically, and Armin always looked best in blue (which was a no-go, he does have blue eyes and all). 

But you? You’d look good in any color, in anything. He’s trying his best not to dismiss the way you’re feeling, after discarding all the dresses you had already tried on, but he’s positive you’d look great in any of them. He’d be able to say it too if you actually let him see you try them on. 

He settles for a light green slip dress, the neckline surrounded by embroidered lace work. He tries to ignore the thought of you slipping it on and rushes back to the dressing room to hand it to you. 

You’re still sitting on the bench where he left you, folding all of the other clothes you had tried on. He grabs your arms to pull you up, handing you the dress he had picked out. 

“Don’t be offended if I don’t end up getting it, okay? That’s more about me looking bad in it and less about what you picked.” 

“You’re not going to look bad in it. At least let me see when you try it on, okay?” 

“You know most guys hate this type of stuff.” 

“That’s not true. Armin does this with Annie all the time.” 

“Armin’s whipped for Annie though. He’d probably willingly run over coals, happily mind you, if she asked him to.” 

Eren watches you close the door to try the dress on and nearly panics. Oh god. You know. You have to know that he likes you. Why else would you make that comment about Armin and Annie, who are dating? 

“Um.” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, Ren. I just…can’t really get the zipper up.” 

“I can help you…if you want. If that’s okay. Or I can grab a girl to do it for you.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I don’t mind if you do it.” 

You slide the door open, signaling Eren to join you in the doorway. You turn around, swinging your hair over your shoulder, for Eren to zip up the dress. 

It’s in this moment that Eren silently thanks the gods for inventing zippers and putting them back at the back of dresses where people can’t reach them. He’s going to explode, right here and right now. 

He reaches down, slowly zipping it up while observing every little thing on your back - the freckles sprinkled all around, your soft skin against his knuckles, and your smell wafting in the air. Stupid fucking peach smell. This has to be some type of psychological Pavlov classical conditioning shit the way his heart pounds every time he smells it. 

“Do you like it, Y/N?” 

You turn around, smoothing down the fabric of the dress and turn towards Eren. He’s watching you through the mirror, your eyes fixed on your frame as you look at the dress. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, thank god. I was actually going to have to strangle you if you disagreed with me on this one.” 

You reach forward, pulling him into your arms. 

“Thank you, Eren. You’re really sweet. I’m sorry for taking so long and getting so frustrated. I just hate this kind of stuff.” 

It’s Eren’s turn to feel his cheeks burn, using his hands to rub small circles into your back. 

“It’s okay. I know it’s not everyone’s thing. Mikasa and my mom are way worse, trust me. Don’t even get me started on how picky Jean is.” 

He feels the tangling in his chest settle at the sound of your laugh, your eyes beaming into his. 

“I used to like it at one point. Like picking out new clothes, making new outfits. But, I don’t know. Floch thought it was dumb sometimes so I kind of stopped.” 

“Floch?” 

“Oh, right. He’s the ex-boyfriend I told you about.” 

He reaches for your hand, running his fingers over the scar between your knuckles again. He had to fight the urge to not kiss your hand or kiss you every time he saw it, the anger rising in him at the thought of you being hurt like that. 

He settled for just running his fingers across it, every time it caught his eye - when you were watching a movie, handing him his keys before he left, saying goodnight. He’s not sure what he was trying to accomplish, if it even did anything, but you always smiled or squeezed his hand in return, so he never stopped. 

You immediately pull your hand back, holding it in your other one against your chest. Too much. This is too much. Eren picked out a dress for you, you told him about Floch, again, and you’re standing so close. 

“You okay? Did I do something?” 

“Yeah. No, you just make me nervous sometimes.” 

“Uh huh. And what is it that you think you do to me?” 

“Annoy you?” 

You watch his features press in frustration as he gets up off the wall, leaving your dressing room. 

“You’re impossible, kitty.” 

“Stop calling me kitty.” 

- 

Eren’s hands are shaking again, pulling back the zip of the dress. You have to be doing this on purpose. 

You look pretty. So, so pretty. Your hair is out of its usual loose bun, light waves pressed through your hair. The front pieces are braided back and he can’t help himself. He reaches forward, twisting the end of the braid in his fingers. 

“Does it look fine?” 

“It’s pretty. I like it.” 

He can’t breathe. He’s going to take you to a hundred concerts if it means doing this every time. He wants to run his fingers through your hair, watch your nimble fingers braid through them. And he wants to hug you, just so he can smell in that sweet, flowery perfume you sprayed on, in earnest. And your stupid freckles on your back- he wants to draw out constellations on them, see which part of the sky you’re walking around with everyday. 

“Ren. You good?”

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.” 

“By?” 

You swing around, your eyes peering into his. He’s not sure what you did, maybe the black around your eyes, but your eyes are prettier. Bigger. They’re glimmering. He can’t even look at you without panicking. 

“You have freckles. On your back.” 

He watches you twirl around, craning your neck to see them in the mirror. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Y/N. I like them.” 

He watches the smile spread across your face, as you reach into your drawers to finish off your makeup. He can’t help but watch you, mesmerized by different colors you were putting on your face. 

“Is this your first time watching someone do makeup?” 

“No. I’ve seen my mom do it a few times.” 

He sees you nod, turning back to press a light green glitter to your eyelids and then spreading some across the length of your collarbones.

“You're almost done?” 

“Yeah, just two more things and then we can go meet them.” 

You pour out a small amount of concealer onto your hand, spreading it across your shoulder where your scar from falling off the bike was. 

You feel Eren reach for your fingers, stopping you before you can fully cover it up. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just covering it up. It’ll just take a few seconds.” 

“No. I gathered that. I’m asking why.” 

He lets go of your hand, leaning over the counter as you sit there and think. Why do you cover it up? 

“Um. I’m not really sure. I guess I’ve just always done it.” 

“Well, don’t.” 

You stare at him, his face scrunched up in frustration. You watch his expression change, immediately back-tracking from what he just said. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, you don’t have to. If you think people won’t like it. It’s normal, you know. We all have scars. And yours is nice. I mean, it’s not nice that you got it but I like it-“ 

You put your hands on his shoulders, squeezing twice which stops his talking all together. He sticks his forehead on your shoulder, resting against your frame. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Eren. Why are you…word vomiting today?” 

“You make me nervous.” 

Ah. 

“And what is it you think you do to me?” 

“Shut up. You’re not funny.” 

He lifts his head up, looking back at your eyes. You’re quite literally beaming at him and in this moment he swears you could be the sun.

“I’m already having fun. I appreciate you doing this for me. And I won’t cover up my scar, if you like it that much.” 

He nods, watching you rub your fingers into the leftover product on your hand. You both walk out of the bathroom, grabbing the last few things left on your counter. 

“Wait. I got you something.” 

He watches you hop into your room, coming back out with a nicely packaged green box. You hand it over to him, balancing on the balls of your feet as you watch him open the package. 

You watch his eyes widen as he pulls the silver chain out, twisting it in his fingertips. 

“You always wear your key necklace. I just thought it would be nice to get you another one. Since you got me very expensive concert tickets and all.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

“I know that. I wanted to.” 

He smiles, holding open his arms to hug you. You happily oblige, pressing yourself against him. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head, before letting you go and holding out the chain for you. You can feel your brain malfunctioning - full on 404 error, rainbow pinwheel, nothing. 

“Can you help me put it on?” 

You nod. You can feel your fingers shaking, understanding why Eren was so distracted when he helped you with your dress. Well, you didn’t kiss him before so you’re at some unfair advantage. 

Some part of this feels too intimate, helping each other get ready, him watching you do your makeup, putting on his necklace - like you were a pair of lovers or something. 

You hook the latch, lightly tapping on his shoulder to signal you were done. The two of you lock up your apartment, walking down the hall to meet Armin, Jean, and Annie. 

“You kiss all your friends?” 

“Yeah. Armin loves my soft little pecks.” 

- 

“You come around here often?” 

“Shut up, Jean.” 

You can’t help but laugh at Annie and Eren’s quick retort. Some part of you thinks they practice it when you’re not around by the way it's so perfectly in sync.  

“You two can stop pouting. I made the same joke about Armin earlier. I wouldn’t dream of bothering your precious Y/N or your sweet Armin, Annie.” 

Jean swings his arms around you and Armin, teasing Eren and Annie on. The five of you pile into the venue, scanning in all your tickets, and are immediately thrown off by how many people are there. You swore you were only there for five seconds but when you turn your head, the four of them are gone. 

You back out of the crowd, making your way to the benches to text them. 

to “jean stfu” 

you: why did you guys leave me behind,,,, ur so mean :(

armin: where did you go? we thought you were right behind us 

annie: were you holding on to anyone? 

you: no,,

jean: eren, start holding on to your girl or we’ll start doing it for you

eren removed jean from the group chat 

annie: add him back tomorrow. he’s doing too much. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Eren. 

“Were you planning on just standing there or following us?” 

“You guys just moved so fast! I literally turned my head and you were gone.” 

“Right. You’re almost literally in the same spot.” 

