#endless trash fire

[dragengyrr]

Girls’ Night Out (Ignore the fire)

[camarocarfight]

I'm jumping on the bandwagon

[cameronluvr]

MY GIRL — dark!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: rafe tracks your location and follows you to the beach, watching you and your friends from a fair distance. he butts in once he sees you and jj flirting, resulting in arguments and rafe forcing you home to fuck you.

warnings: 18+ MDNI ➾ consumption of alcohol, underage drinking, stalking, arguing, cussing, toxic + abusive relationship, manipulation, smut, noncon, SA, forced sex, p in v, toxic!rafe, dark!rafe, crying, rafe ignoring safe word, cheating accusations, death threats, (safe word is “red”)

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃.

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ᥫ᭡

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 🍓

like sarah and kiara, you were born a kook who chose to be a pogue, and a lot of people despised you for it, especially your boyfriend rafe. the two of you had spent the past hour arguing over you wanting to go hang out with the pogues, but he hated them and wanted you to hate them too.

the argument resulted in doors slamming and you storming off. you left rafe’s house and headed straight to the beach where you were planning on meeting your friends, regardless of rafe’s opinion. you walked all the way there and headed onto the sand, spotting them in the distance.

“hey guys,” you raise your voice as you approach them, making them all turn their heads to face you. each of them greeted you with smiles on their faces, and sarah with a hug. you sat down next to her and joined the circle they’d made around the campfire. with evening approaching, the sunset was glowing a radiant pink and golden color, which was perfect for the endless amount of selfies with sarah and kiara.

“so, ya finally made it” jj said as you were making yourself comfortable on the ground. “yep. who do you think tried to stop me?” you ask with a tint of sarcasm in your voice, knowing they all already know the obvious answer. “hm. did he give you the kooks versus pogues talk again?” john b asks, seeing you snicker and nod in response. “when doesn’t he? you guys are just a pile of dirty island trash, okay?” you joke, reciting your boyfriends words. “if that’s what we are, then that’s what you are, too” john b jokes back, raising his beer bottle before having a swig.

“that’s what i tried telling him” you laugh, motioning for him to toss you a bottle, too, since everyone else had one. he grabs one from the crate and tosses it over, making you catch it and crack it open to take a sip. “yea’, well, fuck him, he’s an asshole” kiara shrugs, with each of them simultaneously agreeing with her.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“girls, you wanna go for a swim?” kie asks after you all drank, talked and laughed together for a while. “hell yeah” sarah says, standing up and pulling you up with her. you all begin stripping your clothes off to reveal your bikinis underneath. “what about us?” pope asks. “girls only, sorry” kie says, blowing a kiss to him before the three of you start running down to the ocean. “bitches” jj jokes, making pope and john b laugh. the three of them stayed sitting around the fire drinking and listening to music whilst keeping a brief eye on you girls.

as you and the girls made it to the water, you all dive in and splash around, laughing and having fun with each other, all while being completely unbeknownst to the other pair of eyes watching you, eyes that weren’t from a pogue… rafe had tracked your location on your phone and followed you to the beach, where you didn’t tell him you were going. he stayed a far distance back to make sure nobody could see him, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the railing in front of him, standing in front of his parked car with his gaze completely fixated on you.

he watched your every movement, taking in every little detail he could see before his attention quickly diverts to the three pogue boys making their way down to the water, too. seeing them made his fist ball up with rage, but he kept his cool for now.

the boys ran and dived into the water, purposely splashing you girls. “hey!” kiara yells over the sounds of their loud laughter, “you weren’t invited” sarah adds, causing john b to rush over to her and wrap his arms around her, scooping her up bridal style before throwing her down into the water, completely submerged.

you all laugh as she gets back up and gasps, grabbing her boyfriend in a headlock before jumping on him. the pair start to play fight, which made kiara giggle as she had an idea. she splashed the water and aimed it in pope’s direction, which made him start a water fight with her, splashing each other back and forth. you and jj laugh as you move away from the scene together, swimming further out into the ocean.

rafe watched every second. seeing you both swim away together made him furious, but he still waited. “jj, help” you laugh as he turns around in the water to grab your hand, pulling you out of the splashing waves. “thanks” you giggle, not letting go of his hand. you stayed holding it under the water as he pulled you along, the two of you swimming around them to make it back to the shore.

as you two walk out of the water and onto the sand, your hands were still grasping each others, but neither of you thought anything of it, it was platonic. he was helping you. but rafe saw and thought differently… that’s when he decided he had enough and tossed his cigarette aside, storming down the steps to the beach to approach you.

you and jj made it back to the campfire where you were just about to pick up your clothes from the ground, but a rough grip on your wrist stops you. it was getting dark now, so neither you or jj even saw rafe approaching. “what’re you doing?” rafe firmly asks, making you gasp. “i— what are you doing here?” you raise your eyebrows, your voice striking with fear.

“no, what are you doing here?” rafe asks in a demanding tone, his grip on your wrist getting tighter as you try to yank yourself out of it. “rafe, man—” jj tries to get involved, but rafe cuts him off. “nah, man, ‘the fuck you gettin’ so close to my girl for, huh?” rafe harshly drops your arm to take a step closer to jj. by this point, the rest of the pogues in the water had noticed what was happening, and quickly got out to head over.

“rafe—” you say,

“shut the fuck up, you slut” rafe snaps, making you flinch before he grabs jj’s collar to pull him closer. “hey, hey!” john b is quick to interrupt as he runs over to stand in between rafe and jj, making rafe drop his collar and shove john b back. “rafe what the actual fuck are y—” sarah shouts, “shut the hell up, sar. y/n, come on, get your fuckin’ things and lets go” rafe demands, turning to face you as you don’t hesitate to pick up your clothes and quickly shove them back on out of fear of what he’d do if you didn’t.

“she ain’t going anywhere” jj steps forward, receiving glances from sarah and kiara who are telling him to shut up with only their eyes, not wanting them to break out in a fight. “yeah? says who, big guy?” rafe laughs to mock him, but is cut off by jj shoving him back by his chest. john b and pope quickly grab jj and rafe to separate them, not allowing them to fight for your sake.

“keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself, maybank, and not on my fuckin’ girlfriend” rafe threatens, trying to pull out of john b’s grip but it only makes him hold him tighter. “she’d probably prefer my hands on her anyway” jj laughs, seeing rafe break out of john b’s grip and launch over to jj, actually hitting him this time. the other two boys separate them once again, this time with the help of sarah and kiara.

“stop it, rafe, just come on” you say to him, pointing in the other direction. you didn’t want to go with him, but you know this is the only way he’ll stop tormenting your friends. he shoves pope away from him and grabs your arm, roughly pulling you away from them all. “ow” you say, but he grips you harder, not caring for the pain he’s causing you.

“do we do something?” kie asks, worried about you. “i don’t know—” john b sighs. “just— let them argue it out. there’s no point in stopping him” sarah sighs, knowing how abusive and psychotic her brother can be when he’s angry. the pogues watch as you get dragged away by your boyfriend, bickering back and forth with your voices quietening the further you walk away.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

rafe opens the passenger door for you, shoving you in and slamming it shut. “…thank you?” you sarcastically mumble under your breath as he walks around to the other side of the car, getting in the drivers seat. “what the fuck were you thinkin’? holding his hand, laughing and giggling with him, are you fuckin’ serious?” rafe turns to look at you while raising his voice.

“i’m sorry, rafe, i didn’t mean anything by it he’s just my friend—”

“he’s just your friend. right, sure, nothin’ to worry about then” he shakes his head, pulling a sarcastic face. “oh my god” you sigh. “runnin’ around in your bikini with him, too? when i fuckin’ told you enough times to stay the fuck away from those asshole pogues” he yells, making you flinch. “maybe you’re the asshole.” you look out the window to avoid making eye contact knowing he wouldn’t find your comment amusing. and he didn’t. his hand quickly grabs your jaw, forcing you to face him.

“what did you just fucking say to me?” his eyes turn dark as he forces you to stare into them, his fingertips digging into your cheeks as his grip on your jaw is immense. “nothing, i’m sorry…” you apologize even though you don’t mean it. he is an asshole, you meant every bad word you’d ever said and thought about him. “you’re sorry?” he laughs which humiliated you a bit. “you weren’t sorry until i caught you. i told you not to go out with them, and what did you do? huh?” he asks, yelling the last word and squeezing your face harder to force an answer out of you, “what did you do?”

“i— i went out with them…” you answer fearfully. you were fierce and always argued back to him, but he terrified you when he got aggressive. “exactly. and you know how i feel about you wearing that slutty shit around guys, especially your fuckin’ swimsuit.” he reminds you of the things he’s told you before, before harshly shoving your face away to let go of you, making your head hit the window briefly. “ow” you whine, holding your hand on your head as rafe put the car into drive.

“quit bitchin’. you wanna act like a fuckin’ whore? that’s fine. i’ll treat you like one.” he says, grinning as he glances at the look on your face, there was nothing he loved more than seeing how afraid of him you were.

he drove back to his house, with you silently crying in the passenger seat for the whole ride, and him telling you to ‘shut up’ and the classic ‘i’ll give you something to cry about’. upon arriving at tannyhill, rafe parks the car and gets out, watching as you stayed seated, not wanting to get out. he sighs loudly and rolls his eyes before walking around to your side, swinging the door open and dragging you out.

“get off of me” you shove him back, but he grabs your throat right there in the driveway. “if you give me any more lip i swear to fuckin’ god…” he warns you, not gripping hard enough to choke you but enough to hurt you. “i said sorry, okay? what do you want from me?” you manage to rip his hand away from your throat, shoving him back to defend yourself, but he doesn’t like when you do that, he prefers when you’re helpless and afraid…

“sorry ain’t gonna cut it. you know how much i hate those fuckin scum—”

“stop calling them scum! stop belittling them just because they’re pogues. who the fuck cares?” you argue, not aware of any consequences at the time.

“oh, so now you’re defending them? you’re a pogue now, are you?” he laughs to mock your choice of friends, he always did humiliate them and put them down for his own liking. “yeah, maybe i am. and i’d rather be with them than you” you yell, turning around to storm off again but he grabs your arm and yanks you back.

“get off!” you try to fight him but he’s fed up of you, needing to teach you a lesson. “shut the fuck up” he says, dragging you into the house and upstairs. the two of you fight and argue all the way to his bedroom, which is completely normal for anyone in his house to hear.

“stop it—”

“you fuckin’ stop it”

both of you bicker before rafe pushes you into his bedroom before entering and slamming the door shut behind him. “now what, huh?” you yell at him. “don’t act so cocky now, you wanna act like a whore? dress like one? cmon, take your clothes off, i’ll treat you like the real fuckin’ whore you are” he says with a smirk, watching you laugh in response.

“no” you shake your head, your grin slowly fading when you see the dead serious look on his face. “rafe, no.” you frown, attempting to walk past him to get out of his room but he stopped you and pushed you back, reaching his hand over to lock the door.

“i’m bein’ serious, take your clothes off” he says, still smirking. “no, get away from me” you say, shaking your head and slowly walking backwards as he takes multiple steps forward. “what’s the matter? you were fine acting like a slut for jj, what’s wrong with me?” he asks, his tone dark and scary, his voice oddly calm but terrifying.

“rafe, i’m sorry, okay? i said sorry—”

“shh” he cuts you off, standing right in front of you as the only thing between you is him and his bed, he places his finger on your lip to shush you. “i don’t care. take them off” he says, looking back and forth into each of your eyes with a dark smile.

“i… i don’t want to…” you hesitate to say, innocently and vulnerably as your voice turns weak, he is actually starting to scare you now. “you don’t want to? aww. that’s too bad, i guess i’ll just do it myself” he pretends to sympathize before laughing and quickly reaching down to pull your skirt down, but you try to stop him.

“don’t make it hard, this is your fault” he says, roughly pushing you down onto the bed where he restrains you, forcing your skirt down and off your legs, throwing it on the floor. “rafe, stop” you try to plead with him but he ignores you, immediately reaching down to pull your top and damp bikini off too before gripping your waist and forcefully flipping you over onto your stomach. “i’m being serious, rafe, actually stop…” you try to show him how serious you are, but he doesn’t care.

“huh. i bet if jj asked you to take your clothes off, you’d listen to him, wouldn’t you?” he asks, pulling you up on all yours and gripping both sides of your bikini bottoms, roughly pulling them down and off your feet. “no, i wouldn’t…” you begin to cry, wishing your boyfriend wasn’t so insecure of who you were friends with. “i don’t like him like that rafe i promi—”

“i am your boyfriend” he reaches over to grab your jaw from behind, pulling your head up to listen closely. “no one else, me, so you should be a good girlfriend and do as i fuckin’ say. i told you so many times that i don’t like them pogues, and i don’t want you hangin’ around them. i especially told you to stay the fuck away from jj, cause i don’t like the way that motha’fucker looks at you, and holds your fuckin’ hand” he explains, harshly gripping your throat to choke you, hearing your breathing struggle.