“Well, I was just looking for you guys.” 

He rolls his eyes, locking his fingers as he walks through the crowd with you this time. He’s holding you right against his frame, leading you in front of him so he can keep his eyes on you. He successfully gets you to where the three of them are standing. You gravitate towards Annie, taking the spot next to hers. 

“Find your girl?” 

“Yeah. She was where we left her, at the entrance.” 

You shift in your spot, craning your neck to see if you heard what you think you heard. Probably not. Right. Because why would Jean call you Eren’s girl? Again? And why would he not correct him? 

The five of you stand there for a few hours, screaming through the opener, and waiting for the show to start. You and Jean talk about how Eren used to be as a kid, you play rock paper scissors with Armin, and braid Annie’s hair while you wait. 

“Hey. Can we get drinks before it starts?” 

Armin nods. You go up to Eren, tapping on his shoulder and breaking him out of the very intense conversation he was having with Jean about something you couldn’t quite hear.

“Hey. Can I have my wallet? Armin and I are going to get drinks.” 

“Sure you’ll make it to the back without getting trampled? Do I need to carry you on my back?”

“Oh, shut up Ren. Wallet please.” 

He smiles, placing the wallet in your hand. You link hands with Armin, walking towards the back where the vendors were standing. The two of you break apart, Armin going to the vendor on the right and you heading to the one on the left. 

As you stand in the line, you look down and realize that Eren handed you his wallet and not yours. Asshole. You pull the cards out of his wallet, trying to shuffle for his credit card to buy the water. As you swipe through the cards, you find two polaroids tucked in the back pocket, pulling them out. 

The first one is a picture of a group of Eren and his friends. You can recognize Armin, Jean, and Mikasa, his childhood best friend that he had mentioned before. You wrack your mind, trying to remember if Eren or Armin ever mentioned that they grew up with Jean too. 

You focus on the other two people in the picture, the ones you can't recognize. One is a girl, with short brown hair tied up into a ponytail at the top of her head. She has her arm swung around another guy, with short buzzed hair. You can identify Armin’s neat handwriting at the bottom, “the scouts” inscribed onto the polaroid. 

You tuck the photo back into the pocket, twisting the other one in your fingers to get a look at it. You drop it the second you flip it over, immediately crouching on the ground to find it. 

The polaroid is of you. You and Eren. You have your arms swung around his neck and you’re kissing his cheek. You run your fingers over the picture - trying to smudge the ink, flip it over for any words, find any explanation to when this picture was taken. You can’t even remember it. 

The girl in line behind you taps on your shoulder, signaling that it was my turn to go in the line. You tuck the picture back into the wallet, buying the waters and turning back to Annie. As the two of you link arms again, making your way back to the vendor, you can’t help but feel your head running at a million miles per hour. 

When did you guys take that picture? Why did you kiss his cheek? Why did he keep the picture in his wallet? Or not tell you?

You loop your arm with Armin’s again, the two of you bustling your way through the crowd back where you were standing. You hand the water bottles to Eren, Annie, and Jean, the latter of which mentions “he could kiss you two for this” which just pisses Eren and Annie even more. 

You make your way over to Eren, taking the spot next to him. He leans down, moving closer to you so you can hear him. 

“Hey. Having fun?” 

“Yeah.”

“That wasn’t very convincing.” 

“No really, I am.” 

He squints his eyes at you, before turning back to the stage. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Before you can ask, the music starts blaring over you, the two of you thrown out of your thoughts as the music starts. That’s fine. You can settle for asking him later. 

The crowd gets closer around you, nearly shoving as you push to the stage. Before you can move out of the way, you feel Eren wrap his arms around you, stopping you from getting lost again. You look up, his head right next to yours. 

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Towards the middle of the concert, a very tall group of people stands right in front of you. You shake Annie, who you had been holding hands with for a good part of the concert, the two of you rolling your eyes at them. 

Armin taps on her shoulder, lifting her up by swinging her legs around her shoulders. You look up, watching her laugh as she sticks her hands in Armin’s hair. 

You feel Jean reach for your shoulder, leaning his head near yours. 

“I can do that for you. If you want.” 

“I’m going to hurt you, Jean.” 

“I’m just kidding, Eren! You’re just so easy to mess with.” 

You turn to Eren, who's still standing behind you. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?” 

“Yeah. Get on.” 

He bends down and you swing your legs over his shoulder, placing your hands in his air, as he lifts you up. You try to avoid the burning sensation of his hands resting on your thighs, thinking back to the time he touched them while the two of you were sitting on his bed, and focus on the music. You reach over and link hands with Annie in the air, the two of you singing to the music together. 

Eren avoids the burning sensation he’s feeling in his entire body from holding you like this. The ends of your dress are piled up near the top of your legs, which leaves just his hands touching just your thighs. He looks up, to find you entirely distracted, screaming the song with Annie. Probably fine then. 

The second the concert ends, Eren slowly sets you down, steadying you as your feet hit the ground. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah, thanks Ren.” 

Annie and Jean find their way next to the two of you, devious smiles pressed on their faces. They’re drunk. Not that you aren't either, but they’re definitely worse than you. 

“Are you good, my sweet precious little Y/N?”

“Yeah, thank you Eren.” 

You laugh at their high pitched voices, the two of them mimicking you, as the five of you trudge out the crowd. 

“Shut up. You’re not funny. I’m going to hurt you, Annie.” 

“Shut up, Eren. That’s basically what you said to her. And is that your only threat? You can do so much better than that.” 

“That wasn’t even close!” 

Jean swings his hand around your shoulder, leaning a majority of his weight on you as you leave the venue. 

“You can do way better.” 

“Way better for what?” 

“Then Eren! You know him - he’s all annoying and egotistical and shit.” 

“Not all the time! I feel like that was just at the beginning.” 

“If you were my roommate, we’d be dating already. Scratch that, married.” 

Eren’s going to kill Jean. Like actually. He’s been trailing behind the two of you, helping Armin drag Annie back to the car. He’s not even sure when Annie and Jean found time to drink during the concert, but here they are. Wasted. 

Does Jean think he doesn’t want to date you? Eren wants to date you. He wants to date you so bad. Press soft kisses to your hair when you wake up in the morning, sleep in your bed, watch you steal his clothes. He wants to date you. 

The second the five of you reach the car, you prop Jean and Annie against the car, wobbling in your stance. You grab onto Eren, as Armin starts attempts to shove Annie in the back of the car. 

Jean gets up off the car, placing his hands on your shoulders. 

“Nice scar.” 

You pale, forgetting that you had forgotten to cover it up since Eren asked you to. You grab the loose ends of your hair, brushing it over your shoulder. Eren catches you doing it and now he’s actually going to kill Jean. 

“Hey. Can you grab water from the people at the end there? Annie will probably vomit the second we start driving.” 

The second you walk away, it’s Eren’s turn to shove Jean in the car. 

“You’re pissing me off, Jean. Get in the fucking car and shut up.” 

“Mad your little girlfriend likes me?” 

“She doesn’t like you.” 

Annie sticks her head out the window, grabbing Eren’s face with her hands. 

“You’re an idiot. How do you know she doesn’t like Jean?” 

“Annie, my sweet. Get back in the car, yeah?”

How does he know that you don’t like Jean? Like he manifested you just by thinking about you, Eren feels you next to him again, leaning against his arm. The two of you are standing outside of the car, watching Annie fight with Jean over Armin. 

“Oh my god. They’re such horny drunks. Let’s leave while we still can.” 

You stick your head into the window of the car, wishing luck to Armin as Jean reaching up to lock his fingers with yours. 

“Marry me, Y/N?” 

“Okay, Jean. Sure.”  

You and Eren walk away from the car, Jean still moping in the front seat as you walk away. 

 -

You and Eren make your way back to the apartment - your feet, ears, head aching. The two of you are sluggish, basically drinking any water in the nearby proximity and hopping to the nearest chair. The two of you sit there, your heads leaning against the back of the couch as your exhaustion seeps in. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“Tired, kitty?” 

“Ew. Yeah. Had a ton of fun though.”

Eren’s reeling. See, he had a plan. He was going to take you to the concert, bring you home, and kiss you. 

The truth is, he can’t really wait any longer. Every single thing you did was driving him crazy - every time he woke up next to you when he accidentally fell asleep in your bed, watching you come to all his games, buying him the necklace. He likes you. Too much. He has to do something about it. 

But now he’s not sure. Do you like Jean? Did he misread you and him all together? He knows that the two of you were friends - but he thought he was just like Armin to you. He feels your head plop on his shoulder, you settling your head on his frame. 

“You okay? I feel like I can see the steam coming off your head from thinking so hard.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Do you like Jean?” 

You’re quiet. Too quiet. Oh god, you like Jean. Eren’s going to kill him. Or Armin, for introducing you. Or you, for liking him. 

“Would it bother you if I did?”

“Maybe, a little bit.” 

“Just a little?” 

“Okay, a lot.” 

You laugh, nuzzling your cheek into his. Idiot. 

“It would bother me too.” 

“What would?” 

“If you liked Jean.” 