“so if you’re gonna disobey me like that, well, that’s your problem.” he tells you, snickering from behind you as he lets go of your throat to take his own clothes off, you were left in doggy, silently sobbing to yourself.

he springs his already hard dick out of his boxers as he pulls them off, having been so turned on by your fear of him. when he got completely naked, he grabbed your waist and flipped you back over onto your back, where he forced himself on top of you and immediately slammed his cock into you without any warning. it hurt and caught you off guard, making you let out a loud yelp but he is fast to cover your mouth and grip it tightly.

“shush. don’t cry, it’ll make me harder” he pouts, yet again pretending to sympathize with you. tears are flowing down your face now, and he wasn’t lying, you can actually feel his cock getting harder as it hurt more and more each time he entered you. “ow, rafe… please stop…” you whine under his hand, shutting your eyes tightly. “no, no, look at me” he demands, removing his hand from your mouth to tap your face a couple times, making you open your eyes and look into his.

“okay, you proved your point… just stop” you try to fight him from underneath his body, but he uses it to restrain you, and both of his hands to grip your wrists, pinning you down fully. “what point? there’s no point. i just wanna fuck you like the little slut you are… maybe i should just take a video and send it to jj” he teases, making you shake your head quickly, begging him not to.

“why not? don’t you want him to know you’re my girl? and that nobody fuckin’ touches my girl?” he asks, frowning his eyebrows at you as he thrusts into you roughly, forcing moans and gasps out of your mouth. “he… he already knows..” you let out in between heavy breaths, “oh, he does? then why the fuck is he touching you, hm?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks into your tear-filled eyes.

“rafe, ow… red…” you cry out the safe word, unable to take it anymore. his thrusts are full of hate, his hands are too aggressive, his cock is too much… “rafe?” you ask in a pant, seeing as he doesn’t stop. “shh…” he stops you from talking, ignoring your plea to stop and roughly placing his hand over your mouth again, this time tighter.

“no—” you mumble underneath him.

“shut up and take it” he harshly says, looking into your eyes as he forces his cock in and out of you. he watches you cry and squirm under him, but he simply does not care… he enjoys it actually. he loves seeing you struggle to his power, succumb to his dominance.

after laying there for a minute, moaning and whining, he finally removes his hand from your mouth to hear your gasp for air. “you want me to stop?” he asks, pouting at you. “y—yes… please” you beg between pauses, watching as his pout turns into a teasing smile, “well i’m not. not until you promise me you’ll never hang out with those pricks again” he says, looking into your eyes, practically forcing your answer out of you.

“okay… okay, i promise… i swear—”

“you swear?”

“i swear on my life…”

“there’s a good girl. that’s what i wanna hear. you better not be lying because i will do ten times worse, you hear me?” he slyly threatens, making your head nod quickly in response. at this point you were willing to do anything to get him to stop.

“good, princess… if i see you talking to him again i’ll fuckin’ kill him.” he says, finally pulling out of you once he finished what he had to say, leaving you crying and whimpering. “shut up, c’mon, here” rafe says, shoving your body aside as he climbs off the bed and reaches down to grab your clothes, throwing them right at you.

“don’t be so dramatic it didn’t hurt that bad” he chuckles, laughing at your tears. “it did hurt that bad… i asked you to stop…” you sniffle, wiping your eyes as you grab your clothes he tossed over. “and i asked you to stop sneaking around with them behind my back, didn’t i?” he asks, raising his eyebrows with a smart look on his face.

“yeah but—”

“then it looks like we both don’t get our own way, huh?” he laughs at you, giving you a horrible cocky grin before walking over to the door and walking out, shutting it behind you to leave you there alone.

you stayed on his bed for a few more minutes, lying on your side and crying to yourself before deciding to put your clothes back on. after you were dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror and saw your stained makeup and rosy red cheeks and eyes, your hair was a mess, you were a mess… you had no idea where rafe even went, but you didn’t want to find out, so you gather your things and bolt for the bedroom door, rushing downstairs and leaving tannyhill in a rush.

you had no idea where to go next, but you know for sure the pogues weren’t on the list. you already disobeyed rafe and suffered the consequences, you don’t want to make the same mistake knowing the threat murder is on the cards…

I HATE THIS. IM SO SORRY IF YOU DO TOO. i haven’t posted in a while bc of school stuff so i hope u guys forgive me with another dark, juicy rafe fic. 💋🎀 let me know what you think in the comments! — THIS ISNT PROOFREAD. english isn’t my first language so if you spot any mistakes please feel free to point them out. LOVE U ALLLLLL

ANY HATE COMMENTS WILL BE DELETED BECAUSE THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU 🫶🏻

@cameronluvr

[kivino]

PROBLEM I || HIGURUMA HIROMI X COWORKER!READER

sum. You have quite a crush on your coworker, but don’t know how to approach it. The opportunity to do something presents itself when you both get invited for drinks after not-so-voluntary overtime. 

tags. Suggestive themes, so MDNI; Canon divergent; Higuruma and reader work at a law firm; Japanese work culture is a warning in itself; Reader is a foreigner in Japan but it’s a little glazed over; fluff; cigarettes; alcohol consumption, obviously; Higuruma is a lightweight and a dork, I stand by that.

w.c. 3.4-ish

a.n. I’ve been having this Higuruma itch that needed a scratch (save me overworked lawyer disappointed in the justice system, save me), so I wrote this little fic! Plus forced myself to omit all the Japanese honorifics used cause apparently you kids find it cringe (/lh). Enjoy, and please, reblog/leave a comment, I really want to know what you all think and if I should continue writing for JJK. I’m planning to make a part two for this, so stay tuned!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

You feel completely lost. Not even lost, abandoned by your consciousness. And not in the tall pillars of paperwork on your desk, that threatened to fall over with a single blow of air from the AC blasting over your desk, as you should be. No-no-no, you’re lost in Hiromi’s deep, almost pitch-black eyes, so mesmerizing that you felt like you were falling right into their endless, warm void. Well, you were not supposed to be calling him Hiromi, it was Higuruma for you. “For now.” – you encouraged yourself. You’ll get there with him. Eventually. 

It only occasionally occurs to you that you were behaving like a dreamy-eyed middle-schooler…again. All that development of your frontal lobe goes right smack-dab into the trash when you notice those tired eyes stop on you for a split second as Higuruma gives you a polite nod with his lips twitching upwards, almost attempting a smile. Even in spite of the sheer exhaustion he is exuding all around. 

You don’t even have to look at him to notice how tired the man is – when you come into work, fifteen minutes earlier, just like everyone else in your firm, you see him sitting in his chair already, reading endless police reports, typing away on his computer, arranging for meetings with witnesses or clients. Even when you are heading for the elevator, calling out “Good job today” to the last people left in the office, hurrying for your last train home – Hiromi is glued to his visibly uncomfortable chair, his head almost bumping into keyboard as he wrestled with the sleep clouding his eyes. And even if you don’t see him around his desk – he is probably out somewhere, hounding for evidence on the case. 

Or in the smoking room. God, after you realize where Hiromi spends at least thirty minutes a day, you consider picking up smoking just to have an excuse to get to know him better. He’s definitely a bad influence on you.

But how can he not be? You physically can’t stop yourself from staring at him when you see him through the glass door of the smoking room, leaned on the wall, droopy half-lidded eyes looking up at the ceiling, dark long lashes pretty as a picture. You can’t help but imagine these puffy eyes tearing up or rolling into the back of his head along with his mouth falling open in a delicious silent plea; or looking down on you with mad fixation that would make liquid heat pool between your thighs. 

And you won’t even get started on his nose. The graceful arch of it, the perfect angle to…You stop before you stray too far, instead letting your mind wander to those beautiful eyes once more, intense and overwhelming, picturing desire clouding them until there is nothing but scorching fire burning up your skin, accompanied by Hiromi’s soft sighs, raspy whines or gentle praise, with those incredible voice cracks he would develop when he was oh-so-exhausted after a long day… you wonder how he would sound, as you grasp and store away in your memory each time your name is called by Higuruma.

Your eyes find your coworker once again at his desk, his deft hands are typing something out on the computer. You can see the way Hiromi’s fingers move, and your thoughts immediately settle on the image of them gently running over your thigh, hooking at the belt loops just to pull you into his warm, frail, charmingly pathetic form. You сan practically melt into a puddle, when your mind gets to his warm, large palms settling on your hips, setting electric currents running right to you brain, when the object of your fantasies suddenly catches your eyes on him. You can feel your heartbeat fall down somewhere to your feet – you’ve been caught! But before you can see how Higuruma reacts…

“Ah, Shimizu! Well done today!” you say with a polite nod to your coworker who emerges right in front of your desk, visibly ready to go home after yet another day’s grueling overtime – cute, mindful bag in her hand, work costume wrinkled after hours of sitting in one place; interrupting your session of staring at your higher-up. Which is probably for the best, you think. You are new compared to everyone else, you are supposed to be working twice as harder, not dedicating your time to undressing the poor, exhausted Higuruma with your eyes. All of a sudden, you feel shame burn at your cheeks. Just a tiny little bit. 

“Oh, not at all, you’re too kind!” Shimizu denies the praise with the dismissive wave of her hand, but you can see that she’s just being polite because you don’t know each other too well. “Yet” – You add in your mind. You’ll be accepted here, you just need a little time. “How are you settling in? Everyone’s nice to our cute kouhai I hope?” 

“Oh, yes! Everyone’s very kind! I’m looking forward to working and getting along with everyone in the future!” You say and add another small bow for emphasis – even though you are already hired it was instrumental to make the right impression on your coworkers. 

“That’s great to hear! About that actually…” You tense up for a moment, already running millions of possible scenarios through your mind. Did someone write you up or complain? That would be very typical for what you were used to here – no direct confrontation with you, instead an anonymous complaint made to HR and you’re out of here faster than you can apologize. Or maybe it’s a complaint from Higuruma himself, fed up with being stared at like he was a piece of meat, by “the foreigner” of the firm no less. You can feel your legs shake under a flimsy desk. “We’re going out for drinks! You’re going, right?”

Okay, false alarm. You are prepared for something like this. Shimizu was obviously putting you in a position where you’re not supposed to decline…But you were so tired, and the workload this week was just horrible, along with all the hours of overtime you did-

“Oh, and Higuruma’s going too.”

Come to think of it, you actually feel pretty energized and ready to go. You don’t catch the cheeky smile Shimizu sends over her shoulder to the previously mentioned man, and the most precious, thankful look he gives her in response.

“I-I suppose it wouldn’t hurt...” you mutter, trying your hardest not to seem as desperate as you are in actuality, to have an opportunity to finally get to know Hiromi somewhere outside work. This work crush has been driving you up the wall for too long, might as well start acting on it, if it’s here to stay. Maybe you’ll get to be friends with Hiromi, and that will resolve your yearning for him. It always dissipates when the person you desire is right by your side. 

However, you don’t get an opportunity for a one-on-one with Higuruma that you hoped for until much later in the night. You caught stray looks from him multiple times, but each time Hiromi met your eyes he would look away in an instant, with his neck turning so hard you were half-sure you could hear it crack. It felt pretty discouraging, looking at him silently pour the drinks down the hatch from the other side of the table, without even attempting to talk to you, while others were trying their best to make you feel welcome. Hiromi just made you so…confused.  

So, you decide to step out for a moment, lost in your thoughts. Lo and behold, there is the man of the hour himself, leaned up against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. You are surprised at how he can stand up straight, after all these drinks he consumed without eating anything (and you’re pretty sure you didn’t see him eat lunch either), but you just settle on the fact that Hiromi might just be like that – a mystery to you. His face is barely illuminated by the low light pouring out of the windows of the izakaya, a slight flush on his tan cheeks making your mind travel places. 

“Can I have one?” You blurt out, before you can stop yourself. Oh, this is so stupid. You can feel your face heat up, and not even a gentle autumn breeze is able to cool you down at the moment. Oh, you were so about to screw up all of this. Nevertheless, you slowly approach him, as Hiromi’s head slowly turns to you and you can see a corner of his mouth twitch when he registers it’s you speaking. Huh. Interesting. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Hiromi mumbles, taking a pack out of his pocket, clumsy fingers struggling to pull out a cigarette for you. Well, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see you smoke, since you only did that if you were drunk or stressed out. “I never saw you in the smoking room. Though, saw you pass by. Quite a lot.” Higuruma continues rambling, his head tilted forwards, eyes unsure and watery, staring up from under his eyebrows, focused solely on you. You can practically feel yourself getting hypnotized by the absolutely charming puppy dog eyes Hiromi is giving you, to the point of not noticing the man offering you the cig you just asked for a couple of seconds ago. 

“Uh, yeah. Guilty as charged.” You chuckle, not finding anything better to say, as you gently take what you’re offered. The silence falls over both of you, as your lips squeeze the “cancer stick” between them, Higuruma now fumbles to find a lighter. Well, it’s your chance to talk, but you, sadly, find yourself lost for words. 

Hiromi, much like yourself, cannot find the courage to speak up, as his eyes keep trailing back to your face, now more stunning than ever, surrounded by the blue air of the night instead of synthetic fluorescent lights of the office that rarely do justice to your beauty. He definitely overdid it with the liquid courage. Now he can’t muster up a thought to strike up a conversation with you. And it was supposed to be a chance for him to get to know you better, in an informal way. Way to go, you absolute nutjob. 