The two of you laugh before sitting there in silence, pressed against each other, pondering over each other’s words. He doesn’t want you to like Jean. You don’t want him to like someone else. The two of you can settle for that, for tonight at least. 

“Do you have my wallet? You never gave it back.” 

The wallet. The picture. This is your chance to ask. 

You turn to face him, resting your hands on his biceps. 

“Eren.” 

“Kitty.” 

“Stop that.” 

He laughs, turning his head to the side as he does. 

“You’d tell me if I forgot something right? Like, if I did something weird while I was drunk, you would remind me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Absolutely positive.” 

You pull the polaroid out, handing it to him.

“Papa. You lie.” 

He laughs at your joke, twisting the polaroid in his fingers. 

“Okay, Eleven. That’s enough. I totally forgot this was in my wallet when I handed it to you. Are you mad?” 

“No. I’m kind of sad, actually. I don’t even remember the first time I kissed you.” 

He leans over, his lips a few feet away from yours. His green eyes are glimmering, a look you can’t place in them. 

“Then do it again.” 

“What?” 

“If you can’t remember, then just do it again.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds, his eyes still staring into yours. He can’t be serious, can he? He does look serious. He’s still sitting across from you, leaning on the couch like he’s waiting for it. Like he’s waiting for you to kiss him.

You lean over, pressing yourself against his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean forward, shakily mind you, and press a kiss to his cheek. 

The two of you stay like that, you in his lap and Eren smiling at you, for a few seconds. You can’t stand to look at his eyes, the thought of him looking at you embarrassing you. You dig your face into the crook of his neck, trying to hide your flushed cheeks. 

“All quiet now?” 

“What else do you want me to say? I just kissed your cheek. It’s your move, Eren.” 

You feel his fingers around the side of your face, lifting it up so he can get a good look at you. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, smiling at you. 

“I want to kiss you. I want to kiss your sweet, perfect lips so badly you don’t even understand. But I have to do it the right way, okay? Think you can wait till tomorrow?” 

“What’s tomorrow?” 

“Just wait and see, silly girl.” 

You come to find out that tomorrow is not what you were hoping for. Not in the slightest. 

- 

next part linked here

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[tonycries]

Kiss Me More!

Synopsis. There’s always something that makes him lose control - and you love pushing those buttons.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rough séx, unprotected, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, slight exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s), Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, dacryphília (Geto’s), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. Bro my laptop crashed thrice trynna write this um.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Raw?!”

Great, Toji thinks, he’s finally lost it.

Because sooner have the words left your swollen lips, all the blood goes rushing to his achingly hard cock - so swollen and already leaking hot precum all over your trembling thighs. Some dark, primal part of himself being poked so dangerously awake.

“Are ya sure, doll?” he breathes, and the words come out ragged - pained even. Like some part of himself wanted you to save no, was begging you to say no - for his own sanity. Because just the thought of your pretty lil’ cunt wrapped around his cock makes him feel lightheaded. “We don’t-”

“I wan’ to,” you give him a determined little nod. Spreading your legs further and oh Toji lets out a hoarse grunt at the heavenly sight. Hanging on your every word as you continue, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

That was hours ago - oh, how foolish you were. 

You never thought that those would be the words that make your poor boyfriend snap. That it would only take him just barely grazing his angry, weeping tip between your puffy folds. Up and down up and down up and- down went every rational thought. 

Too depraved. Too lost in the feeling of finally having you and your soft pussy and you-

“C-can’t believe you’ve been ngh- fuckin’ holdin’ out on m-me.” He was in heaven, making you cum over and over and-

And you were clawing limply at the drenched sheets, the headrest, Toji’s shoulders - just anything and everything for some semblance of sanity. 

“T-Toji-” you sob, “S’too much. I- ngh- can’t anymore-”

“Fuck! Been hah- holdin’ out on me.” he groans, like a mantra. Brows furrowing as he squeezes his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. And if it was any other time then Toji might’ve almost been embarrassed at the way his sentence cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. Choking out, “One more- gimme j-jus’ one more.”

“But-” Big, fat tears roll down your burning cheeks as large fingers dip down to toy your sensitive clit between them - no rhythm or rhyme, just to get you off. “You said the p-previous one would ngh- b-be the last.”

Ah, you were so cute blabbering out little pleas. And the only response you get is a devilish smirk, Toji’s darkened, hooded eyes boring into yours as he hums, “Did I? I don’t remember.”

He did remember. Very well, in fact as he pushed you to your nth orgasm tonight. And it took everything in him to hold off his high as he fucked you through yours, whispering out hollow promises about it being the “last time” and just “one more”. 

“S’okay-” Toji nips playfully at your wobbling lips. Salty with the taste of your overstimulated tears. “One more- you can mmpf- cum f’me once more, right?” 

And Toji’s barely-there sense of rationality in him knows he should slow down. Ease up his bruising grp on your hips. Have at least some shred of concern as he fucks your quivering cunt rougher, like his personal sex toy more than anything. 

Yet, no, right now he couldn’t even think straight. Too focused on how your moans were so sweet. Lips so pretty screaming out his name. Snug cunt too fucking heavenly when you cum all over his cock, squeezing him like your slutty lil’ pussy was trying to milk the fucking soul out of him. So hard and addicted that Toji was hooked. 

You mewl a delirious little, “H-hooked?” Batting your hazy eyes up at the monster above you, who seemed well and fully intent on making you cum until you couldn’t anymore. “Y-you’re hooked?”

Whoops, did he say that out loud? Seems you weren’t the only one that was completely and utterly wrecked here. 

“Shhh,” Toji drops his head once more to kiss away your adorable pout - the one that only makes his balls squeeze so painfully. “Just focus on how ngh- fuckin’ food ya feel, pretty.” Fingers erratic on your throbbing clit, just soaked in your sweet juices. Moving deftly to spell out a messy T-O-J-I. Over and over and- “After all, this hah- pussy now belongs to me now, right?”

And it’s all you can do to give a delirious little nod, words slurring together as you hiss a low, “Y-yours- S’all for- ngh- you-” Hips bucking wildly underneath his strong figure. “Close- m’gonna cum, Toji-”

The only response you get is a guttural groan of what sounded like your name - followed shortly by a string of profanities as Toji speeds up his abuse on your cunt. One hand reaching out to grip onto the headboard, so hard that if you were in any better state of mind the two of you would have registered the sharp snap! 

The other almost-feverish on your poor clit - like it hurt to not have you cumming all over his cock now. Spelling his name over and over and-

“Oh I’ll let ya cum-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy now. Sounding like his sanity was dancing away every time his hips slapped bruisingly against yours. “Gonna make you c-cum so ha- hard you’ll forget everything else-”

You’re letting out strangled little gasps in response, hips torn between running away and fucking down for more more more-

“Fuck- hope you’re on the pill, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Painted white

“Whoops.”

Nanami well and fully thinks that it’s your fault he feels less of a man than some monster right now. He acts like it, too, holding back a sultry little smile as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

Close - too close. 

Close enough that he’s immediately pulling out of your snug cunt. So fucking difficult with the way you’re sucking him up so good - but oh was it worth it watching the way your swollen lips drop into a soft oh! Glassy eyes snapping down to catch the way he fucks his fist once, twice. Before spilling all over your swollen folds, painting you such an obscene white over and over and-

“Now now,” you can only keen in response as your husband hums lowly. Fist sliding languidly up and down his angry, red cock. “Guess we hafta hah- do it all over again, my love.” 

Yeah, definitely worth it with the way he had you all breathless and needy, your slutty lil’ pussy just begging to go over the edge - only to tease you at the very last second. God, it’s been like this for so long now. 

“So mean,” you give Nanami a little pout - one that has his still-painfully hard cock twitching so sensitively in his hand. Big, fat tears welling up in your eyes as you continue, “You’re being so ngh- mean, Ken.”

Oh, damn that little nickname - the exact same one you’d scream when you’re close. Damn the way you cock your head just right, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at him.

Damn the way he snakes his hand down to the sinful little pool of cum spreading all over your lower stomach. Letting it trickle onto his fingertips - immediately shoving them between your lips to shut up those pretty lil’ moans. 

“Mean?” he manages to chuckle. Tips of his fingers pressing right at the back of your tongue. Slapping his swollen cock on your stomach, “Is this what you ah- wanted? Are ya happy now, my love?” 

The sight of you all teary and gagging around his fingers was almost as addictive as the sight of you covered in his cum. Almost. 

He sweeps his eyes all over where you were splayed out so prettily for him. Your glossy lips, the streaks of cum on your stomach, your chin, everywhere and anywhere - except where you wanted the most. 

It had started with an accident, really, when he’d pulled out a bit too early tonight. And fuck if Nanami didn’t think that sight of you all dripping and covereed with him was like the gates of heaven spread wide open all for him. A new, dangerous addiction. 

Which is why he’s pushing his fingers deeper, whispering out a ragged little, “Shit, you’re so messy.” Purposefully dragging his thumb across your lower lip to smear the mess everywhere. Your lips, your chin, inside. “So filthy.” He can’t even think about bringing himself to be disgusted. Dipping down the valleys of your chest, down, down down, to where his achingly hard tip was just kissing your quivering entrance now, “So perfect.” 