“You seem to be a very hard worker, Higuruma. I thought you’d stay for overtime instead of going out for drinks.” You finally say what’s on your mind, when you see Hiromi can’t seem to find the lighter he’s been looking for, for the past minute, maybe. 

“Well, first I was staying so long because of work, and now it’s because of you.” Hiromi blurts out with his eyes looking right at you. When the man finally realizes what he just said, his eyes are immediately drawn downwards, avoiding yours.

“What?” You look at him, for a moment thinking that your hearing gave up on you. Higuruma didn’t just say what you heard him say, right?

“What?” Hiromi’s tone is neutral and even calm, but behind it he was panicking. Why in the hell did he just say that?! He definitely weirded you out and now everything will fall apart, all thanks to his absolute inability to handle his liquor better. “I mean, you need someone to look at while you work, right? Might as well be me.” What was he talking about? If you weren’t standing right in front of him, so perfect and beautiful in the dim lights, with your hair exquisitely disheveled, and his eyes getting drawn to your figure in all the right places, his hands would definitely fly up to his face in exasperation at his sheer stupidity.

“You’re funny.” You finally chuckle out in a hushed tone, like you were saying something absolutely scandalous, and not just bashfully stating your opinion.

“No, I’m just drunk.” He states rather bluntly, and you’re taken aback for a moment. “I’m actually a lightweight. Without...” Higuruma makes a vague gesture with his hand, which you take as him referring to the copious amounts of alcohol running through his blood at the moment. “…I’d be too scared to talk to you.”

“Huh? Why would you be scared to talk to me?” You respond with yet another breathy laugh, feeling an incredibly strong surge of confidence, hearing that the whole time this grown man was scared of approaching you – polite and shy newbie, deeply infatuated with…everything about him. Which, Hiromi was so luckily and obviously unaware of.

“You’re just…” The unintentional pause is much shorter than it feels like, as a sudden hiccup interrupts his heartfelt confession. “Very…gorgeous. But uh…in a professional sense.” You can hear an uneven crack in Higuruma’s voice, and if for someone else it would’ve been a turn-off, you can already feel how breathing suddenly becomes a thing you need to be aware of. “Or whatever.”

“Or whatever?” You echo, with an amused smile tugging at your lips, as an idea dawns on you out of the blue. “Higuruma, could you…” you trail off, immediately bringing his attention to whatever you were about to ask of him. Oh, he was ready to do anything you’d ask. Jump? With pleasure. Drop down to his knees? Gladly. Kiss you? Please.

He freezes in place, as you lean closer to him, a surge of previously known, but supressed feelings rising with a tremble in his chest. The end of your cigarette touches a little burning cherry at the end of his, your eyes slowly drift up to his own, producing an incomprehensible, fiery spark when your gazes meet. Higuruma almost thinks the ground disappeared from under his feet right that moment, because in little less than a second of staring into your eyes like that, alluring, precious gemstones pulling him in with a siren’s song, he’s falling. Hard.

Hiromi’s face doesn’t hide even a sliver of what he’s experiencing at the moment, as he looks at you in awe, half-way sure that his heart is about to burst in a million of pieces while you’re lighting your cigarette with his. He wishes this moment would go on forever. He wished you’d reach out to him, throw out the damn cigarettes, close the miniscule distance that felt like kilometres and kiss him, so hard he’d surely loose his mind for you completely.

The seconds feel like hours, electricity and warmth bouncing inside of him, while cold air blows on his skin, failing to cool him down from the mad high he was experiencing just from your presence, so distant and at the same time, close.

“Thanks.” You mutter a short response, tactfully making a point not to mention the way his face got even redder (which you didn’t think was possible, yet here you are). Your lips wrap around the cigarette, inhaling the smoke, the slight hit of nicotine dulling your senses for a moment making you flutter your eyelashes in pleasure.

“You’re always…a problem.” He responds, quietly, and you arch your brow at his strange response. Higuruma immediately looks horrified as it dawns on him just what exactly he said in his…rather unsuccessful attempt to articulate his thoughts, as you mumble out an unsure “excuse me?”. Hiromi’s hands fly up to meet his face, exasperated sigh leaving his lips. Why did he always had to be…like this? He was confident and easily able to keep a cool head in the courtroom, faced with people representing and facing justice. Why, why was he losing face in front of you of all people? It was frankly frustrating, and he…

“Ha-ha-ha…I am, aren’t I?” You return playfully, seeing the sheer distress on Hiromi’s face and deciding to play off his probably unintentional slip-up as a joke. He didn’t, couldn’t mean what he said, right? He was always friendly (even if a little distant, but who weren’t like that to new, unfamiliar people, right?), polite…Unless?

“No! No! That’s not what I was trying to say…” Hiromi immediately corrects himself, a little too eager to fix the mistake he’s sure might cost him your precious attention at the moment. He can’t lose it. He absolutely cannot wait until the next drinking party to get close to you. It already feels like too much - keeping himself in reigns, containing the burn that threatens that spill over from the mere gaze that felt too intimate for his drunk consciousness.

Well…not that you aren’t an actual problem. It’s hard to concentrate whenever you are in the room. Higuruma’s eyes would inevitably drift over to you, observing every motion of your form, desperate for any sliver of attention from you. Didn’t matter if it was a polite nod, a quick half-bow or a smile, he always felt a dull ache in his chest, because that was not enough to satiate the hunger for you, cramping up in his insides, making him feel like he was utterly starved. And he definitely was. For affection, for gentle touch, for a soothing hand and for tenderness that came with it. Yeah, you were definitely a problem. One that needed an immediate solution.

“I was trying to say that…you’re always welcome and it’s not a problem. At the same time.” He finally managed to mutter out, explaining himself. A smile grazes your lips at that, and he can’t help himself but think how he wants be graced by the beauty of that smile first thing when he wakes up the morning. That would make going to sleep at night so much easier.

“Well, I’m glad that you don’t think I’m a problem then.” You say with a tiny laugh. Well, Hiromi didn’t exactly say that, but….

“Of course not. You’re…” Higuruma stops for a moment, before a sudden hiccup shakes his form. You stifle a chuckle from how cute for some reason it was, to hear a frown man hiccupping much like an overfed kitten. “Very hard-working. A good addition to the team.” He gives you a verdict with a nod, further solidifying his words. At that point, he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about, but that’s the first chance he ever got to talk to you informally, and by God, he’s going to make use of it. “If you ask me, you’ve got what it takes to be a great permanent addition.” To him, a sudden thought rushed through his mind, but he managed to keep his lips sealed.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Higuruma.” You say with another one of your pleasant smiles and nods to him, taking another drag of your cigarettes and blowing the smoke out to the side, blissfully unaware of how Hiromi’s droopy, desperate eyes fixated on the pout of your lips. You were truly thankful he had this opinion, but life-time contracts? Here? As a foreigner? It would be easier for you to get to the moon and back, than receive an offer like that.

“You know you can just call me Hiromi, right?” He almost whispered, not daring to meet your eyes after such a bold move on his part. You felt your heart leap inside your chest. If you weren’t right in front of the man, you’d start kicking your feet, giggling, then you’d scream in a pillow, run a couple of laps, high-five yourself and finally face-plant into the asphalt victoriously, but you were a responsible adult, so you had to keep those teenage-esque urges inside of yourself. Despite how much you wanted to let them out at times.

“Alright then…Hiromi.” You knew what you’re doing to him. You had to, right? Because how can your voice can get so alluring and sultry all of a sudden while saying his name? Why did you whisper it, rolling it around between your pretty lips, almost like you were tasting a candy? Higuruma was a goner, that’s for sure.

Higuruma can’t help, but look into your eyes, marvel at you smile and the way your eyes glimmer in the low lighting, how the perfect curve of your lips calls for him, and how your hips beg to rest his hands on them. In that moment he only can think with nothing but his heart, that keeps shoving the thought that rest like honey on his tongue.

He needs you. Utterly and completely.

“So…do you want to have another drink? On me, of course.”

Hiromi takes his shot, and he’s not going to miss it.  

check out this masterlist for more jjk fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

[izvmimi]

cw: set in both past and present. goofy but a bit of fluff. reader has a specified quirk. suggestive near the end.

Concentrate. Stop being impatient. You’re applying too little power, you won’t heal anything like that; you’re applying too much power, you’ll kill them! Slow down. Move more quickly, the sick and injured will keep coming. 

You bite your lip and pull your backpack closer to yourself as you think back to today’s lesson, both mentally and physically exhausted from the day before you. These internships are meant to push the limits of your Quirks, and you can imagine that all of your classmates are just as tired as you, but it’s hard for you to reconcile the fact that an old lady who keeps candy in her purse and smooches indiscriminately to heal injuries should be such a hardass to you. 

The tips of your fingers still tingle with the aftermath of transferring so much electricity towards them. Today, she had you try to practice transferring all of your energy from your toes to the palms of your hand and back, consecutively, and you still feel wobbly on your feet as you make your way home. It’s dark now and you’re a little lonely walking home alone, but your thoughts will keep your company as you walk through the streets. 

Joining the hero class late, you simply have to work harder, that’s all there is to it, you think. You don’t have the flashy quirks your peers do, no extreme power without blowback, no endless ice or fire or weapons, no explosions or gravity manipulation, no animals to come to your aid or ability to disappear and slip away. 

You have to be creative with your Quirk as best you can if you want to be of any use. 

You’re about 15 minutes away from your home by now and check your cell phone. There are messages from Momo where she’s trying her hardest to convince you that there’s some utility in makeup commercials for the greatest good, and you try to placate her as best you can as the good friend you are. Your friend from the support course has also sent you a wide-eyed orange cat emoji with the aim to check in since you’ve been quiet and you smile and send a signal that you’re alive with a tongue out emoji. You look at your screen for a few more seconds and don’t get an immediate reply but smile to yourself anyway before slipping your phone in your pocket.

As you turn past an alleyway, the sudden crashing sound of trash cans and body weight against concrete startles you enough that you jump. You have a few seconds to decide if you want to see what’s happening before you convince yourself it’s an animal, but you hear a groan, and before you can make it around the alleyway, there’s yet another thud. 

When you turn the corner, you’re surprised to see Midoriya, face smashed into the wall, nearly ten feet in the air. He falls too fast for you to reach him to try to break his fall, but it’s broken by a load of bundled trash, possibly more than you’ve ever seen not disposed of in your entire life. Dumbfounded, you watch him frown but he doesn’t seem hurt too badly (at least, not as badly as you’ve seen him self-inflict before) and he barely even realizes you’re there, before he’s back to his feet again, staring at the wall pensively, eyebrows knit together as he’s lost in thought. 

He’s in his hero suit, and you wonder how long he’s been out here. Feet pressed against the pavement again, he bends his knees and you see sparks fly before he’s about to jump again, and before he can move…

“Uh… Midoriya? What are you doing?” you finally announce yourself and he freezes still like a statue.

The sparks stop immediately as he turns to you, and his face is redder than a strawberry, jaw slack.

“Oh! Oh my God! I.. uh…”

You blink. Midoriya is always somewhat skittish around you, and you do admit that it’s probably because you’ve been prone to mess with him and give him nicknames, but you’ve never harbored any ill will against it. In fact, there’s a sort of fondness you have towards him, ever since the sports festival. He always manages to surprise you with his resourcefulness even if he’s the polar opposite of you ability-wise - all power, no self preservation.

Still, this isn’t the type of surprise you anticipated. 

Midoriya is still staring at you, mouth agape as he tries to come up with an explanation, not having realized that you’re no longer interested in whatever strangeness he imparts to you as long as he’s okay. All you can think about now is the fact that your head has started to pound, so watching him smash his face into the wall a second time might be the least of your concerns.

But you have to be curious in some way if you’re still standing here at 9 pm on a weekday.

“I-I’m trying to figure out my Quirk…” Izuku says through nervous laughter. You nod slowly, looking at and around him.

“Looking for the light in a dark alley, I see,” you murmur. He doesn’t laugh, instead grimacing. You scrunch your nose a bit at the smell, inescapable, trying to be kind enough not to say a word about it. “It’s super late,” you murmur, then tilt your head. “Are you going to go home soon?”

Maybe walking home with a classmate might be nice, it occurs to you.

Izuku’s green eyes light up for just a moment, then he frowns. 

“I can’t-” he sees you pout before you even realize you are doing so, “-but I can next time! I just have to…” his voice falters as you shift your weight from one side to another then shrug your shoulders. 

“No big deal.”

You turn on your heels, a little slighted but fine. He’s nice to talk to sometimes but you could call your mom or another friend perhaps for company. Izuku is annoying anyway, he’ll probably find a way to aggravate you before you make it home and you’ll regret even running into him. Perhaps.

“I’ll see you around then,” you offer, waving impassively behind you as you walk away.

“B-be safe!” he calls out as you take your first steps away, and you keep walking, the sparks of electricity he generates again as he goes back to whatever desperate move he’s working out putting the hairs of your neck slightly on edge, light catching your peripheral vision.

You turn to him, and take the scene in again. The boy with the Quirk that grants incredible power with a blowback he still can’t withstand. Perhaps truly, he’s not the opposite of you, but complementary. 