And without warning, Nanami’s splitting you apart on his massive cock once more. Jaw falling slack ever-so-slightly at the way you’re taking him up so readily - inch by fucking inch like it hurt to be apart.

“F-fuck,” you moan, the words broken as he starts moving inside - back to picking up that unforgiving pace from earlier, like he never stopped. “Hngh- s’too good- too full, Kento-”

“Awww, what happened to ‘Ken’?” Nanami cuts you off uncharacteristically. Hips slowing down to lazy, mindless little movements that have you gasping in protests. “Was gonna cum on your pretty face this time hah- s-seems you don’t want it, hm?”  

And ah, let it be known that Nanami Kento would burn down the world for his wife. 

But what fun it was to tease you - to have your mouth dropping in disbelief, eyes widening in your delirious state. Babbling out a broken, “No no no, Ken- hngh- wan’ you to cum inside.” Back arching off the bed, grappling pathetically for more more more- “To paint me white inside- Please?”

Oh, did you know how to push his buttons just right. Because how could Nanami deny you begging so prettily like that?

Because the sentence is barely out of your mouth before neat nails are digging into your hips as Nanami pulls your hips closer, milking his cock on your snug cunt - so hard he knew it would leave marks. His heavy balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, nails dragging down his bulging biceps as you moan his name. 

Whispering, breath hot against your ear, “You’re right.” Voice so strained and dark that you almost don’t recognize it as your husbands. “So, so right.”

Nanami’s index finger coming down to draw an invisible line right where he could feel his cock making a mess of you inside. 

“Ah! Ken, W-what-”

“You’re so right.” he’s breathing against your mouth, like a little prayer. Tasting the sweet candy of your lips and himself and you- “The next spot-” Pressing his finger down right on that spot, hard. Like he wanted to feel himself more than anything. “Will be here.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty when you cry

“S-Sugu, are you okay?” you’re looking over your shoulder to ask. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing - except for Geto’s heavy breathing, and the lewd little squelches from down below, his swollen cock just barely sinking into your heavenly cunt. And you know it doesn’t bode well.

You’d be almost worried if it wasn’t for the way his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown and just locked on that single, stray tear rolling down your cheek. Such a dark little glint in his gaze that had you wondering whether you should be concerned for him or yourself. 

Yet you manage to choke out a little, “Suguru?”

Ah that snaps him out of his little reverie, suddenly too-aware of your plushy walls sucking the soul out of his hot, angry head. 

With work, it’s been a while since Geto got to fuck your snug cunt - and you needed to breathe, maybe spread your legs more. Relax, because it was so fucking tight and Geto wasn’t even halfway. The stretch way too sinful. Too much. Your lips wobbling at how massive his cock was, and oh- was that another tear going down your pretty face?

You don’t even get to confirm because several things happen at once - immediately, he’s pushing his aching dick in one, harsh thrust. Head dipping down to pool the tears streaming on his hot tongue, groaning at the taste.

“O-oh.” you manage to grit out, feeling like Geto was pushing into your fucking lungs. “S’too big. Sugu, ah!”

“Shhhh, gorgeous.” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, fingers dancing down your body to roll your ravaged clit between them. “S’alrigh- ngh-” And you didn’t know whether he was reassuring himself more than you. “You got it. Y-you’ll take it- you always do, right?”

And he was right - but you’d forgotten how unforgiving Geto’s cock was. How unforgiving he was as he pries away your fingers gripping onto the headrest - trying pathetically to pull away from the pressure down below. 

Hah, he thinks, intertwining them so mockingly with his own, as if he’d let such a pretty lil’ thing like you escape. 

Romantic - the way this was supposed to be. 

Yet, now, Geto was fucking you like anything but. 

“You’re not trying to- fuck- run away,” he’s purring in your ear, rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit once. Twice. As if trying to will the answer out of you, “Right?” Not even waiting for your answer before reeling his hips back, all the way till his fat tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “After we hngh- haven’t done this in so-” Slamming his hips down. Harsh. “-long?”

And shit- he was acting like it, too. So depraved and filthy the way he was drinking up your cute lil’ moans, tasting your tears on his lips while he couldn’t decide between bruising your poor cervix and hitting that one spot. “T-too fuckin’ long, gorgeous.”

The only answer he gets is your sweet, simpering whine of “Sugu- Sugu Sugu- oh my god.” Back bowing off the bed because it’s gotten so much. “C-can feel you so deep inside.”

Really, how could Geto even think about stopping himself from kissing down your arched back? Looping two strong arms around your waist to pull you impossibly deeper down his cock. 

“Ah! Oh my god- Suguru!” you keen as he falls back on his knees with you in tow, your back against his muscled front. Spreading your legs to fuck up so mindlessly into you. Jagged, long thrusts, bouncing you like a toy on his aching cock. Rough. “So much- so- ngh-”

Ah, your pretty little cries are just music to his ears. Fuck, he forgot how pretty you looked when you were all breathless and crying on his cock.

“Such a cute lil’ actress.” he coos, voice going up each time his heavy balls smack your ass. Fingers drawing such tight little circles on your throbbing clit. “Love these hah- pretty tears.”

“S-So mean, Sugu-” you’re choking as his thrusts get purposeful - calculated. Hitting that one magical spot he’ll never forget no matter what. Over and over and over while all you can do is cry out teary moans of his name.

Thigh quivering at the sheer stimulation, “Yeah- yeah, jus’ like that.” And oh Geto wishes he could taste down there, too. But instead settles for doing that later - getting those sweet, overstimulated tears out of you. “My gorgeous girl, cryin’ on my cock. Ngh- gonna cum f’me?” Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your forehead - the complete opposite of his hips. “Gonna c-cry while you’re mm- cumming all over my cock?”

And as if he really really wanted to see it - Geto’s only getting sloppier. 

So embarrassing with the way he was whispering out sweet little degradations in your ear, guiding you closer and closer. 

So embarrassing with the way he eagerly watched all your minute reactions.

So embarrassing with how you cum exactly the way he wanted you to - teary and breathless. A quick scream of Geto’s name before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. 

Cunt clamping down so deliciously on his cock. So dizzying that you barely even register the hot tongue lapping at the fresh wave of tears.

“Ah, as perfect as I hah- imagined.” Geto grits out, sounding every bit absolutely wrecked. “Now I jus’ n-need to know if you’ll cry as much when m’filling you up.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just the tip.”

“Hngh- f-fuck, baby.” he whines into your open mouth, strong hands pulling your trembling hips impossibly closer to his. “J-jus’ a bit deeper- only a bit deeper, I promise.”

Ah, if only you weren’t split apart so deliriously on Choso’s cock you might’ve been able to actually form a coherent sentence to- what? Snap at him? Beg him for more?

You don’t even know at this point, because it’s been like this for so long now, and Choso promised it would be just his weeping tip. He promised it would be quick and he just “wanted to feel his girl’s pretty pussy.” Over and over again as he pushed your legs all the way until they were pressed against your tits, heels pressing into the mattress as he slides his massive cock even deeper-

“Cho!” you yelp, feeling the thump! thump! thump! of those prominent veins down the side rub against all the right spots. “You said-”

“I know I know, m’sorry.” he gasps. Brows scrunching as he nevertheless bullies his cock deeper inside your gummy walls. Choso’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful. Dropping his head to kiss your bruised lips, “M’sorry, jus’ a bit more. Jus’ a bit- hah- a bit deeper-”

And oh, he shouldn’t have done that. 

Shouldn’t have let himself that last bit of freedom, because he sinks only a bit more into your heavenly cunt - so dripping wet and milking the soul out of him - that Choso can’t help but think he wants more. 

“Baby…” Choso purrs hotly against your ear, hips thrusting in slow, shallow little grinds - and you already know too well what he’s about to beg for.

“Cho.” you groan, warningly. “You said j-jus’ the ngh- tip.”

“Awww.” he groans. So fucking pretty with his long hair undone, some strands sticking to his flushed skin. Eyes hazy and miles away as he looks at you through those long, dark lashes. “Jus’ a bit ngh- more? Promise I’ll pull out.” As if to support his case, one hand gently tilts your head up to press chaste pecks at the corner of your lips. The other starting to toy with your ravaged clit, “Please?”

And how could you say no to that? 

Especially not when Choso digs his knees deeper into the sheets, rock-hard cock dragging so agonizingly against your walls as he reels his hips back, back, back-

Splitting you apart all in one, harsh thrust. 

It’s all you can do to whine out a pathetic, “O-oh fuck- fuck! S’too deep.” The stretch too sinful, his cock too massive. Tears springing to your eyes as he immediately starts fucking you in quick, ragged movements - not even easing you into it like he usually would. 

“M’sorry, baby.” Choso sounds so fucking wrecked, voice as rough as his hips now. “M’sorry m’sorry. Promise I won’t cum inside. Jus’ a bit more- some- some more-”

And for all the remaining sanity you had left, you didn’t know how promises of “just the tip” turned into empty wishes that neither of you had the patience - nor the sanity - to fulfill right now. 

“Please.” you arch your hips off the bed - and nothing more has to be said, because Choso reads that lust-drunk little plea in your eyes. “Ch-Cho-”

“A bit more.” he lets out a humorless little laugh. Reaching above to lace his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down, down, down impossibly deeper onto his painfully hard cock in a pathetic little cadence to match his. “Jus’ a bit- more.”

It was driving him insane. 

And for all his apologies, Choso isn’t one bit shy when rocking his hips harder into yours. So bruising with the way he leaves marks on your waist, your tits, probably even your poor cervix. Whispering out mindless little promises of pulling out and nonsense about going “jus’ a bit deeper”.

“F-fuck, wan’ you to cum, baby.” The bed is creaking in protest as Choso picks up the pace so sloppily. Hips stuttering and uneven with how fucking good it felt - but hitting the right spots every time. His hands snaking down to roll your sensitive clit between his fingers again. “Cum f’me. Please?”

And it seems that Choso had a penchant for getting what he wanted. 

Because no sooner do the words leave his rosy lips, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes. Blood roaring in your ears, mixing with Choso’s broken little praises as he fucks you through peak after peak of your high. 

Over and over and-

“Sorry-” your eyes snap open at that familiar little phrase falling from his lips. One that you knew didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Sorry sorry sorry-” Thrusting, once. Harsh. Twitching so wildly inside you that just one more squeeze and he’d be- “C-can I ngh- cum inside, baby?” 

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A lil’ show

It only takes that first, broken little moan escaping your swollen lips and you already know you won’t make it out intact - nor will Sukuna’s sanity, apparently. 

Because no sooner has that sinful noise left you, Sukuna’s eyes glaze over, jaw dropping so uncharacteristically into a soft oh! Aching dick twitching wildly inside you, hips stuttering against yours as he breathes out, “What was that?”

He doesn’t have the patience to wait for your response - instead, squeezing his swollen cock deeper, fucking all the air - and the words - out of you. 

Which, unfortunately for you, wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 

“Aww, c’mon.” the words are groaned into the crook of your neck, sending jolts of electricity all the way down to your dripping cunt. “Give me more ngh- of those-” Large hands tightening on your hips, shifting you around on where you were sat so prettily on Sukuna’s lap. “-pretty moans, brat.”

So that’s what he wanted.

And this was supposed to be something slow. Something lazy, and languid to get the king of curses off before that droning meeting today with his underlings - to take the edge off so that he probably won’t end up killing them all off.

Something it was not supposed to be was Sukuna spreading your legs so shamefully, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Trying to find the angle that’s just right to rip those cute lil’ moans out of you.

“C’monnnn.” he gives short, sloppy little thrusts up into your heavenly cunt. “Where is-”

Then suddenly you’re wrapping your arms tighter around Sukuna’s neck, “Ngh! Oh fuck-” Teeth digging into his muscled shoulder, hard - hard enough that it might’ve drawn blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself. 

“Found it.” And it’s all that’s said before he’s reaching down to spread your puffy folds further, eyes flicking between your wobbling lips and the way your tight pussy was sucking him up so good. Watching the way his massive cock was disappearing in and out in and out in and- “What? Not gonna hah- scream my name anymore?”

“B-because, Kuna-” you gasp, face burning at the way your thighs tremble with the effort to pathetically to meet his unforgiving pace. “They- they’re close.”

Humming in amusement, “Who?”

“Them!” you’re keening - and both of you know you’re talking about those footsteps outside, the thought of Sukuna’s meeting weighing much more on your mind than his. So you’re limply grazing your lips against his, trying to muffle those whimpers falling from your lips. “They’re g-gonna ngh- hear?”

“So?”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - Sukuna’s response or the way he’s increasing his pace relentlessly. Trying to pull those sweet sweet moans from you, no care or concern for the ever-closing footsteps outside. 

“I don’t care.” he groans, back arching off the sticky seat of his throne to fuck up into your sloppy hole deeper. “You’re ngh- above them, y’know.” Bouncing you like such a slut on his cock, “So what if they h-hear?”

And God you don’t know who’s more fucked-out right now - Sukuna, who was speaking mindless little nonsense into your ear, or you. Whiney and a mess, tugging on his soft locks - a warning.

One that the man himself blatantly ignores, instead having one hand reach down to roll your throbbing clit between his fingers. 

“Hngh- fuck!”

The moan escapes you before you can bite down on Sukuna’s neck, right above his racing pulse to muffle it. 

“Heh,” shivers run down your spine as Sukuna’s chest rumbles with a laugh. Pulling your lolling head away to crash his lips against yours. Panting into your open mouth, “Sneaky. But they’re only getting closer and-” Rocking his hips harder. Bruising. “-m’only getting more impatient.”

And then he’s fucking up into you with reckless abandon. Smirk spreading at that little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hits that one spot. 

You’re sure that if whatever unfortunate soul was outside couldn’t hear your delirious moans then they could definitely hear the lewd slap of skin on skin. Fast, so unforgivingly loud. His fingers just a blur on your clit. Just taunting those little moans out of you.

You’re gasping at the sheer stimulation, “Y-you’re so-”

“So what?” Sukuna spits into your mouth, “Don’t start ngh- sentences ya can’t finish, brat. Though-” His sharp eyes flicker towards the door, much more aware than whatever hazy mess was left of your senses. “I don’ think you’ll be able f-finish any of them soon enough.”

Barely even giving you the chance to register his words, you’re tilting your head in confusion up at him and-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Oh, shit. 

“Come in.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Blue blue blue!

It’s times like this - your blue lingerie almost in tatters, Gojo pushing you into such a tight mating press, filling up your poor pussy over and over - that you wonder when bones will start breaking.

Well, not that your boyfriend would mind either - he wouldn’t mind having to use a bit of reverse cursed technique on what was supposed to be a lazy little cockwarming session. Instead, too focused on how your cunt was sucking him up so good. His cum inside you so warm, the stretch so sinful, your lingerie too blue-

“Heh, what? C-can’t ngh- speak, sweetheart?” Gojo lets out a humorless little laugh. Fingers deftly hooking under your bra strap to give a sharp little snap! “You’re the one that a-asked for this, after ngh- all.”

“B-But, Toru-” you gasp, and it only has Gojo ramming his cock into you deeper. Awe-struck at how you were already so bloated with his cum, but still taking him so well. “Wasn’t on p-purpose-”

“This wasn’t on purpose?” And you know what he’s talking about - that barely-there fabric - the exact shade of his eyes. Only one glance at it had Gojo feeling like something snapped - possibly his restraint, maybe his sanity. Definitely you by the end of this. “This?” 

And you can’t even act coy - you don’t get the chance to. 

Because Gojo’s immediately got his hands everywhere. On your swollen breasts, your hips, the hem of your panties that he just barely had the patience to slide aside before stuffing you full. 

“Y-yes?” you ask, deliciously. Cunt clenching so sinfully around his throbbing cock in- fear? Anticipation? As he looked down so starved at you. 

“F-fuck. Ya shouldn’t have done this.” Gojo’s dragging his lips down your neck, soft. The exact opposite of how bruising his hips were of yours. “Oh, ya shouldn’t have done this-” Lewd curiosity getting the best of him as he dips his hand lower, pressing down just slightly on your lower stomach. “Because now,” Those blue eyes widening at the way his cum gushes down your legs, down his legs. “-m’not gonna let you go until I fuckin’ ruin these.”

And if you were in any better state of mind you could’ve almost laughed - because Gojo was acting like the soaked, flimsy fabric hanging around your body wasn’t already far, far past any salvation. 

No, he was fucking you like he was going to ruin them all over again. Tightening your legs thrown over his shoulders, folding you in half like some ragdoll as he bends down, down, down-

RIP!

You’re gasping at the sharp tear of fabric, one that you barely hear over the fucking obscene squelches from below. “T-Toru-” you squeal, ankles locking in warning. “These ngh- w-were expensive.”

“So?” And for all the world, Gojo has the audacity to sound so genuinely confused. Whispering a soft oh! as he angles his head just right to catch that sinful little tear in your panties. “Whoopsies.”

But, really, what your unregretful boyfriend was actually focusing on was how fucking illegal it should be for you to look this heavenly - legs shaky and limp, his seed forming a lewd little pool. Marked like you were fucking thrown to wolves, but, no, it was actually Gojo Satoru and he couldn’t fucking get enough-

“Five.”

The word comes out abruptly, strangled like Gojo himself was as bewildered as you as he suddenly blurts it out. 

And at your - fucking adorable - look of confusion, he’s kissing away the pout at your lips, murmuring hoarsely, “M’gonna buy you five more of these.”

That’s all that’s said before he’s only rocking his hips harder, feeling more of a fucking monster than he did when he was on the battle field. Wondering whether he’d have to buy a new fucking bed too with the way it was creaking under the pure power. 