He has a look of determination to him, you note, as he squats slightly, then leaps again, soaring high to the point that it’s almost graceful -  but then he hits the wall once more. He tumbles again into bagged trash, and you sigh. 

You’re exhausted but not so exhausted that you can’t help.

“Midoriya, don’t jump again.”

As his head snaps back in your direction, he seems shocked that you’re still there and you wonder how he has such singular focus. Before he can react to you, you end up palming his entire face, pulsing the rest of your energy reserves quickly into the bruised tissues before retracting your arm.

Izuku’s eyes are wide when he looks at you, but you can tell you’ve succeeded because the redness and tiny scrapes on his face have already started to disappear, even if you can’t do anything about his bleeding nose.

You should have thought about this, you think as you wipe your hands on the side of your pants.

“T-thank you,” he mutters. 

You offer him a smile. Either way it’s a form of training.

“Of course. See you around, dino nuggets.”

—

“You know, that was the first time you healed me, ever.”

Izuku remembers that night so many years ago slightly differently than you do, it seems. He remembers being less uninterested in your presence than you impart to him as you recount it, and tells you his heart thumped so fast with embarrassment the moment he saw you he might as well have been having a heart attack, and focusing on his goal of figuring out OFA was the only thing that kept him from dying of mortification on the spot. Your crush finding you crashing into a wall then garbage repeatedly at nighttime in a dark alley isn’t exactly a chivalrous look, and looking so pitiful he earned an unsolicited heal wasn’t exactly the way he tried to woo you.

But all’s well that ends well, no?

You giggle, letting small pulses of your bioelectricity relax the muscles in his back with pinpoint precision. Your fingertips continue to dance gently along his skin until the tension dissipates completely, and he lets out a satisfied sigh as they move gently to his neck, then tap gently at his scalp. 

“I probably could have been just a little more respectful of your dignity, but I think even back then I was trying very hard to suppress any positive feelings for you,” you admit. There’s no point in pretending now that your tender relationship is clearer than crystal, blatant for the world to see.

“And how did that work out for you?” he retorts as your hands run through his hair lovingly. 

You smile to yourself, letting your torso press gently against his back. Izuku’s laying on his belly and you were straddling him prior to this, having decided to bless him with a special back massage as a treat. Your husband always does his best, and doing his best has taken a lot out of him in the past few recent days, so this is the least you can offer him and you’re glad to do so. Both of you have grown stronger, smarter, and better at using your Quirks for yourselves, for society and for each other. It’s only natural that you’ve learned a trick or two.

“Terrible,” you answer.

You smile as your face presses against his upper back, letting your hands run along the length of his arms, more soft pulses of electricity passing through his skin. He shudders against your body and your heart practically sings with affection. 

“Terrible?” he tries to sound annoyed but his voice comes out higher than usual, riddled with relief.

“Yeah, I had no intention to fall in love with you. A huge fail on my part, actually.”

He chuckles.

“I guess it’s true that there’s a lot to gain from failure then.”

You hate and love that he’s always so good at redirecting and softening any of your playful resistance. Your hands tighten gently around his wrists.

“Are you mocking me, Izuku?”

His laughter rumbles through his larger body, the vibration running through all parts of you as you stay pressed together.

“Maybe,” he replies, coyly. 

“You know, in this position, I could make sure you never get up again,” you say in a honeyed voice. “You have a vested interest in being nice to me,” you tease.

Izuku moves a little too fast for you to keep up at times, and this is one of those times. Before you realize, your positions have switched, and now he’s on top of you, so close his forehead is pressed to yours.

He kisses just above your eyebrows, your eyes closing automatically.

“I’m always nice to you,” he reminds you, his voice soft.

You smile as they open again and you look at him. He’s far from the awkward try-hard boy he once was, and you’re far from the sometimes standoffish, other times overly yet hesitantly invested girl you once were.

You’re invested in him with full intention, just as he’s invested in you.

“You’re right. Thank you for being so good to me,” you reply softly.

And you’ll always be good to him.

[dahliakbs]

Batfam x Reader: Unexpected Trip To The Future

❥synopsis: You sneak out of the house to hang out with your long time bff only to be caught in the cross fire and forcibly ripped away from your family.

✷

Here you sat alone around the small camp fire, su itrrounded by the endless heaps of trash you'd found that were still of use. The night sky shone a prominent blue colour with the clouds being seen far off in the distance.

The air around you was calm and quiet and seeing as how you were the only human being left on this earth it'd be weird if you all of a sudden started hearing noises.

On nights like this you'd sit around the camp fire and think back to the life you'd lived before the accident occured.

You'd always reminisce back to the day you first came to the manor. Bright eyed and filled with joy and enthusiasm, your closest friend Richard Grayson obviously sharing the same enthusiasm as you.

The two of you were know to be quite inseparable, always being seen together no matter the circumstance. The only times you weren't with each other were when Dick had to go out on patrol, reluctantly leaving you in the cold and dark manor by yourself.

Even though at the time you understood why he had to leave you didn't want him to. Back then it was your clingy behavior that got you into the accident.

Both of you having lost your parents at such a young age had left you yearning for some kind of affection and Dick felt the same way. So at any moment of the day you two would be together, playing whatever games you two could come up with until Bruce came home.

But since you two were together every second of the day you didn't see why you weren't allowed to go out on patrol with them. So when you were sat at home by yourself waiting for Dick to come home you'd just decided that if he wasn't gonna come to you you were gonna come to him.

On that night you'd snuck out of the manor, Alfred having not noticed since you escaped through your bedroom window.

You'd somehow squired one the tracking devices B used to know your precise locations and used it to find your way, arriving in less than ten seconds.

"Dick- I mean Robin I'm here!" You yelled out as soon as you made it to the scene. Having not noticed the intense battle going on between your father figure and the joker.

"N/n what are you doing here?" you could see his eyes light up under the mask as he quickly sprinted of the battle field towards you, arms opened wide and awaiting your hug.

You'd returned it quickly, holding out your hands towards him in a silly manner.

"Don't tell B but I snuck out to come see you, I stole one of his tracking thingies and now here I am" you showed off the gadget in your hands to a wide eyed Dick.

"Wait you stole it?!" He exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention towards the two of you.

"Keep quiet or else you'll get me in trouble-"

"What do we have here" Joker suddenly appeared behind Dick, roughly pushing him out of the way to get a good look at you.

"What's a little thing like you doing out here, did you come to say hi to your old uncle Joker?" he asked, you liked down to his hand. Noticing the strange gun he held in his hand. It looked like any regular gun, just deformed and reeking of a strange acidy smell.

"Get away from them" Dick jumped towards the Joker only to be harshly side kicked away from the two of you.

"Well since your here" he grabbed onto your arm, harshly yanking you closer towards him before flashing his deranged yellow smile at you.

His eyes held a mischievous look in them, bloodshot and looking down towards you as if you were nothing more than a puny joke to him.

"I've been meaning to test this thing out and you seem to be quite eager to help your ole uncle J, right?" He asked, pointing the gun in some random direction and pulling the trigger.

The gun shot out a murky green colour, the murky green forming into a circular portal that led to somewhere unknown.

The panic set in for you as you noticed the smile in his face grow to inhuman proportions. Harshly trying to jerk yourself away from him as you called out for anyone's help.

"Someone help me, anyone" your eyes turned blurry with tears as you turned to Bruce then to Dick for help.

"Daddy please help me" you cried out before you felt yourself being thrown towards the portal.

The last thing you saw before being thrown into you the green portal was Bruce chasing after you, wearing an expression you could only describe as scared and desperate. Calling out to you before you were fully submerged inside the portal.

Immediately feeling your body be transported throughout time and space before finally ending up in the wasteland you currently resided in.

The wasteland being the ruins of the former crime city known as Gotham City. Apparently the world had gone to ruins a little after you'd gone to the future, leaving behind a vast dry land ready to be taken over by mother nature.

And all you could think of as you reminisced and watched over this forgotten city were the regrets you had, you just wanted to see your family one last time.

Seeing that expression on Bruce's face really shook you to your core, you didn't think he'd even cared that much about you until you saw how desperate he looked that night.

One of the biggest regrets you had was not being able to see Dick's face one last time, to atleast be able to see his expression before you left him and all you do about it now was cry and look up to the night sky. Hoping that if there was a god out there that they would send you back to the family you belonged to.

Hoping that if you'd finally be able to confess to tell Dick about the silly feelings you had for him when you were both so young. Or maybe hoping to finally spend some time with your cold and hurt guardian.

And as if someone was really out there listening to your pleas you saw a familiar murky green colour fill up the space between you and the campfire.

Immediately lighting up the small space you were in.

A couple seconds of staring at it later you heard someone speak from the other side before s figure emerged from the portal.

?

"Richard is that you?" You asked the figure. They looked exactly identical to him, only difference was that this person was much taller and looked around the same age as you. His suit was very different, instead of the bright red, green and yellow he wore when he was younger he instead sported a black and blue skin tight suit.

The figure kept walking closer, expression slowly crumbling as they inched closer and closer towards you before they stopped Infront you. Taking off their mask to get a better look at you.

"It's time to go home n/n" his voice trembled as he forced the words out of his mouth. He crouched down in front of you, placing his arms underneath your legs and hoisting you into the air without giving you a chance to think to much in the situation.

He hurriedly passed through the portal, almost as if he was trying to get you away from the cursed wasteland as soon as possible. A wave of nausea overcoming before you emerged in the other side.

The intense feeling forcing you into a deep slumber before you could even get to see what was on the other side of the portal.

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art the clown x Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem.

Chapter 2 of How Close Your Soul

General warnings: descriptions of food insecurity and poverty, adult themes, drug use (weed), and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: With unlimited free time on your hands now, you go on an adventure in the city with your new friend. (Alt summary: you smoke a blunt with Art then go to McDonalds)

Your mind races as you walk. You rose early because you couldn’t fight off the feeling of anxiety. No, it wasn’t necessarily anxiety, you were restless. Art lingered on your mind and you were excited to see him again. You knew this was reckless to meet up with a stranger in an isolated alley, but your curiosity had often gotten the better of you.

You had a ways to go still and couldn’t help but be consumed with worry. What if he wasn’t there? What if something happened to him? What if you approached to find him injured or dead? You barely knew him, but the thought of him succumbing to the harsh elements hurt your heart and made you feel guilty for enjoying your own comfort during the cold fall night. As you noticed the frost on the grass your worries grew.

Winding through the alley, you navigate through discarded boxes and trash cans, overflowing with litter. There are syringes on the ground, indicating a spot for partying. They weren’t there yesterday and you hoped no one had given Art any trouble. You pace slowly back and forth as you survey the area.

You looked around, scanning the dumpsters and rows of cans for a sign of black and white. He stuck out in this landscape, yet he was nowhere to be seen. With a small voice you call out, “Art?”

You waited for a response but none came. Turning in place, you continue to soak in your surroundings for any trace of him. Your worries grew the longer you stood there. The spot he had cleared out to sit was still visible, a nest of sorts, but where was Art?

Behind you, you hear glass being ground into the pavement and look. It was Art, stone still with his hands in the air and an overly large smile on his face, showing off his rows and rows of teeth. His smile seemed endless and the gleam in his eye was disconcerting. You felt your worry and excitement change over into something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

He’s wielding a hammer, and he looks thrilled as hell to see you. His mouth manages to stretch even further and his eyes are wide with anticipation. His grip on the hammer tightened as he took a step towards you, to which you responded by taking a step back. This dance continued for a few steps before you stopped. 

Was he going to hurt you? But why would he? Your hands began shaking as he maintained his static pose of intimidating stature. He was merely steps away and loomed over you. He was so tall that he blocked out the sun above and it shrouded his face in surreal shadows. It was as though his face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish entity. 

“Art?” You ask nervously and he gives no response. He doesn’t even blink, and you aren’t sure if he’s breathing. Surely you were not making another poor judge of character. You wring your hands together, “Um... I wanted to thank you for yesterday so I brought you something.”

His eyebrows twitched in response and some sort of fire was lit in his eyes. He was curious. He arm relaxed slightly as it lowered a little. Maybe this was some sort of game? Art was so hard to read, maybe he just had an intense sense of humor. Still, it’s frightening. You swallow hard and continue, “Do... you wanna smoke a blunt?”

He pauses and his smile turns into a grimace. Art is visibly thinking about your proposal. He looks away, deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled. The man looked back to you, then back to the hammer for an uncomfortable period of time, then finally back to you. He made an inquisitive face and you revealed what you were talking about.

It was one your friend had given you. It was half smoked and hard as a rock, but still did just fine. You wave it a little like a tempting treat and his eyes follow its rapid movement. He finally drops the hammer, grabs his trash bag to drag behind, and closes the small gap between you.

Art stares at what is contained in your hand and you hold it out a little more so he can inspect it. He touches it lightly and his face only became more of a confused scowl. He looked at you then waved his hand in front of his face in a grimace, portraying he thought it would stink. You nod some, “Yeah it’s skunky but it doesn’t taste bad. There’s wax in it. Not like, candle wax... it’s hard to explain...”