And, well, it made some tiny, sadistic little part of Gojo delight to see the effect it had on you. Sweet moans of his name leaving your lips each time he draws rapid circles on your pretty clit. Hips fucking back down to meet his, so sloppy and needy - exactly the way he wanted you. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re bucking wildly underneath him, “M’close- so fucking close.”

He knew - of course he did. If the way your gummy walls were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him was anything to go by. Clit pulsing in a maddening little thump! thump! thump! that set Gojo’s animalistic rhythm. 

“Cum f’me.” he pants against your open mouth. Fingers hurrying on your clit because he wanted - needed - this so badly. “Cum f’me cum f’me, wan’ feel you squeezing my cock, sweetheart.” Needed to see if your tight pussy could take one more - to see if she’d overflow onto your poor panties again. “Cum f’me.”

“Ngh- fuck- Toru!”

And then you are - you feel it before you realize it. 

Just that white-hot electricity flowing through your veins, and your nails digging into Gojo’s milky skin. Leaving such angry red marks as you chase your high over and over and-

And Gojo wasn’t any better. Just barely having the sense to pull out as his balls squeezed so painfully and he’s painting your quivering pussy white. Thick rope after rope that the smug bastard purposefully smears all over your panties. 

So fucking filthy.

“Ten.” he’s groaning, and you already know what he means. “M’gonna have to buy you ten more after this.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[astars-things]

Protective Lando

Y/n Hughes x Lando Norris AU

My head feels like it's about to split open, and my limbs ache as if I've been put through a meat grinder. But deadlines don't wait for sickness, so here I am, propped up in bed with my laptop, trying to muster the energy to craft a captivating post.

Just as I'm about to hit send, my phone buzzes with an incoming Facetime call. It's my older brother, Quinn, I can't help but smile weakly as his face fills the screen.

"Hey, sis," he greets me, concern evident in his eyes even through the pixelated video feed.

"Hey, Quinn," I croak, my voice betraying how terrible I feel. "Sorry, I look like death warmed over."

He chuckles softly. "You don't look half as bad as you sound. What's going on? You're usually not this out of it."

I sigh, leaning back against the pillows. "I think I caught some bug or something. Been feeling awful all day."

Quinn's expression softens further. "You should be in bed, resting. You're no good to anyone if you're sick."

"I know, I know," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "But there's so much to do, and I can't afford to slack off, especially not now with the big race coming up."

Before Quinn can respond, the door to my bedroom bursts open, and in strides my boyfriend, Lando Norris, his baby-faced features twisted into a frown of worry.

"What are you doing, Y/N?" he demands, crossing the room in quick strides. "You should be resting, not working yourself to the bone."

I shoot him an exasperated look. "I'm fine, Lando, really. Just a little under the weather, that's all."

His gaze softens as he reaches out to brush a lock of hair away from my forehead. "You're burning up," he murmurs, concern evident in his voice.

I swat his hand away weakly. "I'm fine," I repeat stubbornly, ignoring the way the room spins around me.

Quinn watches our exchange with amusement, his lips quirking into a knowing smile. "Looks like you've got your hands full, mate," he teases Lando.

Lando shoots him a grateful look before turning back to me, his expression serious. "Please, Y/N, for me. Just lie down and rest. I'll take care of everything, I promise."

I open my mouth to protest, but the fatigue crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me feeling drained and bone-weary. With a defeated sigh, I nod, allowing Lando to coax me back into bed, where he tucks the blankets around me with gentle hands.

"Thank you," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "I'll take care of everything, I promise."

[lovelytsunoda]

can't stand the rain // george russell

summary: the nights are always long and lonely when she misses her lover. but dating a formula one driver isn't easy, and she knew that when she started dating the most wonderful and exciting man that she had ever met.

pairing: george russell x female reader

warnings: longing and pining! the harsh reality that which would be dating someone like george russell, but there is a happy ending! allusions to sex, but not written out.

I can't stand the rain, against my window cause he ain't here with me//hey window pane tell me, do you remember how sweet it used to be? when we were together everything was so grand//now that we parted there's just one sound that I just can't stand

it was on nights like these that she missed george the most.

rain drops crashing down against the window panes, a steady haze of fog rolling across the english country side.

she hated that sound when he wasn't here to share it with.

y/n was sitting on the couch by the window, a scented bath and body works candle on the coffee table, burning and filling the main floor of the house with that simple, summer scent as she wrapped herself in a blanket, powerpoint presentations reflecting off the blue light lenses as she typed.

dating someone as magnetic and larger than life as george russell was no easy feat. the days and nights were long, the timezones too much to bear as his schedule demanded he jet off to some faraway country every weekend.

sometimes, it felt like her george wasn't actually her george, but the world's george.

she slammed her laptop shut, rubbing her eyes under her glasses before she turned on the tv, dialing in to sky sports as the warm up for the evenings race began.

if george were here, they would be watching some stupid movie on netflix (last rainstorm it was bait, a movie about tsunamis and twelve foot long sharks), with the plush calvin klein blanket pulled tightly around their bodies until one of them got tired of the film and started getting handsy.

something about the rain always got george russell going. those afternoons usually ended up with y/n on her back, georges gentle kisses against her skin as he made love to her, the pitter patter of the rain in the background.

she missed him.

the race ended, and she sent him a congratulations text, knowing that he did the best that he could in a car that wasn’t where either mercedes driver had expected it to be.

she blew out the candle, phone in the back pocket of her jeans as she moved to the kitchen of a house that felt too large for just her alone as she warmed up the kettle.

her phone rang, and she slipped the small device out of her pocket, beaming as she swiped up to talk to the most important man in her life.

“hey, beautiful.” george russell beamed from the other end of the line, and the other side of the world. “how are you feeling?”

“tired.” y/n laughed. “uni is relentless. remind me why I decided to go to law school?”

“because I wanted a strong, powerful girlfriend?”

“hilarious. it’s killing me slowly.” she grimaced, placing a bag of peppermint tea in her indigo mug. “you had a good race today, honey. I know the car is shite this year, but you’re driving the hell out of that thing.”

“you know what, I think I’m finally getting the hang of the car.”

“that’s really good, georgie. I’m proud of you.”

george smiled sadly, wishing that he could reach through the phone and hold his lover in his arms. every part of his skin, his body aches for her touch, for the feeling of cradling her in his arms again.

“I miss you. I’ll be home before you know it, yeah? you’ll wake up in a few mornings and I will be there and you’ll get to wrap your arms around me and we’ll make the most of the time we have before I have to go to the next race.”

“I wish it were easier. I wish I could come with you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

two days passed since that phone call, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. a few times the downpour has lightened to a manageable drizzle, but it was still as if the clouds in the sky were reading her emotions.

reading how much she longed for georges presence.

how she missed watching him play backgammon with his mates at the table by the french doors, sunlight refracting on his face.

how she missed his touch, even when it was the touch of his cold, cold feet in bed.

how she missed his cooking, even when he burned the simplest of dishes and ended up ordering takeaway (and swallowing his pride).

the weather outside reflected how she felt, but that fact did nothing to make her feel better. george was stuck in team meetings, despite the promise of a two week break before the next double header began.

she was debating the merits of going to visit her parents in the city, reconnecting with the world and getting away from her feelings and her term papers. it seemed like all she had done since george left was drink peppermint tea and pore over old court documents.

until the morning all was right again.

the sunlight was orange as it filtered through her curtains, the sun just beginning to rise over the hilly countryside. she heard footsteps, and the sound of the creaky bedroom door swinging open.

she’s have to to tell george to fix that.

george.

she didn’t believe her eyes. there he was, kneeling in front of the bed to kiss her forehead. she grumbled his name, trying to peel her groggy eyes open.

“I’m right here, darling. caught an earlier flight. there’s an iced coffee in the fridge for you.”

she smiled, reaching for his hand. “I missed you.”

“I know, love. can I join you?”

“you may.” she hummed, pulling the blankets back up over her shoulders. normally she would have loved to watch her boyfriend undress, but this morning she was far too sleepy to care about the sound of georges heavy hilfiger belt hitting the hardwood floor.

eyes still closed, she felt the mattress dip next to her as george slipped underneath the covers, taking her into his arms. she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his bare chest as the driver ran his large hand up and down her back.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, george william russell.”

TAGS

@daydreamingleclerc @libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @cl16version @cartierre @monzabee

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 23

Find the series masterlist

Man I feel like I need to take cover now, with how well y'all liked last chapter. We have two chapters to go after this! Just remember that.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, Kate is a BAMF, honest discussions, semi unstable mental state, Ace has a lot going on she's doing her best okay?

Word count: 1.9k

You went home with Kate, after everything. You had no idea what she'd told the firefighters that showed up, or the cops after that. You didn't know how the missions had gone, with the others. 

You'd sat with Roach across the street for hours. Until Kate had cleaned everything up and collected you. 

Neither of you spoke on the way home. You were too exhausted, the weight of the last few days crashing into you. You'd burned everything. Sure, you had funds. You had a few contacts still. 

But you'd spent so much of your life avoiding Gray, had used up contacts and burned aliases to hide. There wasn't much left intact of your life now. 

And maybe that was okay. Or maybe it would be okay. After you'd had a chance to sleep. 

The sun was thinking about rising when Kate parked in front of the house. Still silent, you both grabbed your bags from the back and went inside. 

You locked the door to your room, something you rarely did. Your clothes all dropped in a pile, to be handled later. 

You hit the bed hard and fell asleep. 

The smell of food finally roused you, and you threw on something decent enough before shuffling your way to the kitchen. Kate's wife clucked and cooed over you, pressing a hand to your forehead as if to check for a temperature. 

You allowed it, quiet and adrift in your thoughts. But you did eat the bowl of soup she pushed into your hands, and drank the entire glass of water handed to you. 

You didn't look at Kate when she joined the two of you for dinner. Kate did you the mercy of not trying to talk to you, letting you steep in quiet. 

You escaped after you washed out your dishes, throwing yourself into the shower to scrub away the past days. You'd have thought you'd have a hard time getting back to sleep, after sleeping so long already. 

You were wrong. 

You woke again to gentle morning sun. Finally feeling more human, you shuffled out to see who was around. 

Kate nodded to you over a cup of coffee, laptop open in front of her. “Better today?” She asked. 

“Better,” you agreed, glancing at her. Normally you'd leave - she was clearly working. But… hell with it. What did your rules matter anymore? “He give you anything yet?” 

If Kate was surprised, she didn't show it. “He will,” she said, confident as ever. “Especially once the other teams bring back their evidence.” 

Your lips curled in a bitterly satisfied smile. This was everything that should have happened years ago. “And Captain?”

This time, Kate half-turned to look at you, eyes far too knowing. “Asking after you.” 

You swallowed, chest and face both heating, but didn't look away. “He could text me.” 

Kate held up your phone like she'd been waiting for that. You blinked. “You forgot.” The words were only a little teasing. 

“I had other things on my mind,” you defended yourself, reaching out to take your phone. You froze when she pulled her hand back, just enough to make her point. 

“John is a difficult man, in many ways,” Kate said, holding your gaze. “If this is a deal breaker for you, tell him now.” 

You swallowed and nodded. “I'll figure it out,” you said, throat dry. 

Kate nodded after a moment and held out your phone for you. You snatched it and bolted. You needed privacy to figure this out. 

Your phone turned on, much to your surprise. Fully charged. Kate must have taken care of that. 

Come to think of it, someone must have grabbed it. John, probably. How else would he have known to find you?

You'd have to ask him. If… Well. If. 

You scrolled through your texts first. You'd save the calls and the voicemails until after. 

Two from an unknown number. Glad to hear you're alive, the first one read. This is Gaz. I'm here, if you need a friendly ear. 

You blinked back unexpected tears at the thoughtful gesture. Dammit. You'd tried not to get attached. 

Clearly that hadn't worked. 

You breathed in slowly, looking down at your phone. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you added his number to your saved contacts. There. 

How mad is he? You sent the text off, chewing on your lip. Gaz would probably give it to you straight. Sure, he was loyal first and foremost to John, but he was aware enough to give you the truth. 

Probably. 

You were choosing to believe he would, anyway. 

The answer came surprisingly quickly. Call him yourself. 

You scowled down at your phone. You took back every nice thing you'd ever thought about Gaz. 

Fine. That left the plethora of missed calls, two more texts, and two voicemails. All from John. You started with the missed calls. 

The first few were from the day Gray had grabbed you. Then nothing for almost 48 hours. Two more calls, both from John. Another gap of several hours, overnight last night. Then one more call this morning, before you'd woken up. 

Swallowing hard, you went to your voicemails. 

“Ace,” John breathed in the recording, voice a little thick. “Call me when you get this message, yeah? We have some things to discuss.” A pause then, a deep breath drawn in slowly. Measured. Like he was trying to get his control back. The thought made your throat thick with emotion. “I know a lot happened. I'll understand if…” He paused again, then sighed through his nose. “Well. I'll understand. Gonna be here a few days more, cleaning up still. Call me. Please.” 

You had to pause there, unable to listen to the second voicemail just yet. He'd sounded… You'd never heard him like that. Never. 

This was outside of your experiences. This was… weird. But you couldn't decide if it was good or bad. 

You breathed slowly. Okay. John wanted to talk. That was a good sign, probably. You could figure out your own feelings after you listened to the second message.

“Talked to Kate to make sure you're okay. Least you didn't get shot this time.” There was a short huff of almost laughter. “Tell me to back off if you need me to. Tell me if you need time. Otherwise, I need… I want to talk to you, before we head out again.” John paused for several seconds, long enough that you double checked to make sure the message was still going. “Promise I won't yell at you this time.” 

You grimaced as the click signaled the end of the message. Well. He was still blaming himself, apparently. You… weren't terribly surprised. The timing had been awful. 

But you had no doubt that Gray would have found another way to get to you, if you hadn't left the building when you had. 

The thought of Gray brought a reflexive rush of cold fear, followed by hot anger. You shook out your hands, rolling your shoulders to try to dispel some of the lingering tension. 

Fuck. Okay. You needed to deal with the elephant in your mind before you could call John. 

Gray was still alive. In custody, under constant watch, Kate had assured you. You didn't feel any safer for her assurances. 

John had stopped you from killing Gray, pushing you so your shot went wide. 

The only damage you'd done had been to a window. 

Because of John. 

And you… You weren't entirely sure how you felt about that. 

Oh, sure, you probably would have felt bad about killing Gray while he was disarmed and held down… at some point. But he'd haunted you for so many years it was difficult to drum up any kind of sympathy for him. 

Then again, he was now at Kate's tender mercy. That was probably deserving of some tiny amount of sympathy. 

But he was still alive. So long as he lived, there was a chance of him escaping, of him going after you or Kate or John again. 

So. The biggest question, to you, was if you could live with that knowledge. If you could give John a chance of something more, something permanent. If you could give yourself a chance. 

You hadn't stayed in one place in a long, long time. Not since you'd left Kate's, before she'd married, before you'd gotten into information. You still couldn't see yourself staying in one place. Your feet itched to go, even while your heart luxuriated in the safety and surety of being with Kate. 

John wouldn't demand anything of you. Wouldn't make you do anything. 

But you wanted to give him things. Things you'd never given anyone before. Promises. Assurances. 

Exclusivity. 

You swallowed hard, hands shaking just a little as you toyed with your phone. 

John Price was a dangerous man. But not for the reason most people thought. (Well, okay, for those reasons, too.) 

You sat there for long enough that Kate came to find you. She sat quietly near you after dropping a cold bottle of water onto your lap. 

“We're ordering in,” Kate told you without preamble. “What do you want?” 

You blinked, shaking yourself out a little as you came back to the present. “Uh. Is my favorite place still there?”

She nodded. “Your usual?” 

“Sure. Thanks.” You huffed a little laugh at yourself. For all your running, you still had habits. At least one person still knew you well enough to know your damn takeout order. 

Maybe you'd wasted all those years running, pushing people away. 

“Hey.” Kate kicked the side of your chair. “Get out of your head.” 

“Oi!” You turned an outraged look on her. 

“Don't even try it, kid.” She pointed a threatening finger at you. “You're spiraling. Stop it.” 

“How would you even know?” You snarked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Kate raised one unimpressed eyebrow at you. “Do I need to run you down again?”

That gave you pause. She would. Physically. Usually somewhat painfully. She hadn't for years, but you had no doubt that she would, if she felt she needed to. “No,” you gave in, slumping into your chair with ill grace. 

Satisfied, Kate returned her attention to her phone, tapping in the order. “Half an hour,” she told you. “You're going with me.” 

“Yeah, alright.” You sighed, though you weren't truly annoyed. It was a front, a way to hide. 

Briefly, it occurred to you that you didn't need to hide so much anymore. You pushed that away to be dealt with later. One life altering thing at a time. 

Kate sat quietly with you, tapping away on her phone, while you looked ahead at the wall without really seeing it. You were distracted still with thoughts of John. 

Kate did force you to go with her, gently pushing you out to her car and then keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Most of it was neighborhood gossip, obtained through her usual sources. Some of it was about goings on. There were only a couple prying questions thrown in, which you dodged with aplomb. 

Dinner continued on the same way, though you felt more and more yourself as the two of you fell into your verbal jousting. It helped, even as you grumbled at Kate. 

Finally, though, the two of you drifted off to do your own things again. Kate went up to her room, to read or work or possibly both. 

You closed the door to your room and leaned back against the door, staring down at your phone. One deep breath in. 

You hit call.

[thyln4gf]

Look after you

✞ After your life came crashing down on you, ending your career a little early, Jenson stayed with you to help. His gentleness still surprises you, every time. Even after all these years.

✞ Word count - 1147

✞ I have synesthesia! Here's 5 songs that I associate with this fic - "Brighter side of grey" - Five Finger Death Punch, "Look after you" - The Fray, "Yours again" - Red, "Wherever you will go" - The Calling, "18" - One Direction.