You think a moment then look up at him, “Sometimes we just need to catch a good buzz, you know? I thought we could smoke and talk, maybe learn some more ASL.”

He perked up at that and signed his name with curious eyes to which you responded with a smile, “Yeah! Soon you’ll be a total chatterbox.”

You look around for a comfortable pace to sit and scope out a spot atop a dumpster. It looks like it was recently dumped and smelled the least offensive, so you hoist yourself up and hold your hand out for Art to follow. He has a much easier time clambering up the side than you did, but he struggles to heave his garbage bag beside him.

You didn’t ask about it. It was likely his only way to transport his possessions, but it still made you worry for him. It could easily become stolen or mistaken for actual trash. Perhaps you would get Art a proper means to carry his things, but that was getting ahead of yourself. Today your rent was due and you were seven hundred dollars short. There was no way you were going to get that much money in time, so you were doing the next best thing- running away from your problems. This was the present, and the present meant you were about to get high with a complete stranger.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask as you show him the blunt. He mouths ‘oh yeah’ a little too assertively and puffs his chest out. Though he seemed confident you wondered if he’d ever smoked weed before. You were become more and more curious about your friend, “Are you sure?”

He nodded enthusiastically with a smile but his eyes were transfixed on the mysteriously wrapped cigarette. Wherever it went his eyes followed. You patted your pocket and realized you forgot your lighter at home, “Damn. Art, you wouldn’t happen to have a lighter by any chance would you?”

Art holds his finger up in a ‘one moment’ gesture and starts looking through the same black trash bag as yesterday. From this angle you could see inside a little. It was a hodgepodge of metal, trinkets, saws...

Saws?

Your eyes widen when he pulls out a blow torch, his mouth stretched in a wide tooth filled grin of glee and accomplishment. He looked so proud to hold it in his hands and his lights lit up when he playfully blew at you with the fire. It should scare you on a deeper level than it did, but you really wanted to smoke.

“Awesome. Do you care if I see it? “ You ask, but he seems incredibly reluctant to hand it over as he hugs it to his chest and furrows his brows in response. His theatrics made it hard to take him seriously or view him as any sort of threat. 

So to the stranger with a blow torch you say, “Art, no offense man but I’m not gonna come outta here looking like creme brûlée.”

He laughs uproariously in silence and slaps his knee. That seemed to have tickled him and you relax a little. Another similarity. Humor. Finally, someone with a sense of humor. Art wipes a faux tear from his eye and obliges, shoulders still heaving sporadically in a fit of voiceless giggles.

You test it experimentally, a small lick of fire coming out the end. You look at art with raised brows and mirror his previous actions by blowing fire at him. He laughs again and offers you one, hardy clap on your back. It makes you feel warm and secure inside. You didn’t know how much you needed that, but you were silently grateful. 

He watched you with visible curiosity as you lit the end and took a deep inhale. You held it for as long as your lungs could stand before exhaling. Unconsciously you hold it out to Art to pass the blunt. Hesitantly, he takes it from you and holds it between the nails of his thumb and index finger.

You snort in a laugh. Who needs clips when you have him? You mime a smoking motion and nod to him, “Draw it into your mouth then hold it in your lungs, but don't—”

Before you could finish he was chiefing it. He took a hit as big as his lungs could expand, held it for half a second, then exploded in a coughing fit. It wracked his body and he held his chest, all of his motions dramatic and theatrical as he figuratively withered and died right in front of you. It was definitely his first time.

You reach out and, after careful consideration, rest your hand on his back and pat as you finish your sentence, “...don’t take a big hit.”

He stills instantly at your touch and you withdraw your hand like you’ve touched a hot stove. Had you crossed a boundary? Were you a nuisance? Did you hurt him? Were you what your boss thought: a predatory creep who preyed on older men? Was that possible?

“I’m... I’m sorry Art.” You offer awkwardly and rub your hands together, fidgeting and picking at your nails. An audible gulp leaves you as you stare down at the ground, too ashamed to look at him. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you’d certainly done something. 

Silence falls between the two of you for a while. It feels like hours as the absence of noise makes your ears ring and only amplifies your transgression. You finally look to him and see him in the same position, still as a stone and just as silent. After a moment you find your voice, “Art... are you okay?”

His eyes visibly shift when he breaks out of his trance and he finally looks to you. Art stares at you, barely half lidded and the scelra bloodshot and red. He offers you a lazy grin and you mirror it, relief flooding you. He wasn’t upset, he was just stoned!

“You scared me there for a minute buddy!” You sigh as your anxiety leaves you and begin to swing your feet idly back and forth. He sleepily watches your feet a moment before mirroring you, keeping your same pace. Art trails his eyes up your body then meets your eyes, the same lazy, blissful smile spread over his face. He takes another, much smaller, hit off of the blunt, holds it, then exhales through his nose. 

The smoke snakes upwards and plumes around him. He caught on quick. Art hands you back the blunt and you accept it gratefully then taking a greedy hit off it. This time, you enjoy it. You savor it and hold it until your lungs feel as though they are smoldering and flaking away. You exhale slowly, watching the swirls and twirls of the white plumes that flow like water in the sun’s rays.

“So, Art...” You begin, passing the blunt back to him, “what are you into? Like what are your hobbies?”

He visibly ponders a moment, looks you dead in the eye and offers you the scariest, widest smile you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of something you’ve seen browsing the depths of horror forums. You heart palpitates as he stares at you, eyes wild and teeth prominent. You had no idea what kind of emotion he was displaying and nervously averted your eyes.

Art tapped on your shoulder and motions upward for you to meet his gaze again. Nervously, you oblige and find his expression has changed dramatically. He’s back to sleepy eyes and a closed mouth, crooked smile. Art hands you the blunt back so he can use both hands to speak.

He makes a single handed digging motion, adding little details like running into rocks and patting the soil down. You smile at him in kind, “You like to garden?”

Art pauses and makes a ‘kind of’ motion with his hand then waves you off. That isn’t what he was trying to say. He taps his chin in thought, this time creating the illusion of digging with a two handed shovel.  But still you do not understand and offer him a sheepish apology and urge him to continue. 

He makes an arch shape near the head of where he was digging, but that only confused you further. You point at the imaginary object, “What is that?”

Art huffed and pointed aggressively to a pebble on the ground. You ponder a moment then offer, “Rock? Close? Uhh... stone?”

He points to you with joy and nods fervently, rolling his hand and looking at you in giddy apprehension to finally guess the correct answer. But nothing comes. You purse your lips, afraid to say the wrong thing. Art repeats the motion, never taking his eyes off you as he dug in the imaginary hole then made a pulling motion at the air and loading up his pockets. 

You look at him, desperately trying to understand but the concept continues to not only elude you but become more confusing with each additional gesture. You want to know, but if it isn’t gardening what else could it be? What other activities involve digging holes near large stone objects at the head and rummaging through their contents? The only thing that kept coming to mind was digging up buried treasure and you knew that isn’t what it was.

He shares your frustration and sighs in silence. Art throws his hands up and draws a distressed question mark in the air over and over again. You didn’t understand what he didn’t understand. And your confusion made his confusion grow. Your eyes widen and to ease the pressure you say, “I think we’re too high man.”

Art’s eyes widen and he seems briefly alarmed before relaxing all at once and nodding along with your remark. He smiles at you and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead and lifts his hat to you in a polite gesture. You weren't going to stop trying to learn about your new friend and decided to do a rewind.

“Let’s get to the spelling. So, Art, what does the letter of your hobby start with?” You never thought your limited knowledge of ASL would come in handy when smoking a blunt with a clown, but this life was truly full of surprises.

He drew a G in the air and you repeat the sign for the corresponding letter. He mirrors you then draws several more letters in the air. R... A... V... E...

“Grave?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. Suddenly, it dawned on you, “Oh! Do you work at a cemetery? You tend to the graves?”

This simply cracked him the hell up. He laughed and laughed, holding his hands over his mouth in a wordless giggle as though he were bottling up some big juicy secret. After a moment he nodded with a smile, mouthing 'sure'. That explained some of his strange behaviors. Dead people didn’t talk and neither did he, so they already had more in common than the living. You, yourself, had felt more of a relation to the dead than the living, as well, and found his profession interesting. 

Before you could ask him any more questions he gripped his stomach, brow knitted in confusion. He looked to you questioningly, lips parted as though to speak. He was mumbling something voicelessly but you couldn’t hear nor read his lips. You try to placate him.

“It’s called the munchies, it’s normal.”

But he wouldn’t stop staring at you. His stomach audibly grumbled and he swallowed hard. He was looking at you in a way no one ever had before. He was looking at you like YOU were food. You’re high; you’re feeling bold and joke, “Bro if you’re gonna cannibalize me go ahead, with the week I’ve had I’m ready.”

He stops and laughs, his eyes crinkling into slits as he gets lost in a fit of giggles. His hand didn’t leave his stomach as he rubbed it absent mindedly, still staring at you with wolfish hunger. His stomach gurgled again and he winced some. He hunger was clearly a step above regular munchies.

“I’ve heard people taste like pork...” Your stomach growls at the thought of slow roasted meat, so tender it fell off the bone. You’d always had a fascination with human meat, and one of your current friends had dabbled in cannibalism in their childhood so it wasn’t too far fetched of a concept. Art did not strike you as a cannibal, but if he was that strangely wouldn’t bother you, at least not right now. Maybe you really were too high. 

Without warning, Art slides off the dumpster. His trash bag lands on the ground with a loud, metallic thud, and then he extends his hand out to you. His hand is filthy, his gloves stiff and stained with dirt and some sort of bodily fluid. You weren’t sure what it was, but logic escaped you right now.

You took his hand in yours and allowed him to help you off the dumpster. With effort, you awkwardly slide down and begin following after him like a puppy. At first you struggled to keep up with his long gait but he slowed down so the two of you could walk side by side.

“Where are we going, Art?” You look up at him and ask curiously. He smiles down at you and makes an M in the air in the same shape as the iconic golden arches. The idea of a hot, greasy, barely edible hamburger made you so hungry you nearly dry heaved right there. But then it hit you, “I don’t have any money.”

He waved you off and rubbed his fingers together then pointed at himself smugly, showing that he had money and was paying. But could you really allow him to do something like that? You open your mouth to protest and he holds his finger to his lips to shush you. You relent. Art is going to do what he wants, and if he wants to buy you a cheeseburger then so be it. Perhaps the pair of you could have a symbiotic relationship. You were interested in compiling resources, so this was just part of it.

The walk there was short but simulaneously felt as though it dragged on forever. From the parking lot, you could smell the grilled beef and frying grease and it made your mouth water. It seemed to have a similar effect on Art as his stomach produced a low rumble of its own. With a flamboyant display, he holds the door open for you and makes a sweeping motion with his arm for you to enter. You titter in playful bashfulness and enter. The restaurant is warm and the delicious smell of food envelops you like cartoon smoke.

But people are looking at you, whispering and giving you ugly stares. They’re all pointing at Art and hurried murmurs emerging: ‘is that him?’, ‘what horrible taste’, ‘appalling.

Appalling? 

You realize they aren’t talking about you, they’re talking about Art. You look up to him. He pays them no mind. His mouth is agape as he strums his chin in thought, voicelessly mouthing to himself as he read the menu. You already know what you’re going to get and stand beside him patiently. You give him a few moments then tug on his sleeve to get his attention, of which he obliges.

“Which number do you want, Art?”

He ponders again before holding two fingers up, indicating he wanted the same thing you were getting. You smile, “Great minds, yeah?”

Art offers a small chuckle and nods, lingering behind as you approach the counter. The cashier seems off, uncomfortable, and scared. You were familiar with stares of the ignorant, but this seemed different. She seemed petrified.

“Are you okay?” The cashier whispers. 

You look around and everyone is staring at you. You eye her nervously and offer a wary, “Yeah...?”

“Are you sure? He’s just... he’s just a guy in a costume, right?”

You look back at Art, who is enamored with the toy display, his face merely inches from the bright and colorful beanie babies contained within. You’re too high to deal with this kind of dumb shit right now. Why was everyone looking at him like that? And why was everyone being so mean about him? He was just a guy in a clown costume... wasn’t he?

Art looks back at you and gives a friendly little wave before resuming fawning over the toys. There’s no way this guy was some kind of depraved murderer or demon, he was just a guy in a suit. He was weird, like you. You both had a similar sense of humor and people just didn’t get you. So what if he liked to dress like a clown? You thought he was brave to be who he was and admired how easily he brushed off other people's abrasive attitude.

You look back at the cashier, “Yeah it’s just a costume. We’d like two number twos and we’ll be getting that to go, please.”

With shaking hands, she types in the order. Art is by your side, digging through his trash bag before withdrawing a wallet. He flips through the row of credit cards then hands one out to the cashier. You lived off credit cards for a while too so you thought little of it.

She takes it, trying her best not to make contact with his hand and swipes it. It was approved and she slid it back across the counter, “Thanks we’ll uh, we’ll call your number as soon as its ready.”

She can’t take her eyes off Art as she backs away and retreats to the kitchen. She is talking to what you assume is her manager, pointing and motioning to the pair of you. Seriously? What was her problem. Part of you wants to confront her and tell her to mind her own fucking business, but your anxiety roots you firmly in place.

This display is not lost to Art. His lip curls into a smirk as he returns to the beanie babies. You join him and admire them. You loved stuffed animals and your eyes glitter with wonder. You’ve never seen any of these before, all small little animals. There’s a turtle, a red panda, a giraffe, a hedgehog... so many wonderful little creatures.

“Wow...” You breathe out, “I wish I’d gotten a happy meal instead. I’d love to have these.”

“Number six forty three!” Comes a voice behind you. That’s your number. You happily scamper over to the counter to retrieve your bag and drinks.

“You ready, Art?” You call back to him but he says nothing. He looks at you, then back to the toy display. Without warning, he strikes it again, and again, and again. The hard plastic cracks and crumbles from his blows and it is not long before he is loading up his trash bag with every beanie baby in the display.

You were so dumbfounded by Art’s actions you weren’t sure what to say, or do, so you did nothing but watch and stare. This is something you had fantasized about many times as a child, eyeing the coveted toys in the case your parents could not afford, but you never had the strength to execute it. One by one, each beanie baby was snatched up.

“Sir! Sir you can’t--” The cashier is cut off. He looks back at her with a wide, toothy grin and sizes her up. Even a hardened veteran of customer service isn’t immune to his intimidating stare. He holds his threatening stance a moment before looking back to you and grabbing your hand. He practically drags you out of there, an entire audiences’ eyes on you as you make your dramatic exit.

The further you get away the more the situation sinks into you, and so does the ferocious anxiety. What was going to happen? How was he being so casual about this? Did he regularly steal from their toy display, is that why they were looking at him like that?

As you both tuck behind an old gas station your anxiety finally breaks. Oh no...

“Art what if we get in trouble? What was that back there man? What...”

He shushes you and rests his hand on your shoulder. This time, you still and look back at him. Though stoic, he seems weirdly reassuring. You had just knocked off a McDonald’s and stolen twelve beanie babies. TWELVE. 

“What if we get banned from every McDonald’s? What if we go to jail.” Fear washes over you and it multiplies with the influence of weed, “Art I don’t wanna go to jail. We have to take them back and apologize... no we can’t do that, we’ll be arrested... What if they’re looking for us... Art! What if they’re--”

Art shushes you again and rubs your shoulder gently. He gives the ‘ok’ sigh with his hand and pats you. He begins to walk away but stops as he realizes you aren’t following him. You’re too anxious and a prisoner in your own mind. This is too scary, it’s too intense. Your rush of adrenaline had quickly turned over into a full blown anxiety attack.

Your heart pounded so hard it made you see spots and you struggled to stand still. You began pacing, wringing your hands as thousands of thoughts burst into your mind all at once. What if this is it? You’ve lost your job, you’re going to lose your apartment, and now you were going to jail for stealing stuffed animals... at least this way you’d still have shelter and three meals a day...

There was a warmth against your back. You start and look up at the source: Art. His hand is between your shoulder blades. He makes no motion to move but stays there, silent and strong as his large hand offers you a tether to the moment. You say nothing and just focus on the feeling. His touch felt so deliberate and affirming, it felt meaningful and stilled your trembling. 

You wanted to lean into him, but you weren’t sure if he’d appreciate that. You look at him questioningly and, is if he read your mind, moves his hand to your shoulder and draws you near to him. You remain this way for a while. He holds you in silence, hand gingerly rubbing up and down on your arm and occasionally patting as he tried to comfort you.

It was working. You hadn’t felt this secure since you’d been in His arms: the former object of your affection who now made your heart ache and your stomach sick. You are touch starved and his affection makes something inside you melt. You nuzzle into his chest and he allows this, moving his hand to rest on your head and gently smooth your hair. 

Your hands are too full to reciprocate the hug, but you do your best to return the affection by leaning further into him and he obliges  by holding you closer. The pair of you remain this way for some time. There are no police sirens, no angry mob, and no cashier chasing after you. All of your worries were limited to your mind and, gradually, you relax. Slowly, you pull away from him and offer him a kind, but slightly strained, smile.

“Art... I mean this in the nicest way possible but... You gotta take a shower man. Do you wanna come over to my place? I have body wash and stuff you can use.”

His eyebrows fly to the sky and his mouth forms into a large O. This expression is brief as a wide smile takes its place. He nods happily, his little hat bobbling, and you mirror his smile. You felt good that you were able to help someone out and reciprocate his aid. As the pair of you made your way home with McDonald’s loot, you begin to wonder if this will be the start of a beautiful and peculiar friendship.

[a-hermit-pining]

Sukuna as a House Husband

Genre: Fluff Pairing: House husband Sukuna x Reader AN: Might be OOC but humor me people. Coming up Geto as househusband 🥰

First few months of Sukuna's career as a househusband are nothing less than accidents that involved smoke alarms and questionable fire extinguisher techniques. The transition from malevolent kitchen to a less lethal one takes quite a minute.

From handing you Lunchables to becoming pinterest core this man takes quite a journey.

Everyday chores that start with ill concealed annoyance and were in the past pointedly pushed on to you are taken over the minute he notices the residues of shared lunch from another in your lunchbox.

How dare you accept someone else's food? The entire evening, Sukuna glared at the takeout pizza with enough intensity to melt the cheese. You swear the pepperoni visibly cowered under his icy gaze.

And the revelation that some random Joe- Shmoe, a pathetic nameless mortal, had lent you his lunch is enough incentive for this man get in action.

This old man has lived his share of luxury as the king of curses. So, the minute he decides to flex his culinary skills your lunches take an immediate promotion.

The obsolete cooking technique no one can replicate...? You bet he's pulling that.

Puts Uraume on the speed dial as the trials of kitchen begin for him. This time, though much to both their disappointment limited to animal meat.

Does not take long before both become grocery shopping buddies for life. Sukuna scowling at unfamiliar vegetables while Uraume patiently explains the difference between shallots and scallions to his Lord.

Weekends take a turn for the… interesting as you become their resident TikTok handler, phone propped precariously on the counter while they attempt to recreate the latest viral trends. Fruit Roll ice cream remains mind blowingly top tier in your household. Getting a reaction even from Uraume.

Sukuna preens under the praise at office potlucks, basking in the envious stares directed at your lunchbox. Every "wow" and "that looks amazing" fuels his ego.

But the real win? Insanely proud when he sees you take pictures of the lunches he makes and even more so when you show him the stories you post on the internet (save his old soul).

Deep into his retirement phase of immortality, Sukuna discovers the joy of aesthetic. This man takes one look at dark academia, gothic Victorian mood boards and not your living room looks like a lair worthy of a final boss villain (which, to be fair, it kind of already was)..

Super into thrifting or picking a random haunted piece of furniture to add character to your living space as he insists, despite your very real concerns about the wailing coming from the armchair at 3 am.

Still a baddie tho. Will get into fights with loud neighbors or bachelor pad finance bros when their trash isn't sorted properly. And it, unfortunately is your responsibility to drag this man back home.

Cleaning is where he draws the line. You will not spot Sukuna with a duster. Ever. So, hiring a cleaning service seemed like a brilliant solution. Except, Sukuna couldn't resist micromanaging their every move. The poor cleaning staff — a battle-hardened group of professionals — withered under his endless critiques on porcelain dusting techniques. Needless to say, generous tips were the only reason they continued to show up.

The King of Curses, a being who once feasted in halls of obsidian and dined on delicacies fit for gods. Yet, the peace and ownership of your little townhouse is sweeter than any other possession of past. His dirty little heart is endeared to his home with you.

[lunarw0rks]

please tell me i’m not the only one who thinks soap would be horny at the WRONG times?

like let’s say you’re hosting your very first end of the year bbq and you invite your close friends, the task force, + los vaqueros. you’re excited because you just had moved into your first house as well.

all is good until good until soap starts getting needy, purposely brushing up against your backside whenever he passes by, mumbling the most sarcastic ‘oops my bad’. he even says something along the lines of ‘sending everyone back home so we could have some alone time’ and plays it off as a joke but you know he’s being serious 💀 like that man does NOT CARE, he’ll take you in the bathroom if he has to.

a/n: naur, you're onto something anon. I always picture Soap as a horny bastard; not much restraint in his not-so-little body. got a little carried away on this, lol. warning(s): nsfw, horny stuff, fem!reader

imagine you bought a house together and the nice idea of throwing a little housewarming party, for him, for you — inviting his co-workers and some friends of your own. he insisted a thousand times that you didn't have to invite them; but only because of all the embarrassing stories they were going to tell you about your boyfriend.

but, when all was said and done, it was a great gathering. you did it all yourself — the meals, the decor, the staging of your newly purchased outdoor furniture — everything. it was alluring to Soap, how frazzled and insistent on "perfection" you were. though, you heard about a thousand times, that they would eat anything you put in front of them.

when you two sat around the fire, gaz asked how you two planned on celebrating the new house once the festivities died down. an innocent question; but it sparked in your boyfriend's mind. "aye, we'll find a way to celebrate, that's for sure. jus' gotta make sure the timing's right," he played it off with a chuckle, but there was no mistaking how flustered it made you.

it was going perfectly, or as perfect as a party with these people could be. a lengthy dinner in the backyard, endless conversations, and a little too much indulgence in the booze for some of them. "great party, great house. should have you decorate the base sometime, eh? if it's half as nice, it'll help with morale." price commented as he talked to you and him.

Soap's arm remained around your shoulder, your waist, or anywhere throughout the night. you didn't think anything of it, frankly, you were too laser-focused — until his neediness grew. brushing against your backside, a caress on your thigh lingering, a small wink when the guests weren't focused on you.

some went off to the side to smoke, and others remained on the patio to continue their conversations. by now, it was time to get the mess cleaned up. plates, cups, wrappers, empty bottles, and the other trash that had accumulated.

"i'll help you with that, love. you've done enough tonight, haven't ye?" he approached after dismissing himself, grabbing the second stack of silverware and following you inside. Soap finally had his opportunity to seize what he desired, when he knew the party was much less alive, much less prying eyes on you two.

you stepped inside from the patio, him closing the sliding door behind you. dumping the plates into the sink, you turned on the faucet with the intention of beginning a long night of clean-up duty. his hand reached around you, turning off the faucet, "not what i meant by helpin' you, lass. c'mon," he motioned his head in the direction of the hall.

you took one more look out the window, seeing the preoccupied guests, most paying little mind to your guys' close proximity in your new kitchen. why the hell not? might as well cross the guest bathroom off your list of "places we've had sex in our new home" — right?

before the door even closes, he's hiked up the hem of your evening dress, shoving his hand down the waistband of your panties. Soap ends up fucking you senseless on the bathroom counter, gagging you with his fingers in case any of his co-workers came inside the house to grab another chilled drink. you were only a few feet from the kitchen, it was the definition of risky.

mid-thrust, there was a soft knock. price, goddamn price. "everything alright in there, sweetheart?"

even with his superior on the other side of a door, about a foot away, did Soap stop? no, of course not. he slowed down but never stopped. he removed his fingers from your mouth, biting his lip to mock you that look in your eyes, whilst they shot open in a frenzy. you cleared your throat to conceal a moan, using every ounce of strength to not feel Soap bottoming out over and over again. "uh, just a— just a little wine on my dress, John. no worries!"

as soon as price's steps retreated down the hall, Soap's ragged, growly breaths resumed. in a split second, his ruts went from mockingly slow, back to a relentless pounding.

before there was any chance of another interruption, he finished with a sneer on his face. "wine on the dress, eh? smart girl. i like that." he heaved against your lips, gently wiping any mess that smudged on your lips. you were livid, despite coming down from your own high. a palm smacked his chest repeatedly until he shut your heated whispers up with a hundred pecks across your jaw and mouth.

Soap walks outside first, blaming the lost time on him fishing through the moving boxes for a Tupperware you needed. whether it was believable or not, that was up for debate. the sweat lingering on his brow, the afterglow of sex on his face? unmistakable.

now, you've either have to splash water on your dress to imitate where you would've scrubbed a wine stain off. or... just, walk on out of there like you hadn't just been fucked stupid — with trembling legs, naturally.

[obsessedwithwhump]

The A-Team Whumplist

Now, the A-Team gets itself into many, many, many scraps. I've only noted the times where the pain lasts for more than a second. Enjoy!

1x3 Face gets beat up

1x6 BA gets shot in the leg, Murdock gives him blood (rare AB- blood type)

1x8 Hannibal gets a punch in the gut, breaks a rib. Murdock gets hit by a car while sitting in a trash can

1x9 Face walks into a tree

1x11 Hannibal and Face crash a motorcycle

1x13 Murdock gets blinded, he guides Hannibal through landing a plane

1x14 entire team thrown from the back of a truck

2x9 B.A stepped on a rusty nail

2x14 Face punches Murdock (part of a plan)

2x18 Face's drink was spiked, he passes out

2x20 Murdock's stepped on (busted ribs), Face's thrown (broken nose), B.A's in an endless fist fight (played for laughs)

2x21 Face gets punched down, B.A and Hannibal are poisoned

2x22 Murdock and B.A are pushed down and the house they're in is set on fire

2x23 Murdock gets shot in the shoulder

3x1 Hannibal is punched in the stomach

3x5 A tree falls on Murdock's leg

3x7 Hannibal is beat up, Murdock drops a door on B.A's foot

3x9 Face gets punched in the eye, gets a cut

3x14 Murdock gets overpowered by bad guys

3x16 B.A. is drugged by the bad guys while fighting in the ring

3x19 Face is punched down

3x25 Decker is punched down. Murdock gets his head knocked

4x1 Hannibal gets beat up by.. himself..?