✞ Warnings - Mentions/descriptions of a crash, trauma, injuries. Post-TBI epileptic seizures. Age gap (around 10 years). Can definitely be a heavy emotional load in general.

✞ Separate warning - The way the seizures are written about in this fic... its based on my own personal experience, or what i was told by people who have witnessed the episodes. It can and will look different for everyone<3

✞ Jenson Button x driver!reader

He never thought that this would happen, but so did you.

One moment, he was talking with you right before the race - you were smiling, grinning even, laughing at something silly he said. He found it awfully cute how you would always slide your tongue out to lick your lips when you were trying to put a stop your laughter - to which he always resisted to just... Poke it. He was never that impulsive, but you were adorable enough to bring that side out of him.

The next, he was driving by a crumpled up car, covered by smoke. Which turned out to be, unfortunately, yours. People swore that they had never seen someone get out of their car at the speed Jenson did. He still remembers getting to hold your almost motionless body in his arms, your light threatening to fade away. But you fought throught it, with him right by your side - at first he swore that the break he's taking is only 'till you get better. But even when you did, he stayed. And, at the end of the season, he announced his early retirement. All these years later, he's still right by your side.

"Mmm, yes. I suppose you're right." He answers you in a voice that feels like a deep rumble, with a small, warm smile on his lips. He was sat with a laptop on his lap, and you cuddled up right into his side, reading a book, ranting away about all the different theories that appeared in your brain. You havent been feeling well for the past couple of days, at all. And you both knew what this meant - a seizure. Its just that neither of you knew when - so he let you cuddle up to him and be clingy. Not that he doesnt do that on a daily basis already.

"He gifted her the bee tights, Jenson. The damn tights. Tell me he's not in love with her, I dare you." your determined voice shoots back at him, earning a hearty chuckle out of Jenson. He found your rants adorable - he could listen to them anytime, anywhere. Your passion levels for the smallest things could get to insane heights, and he admired that.

He carries on with his work, and you - with reading the book. You loved the book, really. So much that you found yourself reading it for the third time.

Slowly, but surely, you felt your ability to focus slip away, the words on the page merging and melting away. You grew more and more confused, your anxiety spiking up as well. Your muscles stiffened - you were starting to feel like you couldnt move.

Jenson doesnt notice immediately, but still pretty quickly - he realises that you have stopped talking, like youre not even there anymore. He furrows his eyebrows ever so slighty, and peels his eyes away from the screen to glance at you - his heart sinks as he sees that familiar look in your eyes. The seizure finally caught up to you.

The laptop quickly gets abandoned as he puts it away on the coffee table by the couch, his hand immediately going up to your forehead to check your temperature. Your skin felt cold to the touch, but he knew better than that. You were about to burn up.

With a quiet sigh, he takes the book out of your hands (he knew how upset you got if you ever lost a page). He's careful not to hurt you or trigger anything else as he shifts you onto his lap, now letting your body lay on top of his fully, pulling your head to his chest. He knew that all he could do was wait it out, and he did - but he couldnt help but think that he could do something else to make this all better. Something more. He looks at you with the admiration in his eyes he has always had, rubbing your back gently. This felt comfortable, this felt familiar. What once was scary and uncomfortable became a huge part of his routine.

Eventually, you start coming back from it. You're not even fully present right now, but he can see the signs - your neck twitching ever so slightly, and you starting to blink again. You take a sudden breath in as you become even more present - for the last few moments of the seizure you even stopped breathing. Which wasnt new, so it was nothing to think about too much.

Jenson could tell that something was off about this one though - you looked way too pale. Too weak. Your movements didnt resume to normal immediately after. And, before he knew it, a tear ran down his cheek. Then another. A few must have dropped on your face - because you slowly turned your head to look at him. You find yourself leaning against his shoulder, your face right by his neck. You never grew tired of seeing his face out of nowhere - it almost felt like teleportation.

Youre still looking up at him, your gaze slipping to his eyes. As much as you hated to see him cry... God, was he such a pretty crier. This time, only his eyes had that slight glimmer from the moisture. But the other times... The ones that left his eyes a little red, soaked, and puffy, his hair messy, and the constant sniffing... it sounded too strange to voice out loud, but it looked so gorgeous.

You stare at him for a few more seconds, all those thoughts running through your brain. If you ever had a brilliant idea, it wasnt near as good as the one you pulled right now - youre now gently kissing his tears away. You kiss his face on each and every spot that you see a tear on. The wetness of them coats your dry lips, and the saltiness of them burns ever so slightly. But you cant bring yourself to care - if that meant that youll get to see him smile.

And he does - he feels your soft, warm lips all over his face, and the feeling brings a warm, wide smile out of him. The feeling to him felt like no other - you were usually pretty aggressive with the way you kiss, so this was a stark contrast. In the most positive way possible. He felt a little bad though - you were the one that needed the comfort and his support, but here you were - attacking him with the soft kisses.

You notice a tear you managed to miss earlier roll onto his lips - and you stare at them for a few seconds too long. He lets out a soft chuckle, and plants a tender kiss onto your own. It felt right.

You'll be alright.

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

Authors note - requests open! Feel free to send in anything<3

[whumblr]

What if you wrote a scene where zayne is about to go at it (lol) and jays so tired and wrung out he just breaks down in tears? :0

Here we go!

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

Cycle of abuse

Jay barely made out the glint of the knife before he was shoved back and he crashed into the wall.

Pain flared through him; all cuts, every bruise on his back lighting right up, all at the same time, mingling sharp stabs with dull throbs. The cuts seared through his skin, bruises pulsed so deep he swore the blood pressed against bone.

The air forced out of him in a sharp but cutoff yelp of pain. Tears sprang to his eyes. And not just from the pain. He only wanted to rest after a long day. Just wanted to be alone. Not deal with the pain, the aftermath, picking himself back up. He just wanted to stay dow—

He didn't even attempt to clutch at Zayne. Made no effort to keep upright. And before Zayne noticed and could grab him by the shirt or his arms, he slowly slid down the wall. His hands covered his face, the burning tears, and his trembling lips, but he still turned away in shame hoping Zayne wouldn’t see. He couldn’t stop it. Took a deep halting breath hoping to steady himself – didn’t work – and he just sat there on the floor, caught in-between Zayne’s legs and the wall.

His shoes came to a rest against the toes of Zayne’s boots and he folded in on himself, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders shuddering along with his frantic breaths.

"Wait. Are you..." A hand clasped his shoulder and shook him lightly but he swatted it off. "Are you crying?"

"Fuck off," Jay snarled from under his palms.

Zayne, in his awkwardness, lashed out. “Fuck’s sake, don’t be such a vajayjay.” This time he did curl a hand into Jay’s shirt to pull him up. But before he could, Jay sprang to his feet, shoved Zayne aside and shot past him, making his escape to the bathroom.

"Oh, come o--"

The harsh snap of the lock cut him off. And the other lock to the hallway, to ensure his safety and just to make a point. Mainly just to make a point… Zayne had already demonstrated that bathroom locks were useless.

But as Jay backed away slowly, fully prepared and keeping an eye on the lock, there was no pawing at the door, no clacking of the knife, and the lock didn’t slowly turn.

He sank down on the toilet, fully bending over, elbows on his knees, fingers combing through the short strands of hair until they clawed at the back of his head.

Deep breaths, come on, deep breaths.

He hadn’t meant to burst into tears like that. But like most breakdowns, he hadn’t been able to stop it either. The waterworks just turned on, as if the energy that usually was allotted to keeping emotions – and breakdowns – at bay was completely spent. He was drained. Battery completely empty.

And so he let it happen. Let it out. Didn’t try to keep his face straight, his lips from trembling. There was nothing to hide here. Yet he still did so; burying his face into the crook of his elbow, and keeping his sobs to a minimum volume.

It did calm him down. Probably also because his exhaustion level now peaked…

He brushed a sleeve over his cheekbones, wiped the salty splashes from his glasses, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Zayne, unfortunately, hadn’t left yet, and sat waiting for him on the couch. He looked up, with a somewhat awkward expression.

“Do you want a hug?” he asked, but without much enthusiasm and he didn’t make any moves to get up.

“No,” Jay just said, somewhat indignant, and Zayne shrugged. “Would you want a hug from Emery?”

Zayne actually recoiled lightly at that and threw him a disgusted glance.

“Same thing, really,” Jay said, his time to shrug. Also, Emery would never offer a hug.

“Do not compare me to him.”

“He makes your life miserable, you make my life miserable. It’s the cycle of abuse.” Uncaring for any consequences, Jay just slumped down in his chair and dragged his laptop into his lap.

For a while, they sat in silence. Even though Jay could see Zayne struggling for words, opening his mouth every now and then, sitting up and pointedly glancing at Jay when he thought he’d found the words, but just backed out of it again.

Then he got up, and as he left turned to Jay. “Okay, but if you had to choose… between me or him.”

“I already have you both in my life and there isn’t much to choose.”

“No, idiot. For a hug.”

Ugh. Well, a hug was barely more intimate than being bodily pressed against a wall with a knife to your throat so… “Then you, I guess.”

-

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