4x3 B.A dislocates his shoulder

4x4 Murdock falls down a building (MASSIVE plot armour Jeez this guy is invincible)

4x5 Hannibal is drugged

4x7 Hulk grabs onto Murdocks shoulder too tightly (very brief)

4x11 Murdock is drugged

4x14 Murdock crashes a kite. Later on he falls and twists his knee

4x23 Murdock gets shot in the shoulder (if only there'd be a scene directly afterwards.. but NO. NOTHING. NO AFTERCARE). Fullbright gets beat up badly and shot dead.

5x1 Hannibal gets burned while playing the Aquamaniac

5x3 Frankie and Murdock are knocked out by gas, Face is shot (just an imagining from Hannibal)

5x5 Frankie is seasick, later he's hit in the gut with a gun. Face is tortured for information

5x6 Frankie is sucker punched

5x7 Murdock gets punched in the gut

5x8 emotional whump for Face (and Murdock tbh)

5x9 Hannibal is found unconscious

5x13 Face is shot, Murdock is thrown down

If I missed anything, let me know. I really loved watching this show (especially Murdock).

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Consorts [Part 2]

The Ghoul|Cooper Howard x F!Bounty Hunter!Reader

Part 1 // <--> // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 //

Summary: Reader and Cooper are still at each other's throats. At night, they reminisce on their first and only other mission together. Bonds are forming between them.

~~~

You followed closely behind him. An endless desert before you. You watched as he took a swig from his cantine. Your lips were dry.

"Pass that," you mumbled. He looked at you over his shoulder. Ignoring you completely, taking another drink himself. You silently rolled your eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of being frustrated. You had a long road ahead of you, barely on speaking terms with the man you had just made a deal with. Both of you obviously still bitter from the last time you had been together.

You coughed as the dry air finally hit the back of your throat. The Ghoul stopped, spinning around to you. Throwing his cantine at you, "No need to be so dramatic, sweetheart." You fumbled as it caught you off guard. You drank the few sips he had left in it, tossing it back at him.

"'Bout time we found a place to set up for the night," he looked around the baron land, trash and remnants of a past life decorating the sand.

You pointed at an open area with some fallen over wood in the distance, "We can make a fire there."

"Atta girl," he praised you. Both of you walked in that direction.

You moved some debris around, making makeshift seats as the Ghoul started a fire. Even while barely on speaking terms, you both could not help but make the most of your situation. The sun was setting, you stared at the sky admiring the pinks and oranges that decorated it. You were a few meters away from him, wanting to keep your distance.

The Ghoul walked up behind you, his body close to yours. "Fire's ready." You shot a glance over your shoulder at him. No other acknowledgement leaving you. His hooded eyes met yours, staring slightly. He walked back to the fire in silence. Once the sun was completely down, you walked over to the seat you had made yourself.

You sat completely across the other side of the fire from him. Crackling of fire was the only sound breaking the silence between you.

"You remember the last time we were in front of a fire together?" He broke the silence.

You blushed, memories of that night flooding back...

You had felt comfort in him. People making you feel safe was a rare occurrence. It was the night before everything would go wrong. You had been traveling together for a few weeks. Just long enough for your guards to begin falling down. Enough that you sat directly next to each other in front of the fire. He cleaned his gun as you attempted to get warm from the fire. It was a rather cold night then.

You were unintentionally shivering. He noticed, placing his gun beside him his attention on you now.

"You alright?"

"Just a little cold," you flashed a smile at him. He stood up, taking his coat off and wrapping it around you. "Thank you," you mumbled as he sat back next to you, a little closer than before. "If you need more tell me," he went back to cleaning his gun.

Your head fell on his shoulder, you found contentment in him. He glanced at you. He hesitated. Wanting to place a hand in your hair, but unsure if he should. You shifted your head, looking up at him now.

"Feelin' better?" He asked casually. You nodded at him. He had not felt this way in centuries. He wanted to fight himself, he wanted to push you away, but his body begged him to stay and take care of you. He hated feeling tender, coarse life was all he'd know for a long, long time now. But this moment made him hopeful. Maybe everyone wasn't so bad.

His hand went to your cheek, your face falling into it with closed eyes. His thumb rubbed your cheek, staring and admiring you for the first time intentionally. He knew he should not let his guard down, but how could he not. You were there begging him to care for you. No one looked at him the way you had been.

He placed his lips on yours. You leaned in, deepening the kiss with him. You continued kissing until it grew sloppy. You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him onto his back. One of his arms snaked around your waist. He looked up at you with hooded eyes, your legs mounting his waist. His hands ghosted up your body, coming down to be firm on your hips...

... You stared at him through the flames. He looked down, eyes not meeting yours at all.

"What do you want me to say to that?"

His shoulders shrugged, "Just trying to lighten the mood between us. If we're going to be doing this together, we're going to need to be a little cordial."

"Probably be easier if I knew who you were," you snapped back quickly. His eyes shot up at you. His back straightened, his gaze fixated on you now, "What is it that's so important you need to know?"

"Your name."

His lip twitched, lips pierced together. "What difference will it make? You've seen more of me than most people," his eyes were flat.

You scoffed at him. You stood up, taking off your coat and placing it on the ground, "I'm going to sleep."

"Whatever you say, princess. S'long as you're ready in the morning." His attention was on something else. You were angry. Frustrated.

You laid with your back to the fire, not really wanting to sleep. Nearly an hour passed and you still could not sleep. Staring into the dark sand. His shadow was painted behind you by the flame. He sat next to you, a huff leaving him as he sat.

He cleared his throat. "If I had known what was going to happen after that night..." He stopped, his tongue glossing over his yellowed teeth. "When you've been around as long as me... you don't exactly give out your trust to anyone. It always comes back to bite you in the ass." There were more things he wanted to say to you, but he could not.

Silence washed over you both again. You watched as his shoulder rose and fell with every deep breath he took. His head fell forward slightly.

"Cooper." He muttered.

Your eyes widened slightly. You looked over your shoulder slowly, his back was to you. You were unsure how to respond, perhaps pretending to be asleep was the best choice.

He looked up into the empty sky. "There's a lot you don't know. But now we're on a first name basis, can't keep holding it over my head." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours.

"Go to sleep, Y/N," he stood back up.

"Goodnight... Cooper," you spoke softly. He rolled his shoulders, going a small ways away from you, but not as far as before.

You hesitantly drifted off to sleep, knowing you needed the energy.

~~~

END//Part 2

[Thank you for reading!  If you are interested in being tagging in any of my writings don’t be afraid to message me!  All tag lists are open!  I have a master taglist and one for each character!]

Tags:

@mortuus-poet | @giggle-shade | @pixelatedprofilepic

[tenyearsoftrash]

Ten Years of HTP: A Celebration

Hi all, I (@eatingcroutons) set up this blog with all sorts of intentions about preparation and promotion and then Life Things Happened, but I'm still hoping to go forward with the idea of encouraging some nostalgia and memory-sharing about the last ten years of the HYDRA Trash Party.

The aim here is to be more of a celebration of community rather than your typical prompt fest - if you're looking for prompts for fanworks you might want to check out the @catws-anniversary that has just kicked off and will run until the 4th of April, or of course refer back to the Trash Meme itself!

So for this blog's purposes, feel free to post informal thoughts and musings and ramblings, and to comment on each other's memories - this is all about our shared history and nostalgia, and the idea is for it to be an open dialogue and celebration of community. A few points on logistics:

Anonymous asks and submission are open on this blog if you'd prefer not to participate under a named account. We all know how hostile certain corners of fandom have become to darkfic and adjacent content.

For all the themes below self-recs are also very welcome, if you want a chance to show off something you made years ago that hasn't gotten much attention in a while!

Go ahead and tag this blog at @tenyearsoftrash for a reblog of anything you post about the below themes!

All that said, here are some suggested themes and ideas to get you thinking and reminiscing:

April 4: Rewatch CA:TWS!

Take yourself right back to where it all began! With too many people across too many timezones we're not going to even try to organise a massive synchronised groupwatch, but maybe you could get a few of your old-school HTP buddies together to do a smaller one? In any case: fire up the movie, relive all the feels, and share any HTP-related thoughts that come (back) to mind after all these years!

April 5: Fanwork Recs

Go back and dig up some links to your favourite HTP fanworks - whether big or small, well-known or niche, what are the works that have really rewritten your brain chemistry, and stuck with you all this time? What was it about them that hit just the right spot? Feel free to share your thoughts on Tumblr - and to go back and drop a nostalgic comment on anything on AO3 😉

April 7: Meta Recs

Over the years there's been a lot of meta associated with HTP, from discussions of what CA:TWS and HYDRA represent in a broader social context, to endless back-and-forth about darkfic's place in fandom. Are there any posts that really made you think, or that remain relevant even now? Is there anything that came out of those meta discussions that has turned out to be particularly prescient, in hindsight?

April 8: HTP Fanon

What are your favourite bits of shared or personal fanon around HTP and its related concepts? Are there any Original Characters you're particularly fond of? Any particular tropes regarding characters or events that you will never get tired or bored of? Any ideas that might seem cracky on the surface but which you are totally into regardless?

April 8: Other Media/Fandoms

We've all had those moments where we've come across something in a new canon and immediately been like, "Oh, this is delicious trash bait," right? What other media has had a "Bucky Barnes Obediently Accepts The Bite Block" moment for you? What other characters might your fellow HTP friends enjoy as interesting targets for Trash Party Shenanigans? In what fandoms have you found yourself running into an awful lot of familiar HTP faces?

April 9: WIP Amnesty

Do you have any HTP fanworks that you never finished, or never got around to starting, for whatever reason? Now's your excuse to talk about them! Feel free to ramble about what your plans would have been, lament why they're never going to happen, or share some of those great ideas you never quite had time to plot out. Or, if you're feeling particularly inspired, go back and actually finish something off!

April 10: HTP Community Memories

To finish off the week let's talk about the community itself! What have been the good times, the interesting times, any times that have been personally significant to you, for any reason? What things have you experienced or shared or understood with or through or because of the HTP community? What new friends have you made over the years, and what old friends do you miss?

---

Apologies again for taking some time to getting around to making this post, but hopefully people will still be interested in doing some reminiscing!

[snapmite1998]

Darth Maul was roused from his dream, the remnants of sleep clinging to him like the shadows of his past. He sat up in bed, the silken sheets cascading around him, a stark contrast to the heat, damp, and filth of Lotho Minor where he had once languished in waste and piles of trash during his solitude. Exhaling softly, he recalled the agony of his exile—the endless nights spent in darkness, gnawed by hunger and thirst, his mind unraveling with each passing moment, and the dark side of the Force itself keeping him alive, its raging inferno blazing so bright, that it had not died out during those twelve excruciating years.

Those memories twisted within him like a blade, sharp and unyielding. He had clawed his way back from that abyss, fighting against the madness that threatened to consume him. The torment of deprivation had etched itself into his very being, a constant reminder of his resilience. Yet here he was now, surrounded by luxury that few could fathom—a bed of the finest silks, walls adorned with opulent artwork, and treasures amassed from across the galaxy.

He leaned back against the plush pillows, a flicker of satisfaction igniting within him. Wealth flowed like a river through his criminal empire, and he had risen from the trash and filth of his past to command respect and fear in equal measure. His family—those who had remained loyal through his darkest hours—stood by him, their unwavering support solidifying his position as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

Maul’s crimson skin glistened in the soft light, and he reveled in the power that coursed through him. He was no longer a forgotten specter, but a force to be reckoned with—a master of the shadows who had transcended his former limitations. As he sat in his lavish chamber, he allowed a small, sinister smile to creep across his lips. The galaxy would soon learn that he had not only survived; he had thrived, and he would not rest until he had reclaimed all that was rightfully his.

Rising from the bed, Darth Maul approached the nearest water basin, its reflective surface glimmering under the warm glow of the crimson fire that illuminated his chambers aboard the Blood Star. He splashed cool water on his face, the sensation invigorating, washing away the remnants of the restless night. The room around him was as imposing as he was—a vast expanse of onyx marble, its dark sheen capturing the flicker of flames from the basins that lined the walls. Statues of his former selves, each a testament to his evolution, stood like sentinels, watching over him: the child, the apprentice, the savage warrior, and ultimately, the Dark Lord he had become.

As he dried his face, Maul's thoughts swirled with anticipation. He dressed quickly, sliding into his ebony robes, each fold and contour tailored perfectly to his lithe, powerful frame. The fabric whispered against his skin, a reminder of the finesse and strength he embodied. He reached for his double-bladed lightsaber, the weapon humming with dormant energy. As he summoned it to his grasp, the blades ignited with a fierce hiss, bathing the chamber in a blood-red glow that mirrored the intensity of his resolve.

The crimson light danced across the marble, casting eerie shadows that seemed to writhe in response to his fury. Maul reveled in the power of the moment, feeling the Dark Side swell within him. This was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of his vengeance, a harbinger of the blood he was destined to shed. Soon, he would unleash this fury upon his enemies, particularly the one who had wronged him most—Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As he steadied his breathing, focusing on the mission ahead, Maul reflected on every choice he had made since his rebirth. Each step had led him closer to this pivotal moment—the end of the war, the dismantling of his enemies, and the reclaiming of his rightful place in the galaxy. Victory was within his grasp, and with it, the sweet taste of revenge against the Jedi who had stolen so much from him.

With one last glance at his mirrored reflection, he stepped forward, the lightsaber illuminating his path as he left the sanctuary of his chambers. The Blood Star thrummed with anticipation, a fitting vessel for the storm that he was about to unleash upon Naboo. His brothers and allies awaited him, and together, they would carve a path of destruction that would echo through the annals of history. Today would mark the dawn of a new era—one where Darth Maul would reign supreme.

[oceansssblue]

~[INDEPENDENT ONE-SHOTS]

[THE BAD BATCH]– "ONE HUG AWAY"

HUNTER/F READER 💖💔

TRAVELLING WITH THE BATCH FOR QUITE SOME TIME NOW, HUNTER AND YOU HAVE GROWN TO BE THE BEST OF FRIENDS. BUT FRIENDS DON'T FEEL LIKE YOU DO AFTER JUST ONE –OR MAYBE TOO MANY– HUGS, RIGHT?

I JUST WANTED AN EXCUSE TO HUG HUNTER OKAY?

WARNINGS: PTSD–EXPLICIT WAR NIGHTMARES (BLOOD&FAMILY LOSS) IN THE FIRST PART 💔 (CAN SKIP IF YOU WANNA), OTHERWISE PURE FLUFF 💖.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You have a recurring nightmare. Sometimes it's just the smell; smoke and ashes, and the rotting skin of the deceased bodies that pile around you being burnt. Your nose scrunches in your sleep and you turn to your side, trying to get rid of the stench of blood and death. It doesn't usually work; and it doesn't this time, either.

Sometimes it progresses to images. Flashes of endless battalions of droids and endless battalions of clones; mixed with your own people in between, the numbers of the three groups reducing drastically each day the war drags on. It used to be beautiful, your planet, with it's peculiar blue grass and vibrant flowers; tall delicate trees and a fascinating wildlife. Now everything is mutted to orange, grey and black; fire and the shattered debris of the capital left behind.

The images turn real with sounds. It's a slow transition. It starts as a distant distorted echo, as if you were listening to something underwater. Then it blasts; roaring in increasing intensity until your ears ring and you shake unconsciously in your sleep, trashing around in your bunk.

Screams. Orders. Cries. Begging for help. Tears in your eyes. Smoke. Fire. Blood, dripping from the open gash of your shoulder and the shot wound on your side. Where are they? You can't see them. Are they safe? Are they...?

You shout their names. The tears keep streaming down your face, wetting your cheeks in real life too. You whimper in your sleep, your body shaking in place.

You can't see them again. You beg not to. But the "you" in your nightmare turns around, slowly, almost recreatively; and then...

"No!" You wake up crying, no restraint whatsoever in how you do.

You weren't even aware of it; of the way your body replicated the same emotions of that damned day of your past while sleeping in your bunk in the Marauder, surrounded by your boys, the family you have now.

You take a deep breath –a weak, stuttering thing–. Your hands quickly find their way to the collar of your t-shirt, tugging it down harshly to expose the scar on your shoulder. Your eyes flicker over every inch.

Another

deep

breath.

Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. Your trembling hands slowly pull up the end of the shirt to reveal your side as well; another scar etched in place.

You touch them. You breathe. You're safe. That had been the past; and while your loss had been heartbreaking and terrible, you were not alone in your present. You had the Batch; you were not back there.

Your breathing pattern starts to slow; your heartbeat still protesting madly in your chest. You let your shirt drop back to place and sigh, still sitting in the middle of your bunk. You take a glance around. You hope you haven't woken up any of them; Maker knows they need the sleep, after last night. You specially hope you haven't startled...

Hunter. He's laying on his bunk with his torso propped up on his elbows; gaze stady and intent on your shape. You can barely see him in the darkness of the room; just his siluete and the weight of his heavy stare. He knows. He can hear your heartbeat, your breathing. He could hear your quiet whimpers and cries, before, maybe even smell your tears. Hell, he can probably guess what the dream was all about. After all, he had been the one to help her escape the wrath of the Separatists. He had seen the destruction of her planet, too.

A powerful need to go to him wrecks you. Your fingers tremble, and a choked sound threatens to pour out of your lips. You hesitate for just a second. Hunter and you have never really been that close before –fellowship, fondness and polite respect, sure, but not that level of raw affection–; and you don't want to bother him. Or make him feel weird. Or like he has to take care of you out of duty as the good human being he is but not really wanting to do so. But you need him. You do.

You cross the small space between both of your bunks as noiseless as posible, wavering on your tip-toes. He tracks every one of your movements; chin tilting up slightly to look up at you when you finally stand in front of him. You play with your own hands for a moment; feeling uncertain and restless in the expectant silence. You can see him a tiny bit better now; long hair –a bit of a mess without his bandana on–, sharp profile and impossibly magnetic eyes. He's always being so good to you...

You feel yourself starting to shake again –your emotions swirling inside your mind–; but it all stops with Hunter's movement as he pulls the covers back with one hand in a clear invitation to share his bed for the night. You make a small needy uncontrolable sound with your throat; and scramble to crawl in his bunk besides him without much thought.

Hunter's body is incredibly firm and warm. You move for a few seconds while trying to find the best position against him; quickly setting for your cheek pressing into his chest and your nose hiding in his neck, one arm wrapped around him and both legs respectfully on top of the thin matress inches away from his. Hunter make's a deep humming sound of his own and his right hand slowly presses against the middle of your back; just a reassuring presence that without words messages "i'm here". You know. He always is.

You take in his comforting familiar scent and sigh. You're too tired to give much thought to the fact that you're actually hugging Hunter; and dark memories replaced in his safe embrace, you take no time in drifting back again into unconsciousness.

Hunter stays awake for a while; making sure your nightmares don't return before going back to sleep as well, getting used to the strange feeling of being this close to you. It's new; and nicer than he'd like to admit to himself.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The second time you hug him is a relief-driven action that holds no pre-planed thought at all. You had been waiting for news of the Batch for weeks now, having to stay back on Pabu after breaking your arm in the last mission; forced to watch them go on their own. It hadn't gone right for them either –the Empire smelling their trace and making their trip twice as long and with no coms available, even with Tech's security measures–. You had nearly picked your nails off; and a somehow un-nervous Phee standing next to you and chuckling to herself for whatever mysterious reason you couldn't care to find out had definitely not helped.

You're running towards them the moment the Marauder touches the ground. Wrecker's the first to walk the ramp; and though you care for him dearly, it's not him you jump towards.

Hunter has no other option than to hold you tightly against his chest in surprise when you crash into him. The force of your desperate hug makes him stumble –definetly not expecting that kind of welcome from you–; but he quickly gains his footing and carefully and almost hesitantly hugs you back.

"You should be more carefull with that arm" he points out, voice deep and roughned up by the tiredness and dehydratation close to your ear. "A cast doesn't give you inmunity".

You chuckle, tightening your one-arm hug against him once before taking a deep relieved breath in and stepping back. You tilt your head to look up into Hunter's dark chocolate eyes. He looks exhausted, but still holds a firm and gentle aura. He's always the composed soldier; and you admire him for that.

"No, and that's why I've mastered the one-side tackle" you joke, eying quickly the rest of the Batch and softening your glance. "I'm glad you're back and safe, Hunter".

His eyes fill with warmth and affection at your sweet, sincere tone. A fleeting thought passes through your head, noticing the difference between amicable fondness and this newfound emotion shining in his gaze. His hand briefly squeezes your un-injured shoulder once, close enough to your old scar that it somehow makes it burn. You wouldn't have been able to take your eyes of him even if you tried to.

Hunter pulls his hand back and offers a tiny tired smile.

"I'm glad to be back too".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The physical contact with Hunter continues to grow in the following month; until it becomes a natural expected thing, a helping hand or a brush of arms here and there.

Hunter's the one to actually give you the third hug. It's one night when you all say your goodbyes to each other and prepare to get to your respective apartments for the night that happens. The people in Pabu had been kind enough to offer a twin set for you lot; having divided yourself in boys and girls. Hunter bends down to give Omega a hug; turning right after to you and enveloping your figure in his arms as well.

You freeze momentarily –though not in disgust–; your heartbeat speeding up slightly at the surprising –and unusal– gesture. Yeah, you've hugged Hunter yourself twice now; but he has never been one to initiate contact himself, maybe too polite for that.

It's him who realises what he's done, stepping back with a confused expression on his face and pushing his long hair back in a shy selfconscious tick.

"Oh, um... I don't know why I did that. My bad" he shrugs it off, offering a sheepish smile, and you chuckle at his reaction.

Not so composed this time.

"That's alright, Hunter. I don't mind. You're a good hugger" you point out.

His expresion turns into amusement, and he shows his signature side smirk. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. He's one of a motherfucker atractive man. Future girlfriend will be ecstatic to have him.

"Am I, now?"

You both laugh softly, and he decides it's time to leave you so you can have some time to rest. They're going on a mission tomorrow, and he needs you bright and early.

"Good night, mesh'la" he tells you, voice soft feeling like a caress, and you study him in curiosity at the new Mando'a.

You've heard them say some words here and there –mostly insults or surprised expressions–; but never that one.

Before you're able to ask the meaning of it, Hunter offers a last smile and turns around, quietly walking away to their own apartment straight across from yours. Your eyes never leave his retrearing figure; while Omega's switches curiously between you both.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You lose count after the fourth one. Hugs start to form part of your usual rutine; sometimes a quick way of saying "hello" or "goodbye" and sometimes a simple show of affection, until it reaches the point where they're not unexpected anymore –though equally pleasant–. You also start to hug the rest of the Batch as well; not Echo, of course –he isn't comfortable with you like that just yet, though he admits small pats and squeezes on the shoulder as a substitute–, but Omega, Tech and Wrecker. Each hug with them feels different than rest; Hunter's keeps being the best.

It's not just physical contact that grows over the two of you; but mental as well. You often find yourself sitting with him in the cockpit –when you're on a mission– or strolling through Pabu –sometimes with Omega on your tail, sometimes not– when you're on a break. Your relationship with him deepens. He even opens up enough to talk about Crosshair; something you know it hurts him and has never been mentioned around you before. Other times he shares his worries about Omega and her on-the-run childhood; his fears for what the future beholds. You take special care of those quiet, heartfelt moments, listening carefully and giving your thoughtfull opinion that is neither naive nor too depressing; just the right amount of truth. You must be doing something right; because Hunter keeps coming back for more.

Somewhere along the way, two months in since that day of your nightmare, he casually opens his arms wide for you –not as a hello or a goodbye, not because it has been too long since you last saw each other, just a spontaneous gesture because he wants to– and you can't help but smile and cuddle straight into his arms. He sighs, body curving slightly to drap himself closer around you; and you feel the luckiest person in the world.

You take that as a license to hug him whenever you want. Sometimes he's in the middle of a conversation with his brothers when you walk towards them and slide your arms around him, pressing softly against his side; Hunter quickly growing into it and wrapping an arm around you as well without stopping the talk. Other times it's him who does it; like when you're watching Omega play with other teens on the beach, and Hunter come's around and hugs you to him while resting his chin on your shoulder, observing her.

People in Pabu start gossipping about you; rumours spreading that you might have started dating. You almost laugh when you hear it for the first time. Yeah, Hunter and you hug a lot, now, and it's undeniable that you've grown much closer; but don't friends hug too?

You start being more aware of your own actions from there on; and conclude that maybe not like that. And maybe hugs between friends aren't supposed to make you feel this way either; the way Hunter's does.

It's like that how you realise you're falling in love with him. You've always respected and admired him so much; but your feelings for him run deeper than that.

The hugs become even more frecuent as time passes by. You start to play with his hair too; Hunter even proping his head on your lap when you're resting on your bunk to demand some. You do it each time with a small chuckle and a rush of warmth and love that makes your eyes shine. You wonder if he's able to read the differences on your reactions, now.

You gather your courage, and when one of those times he relaxes on your lap again, enjoying the soft caresses of your fingers on his hair and scalp, you bend forward to kiss his forehead. Before you do, his breath hitches; his senses detecting some kind of movement above him. When your lips finally press softly against his skin, Hunter relaxes and lets out a small content hum. His right hand travels up to close around your leg, squeezing gently; and you restart your little massage.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You're honestly surprised with how quiet the rest of the batch has been around you; not a word of your unusual closeness with Hunter even after three months of development. Yeah, they steal glances of the two from time to time, as if expecting for something to happen; but there's no out of place comment or impatient complaint.

You're... hesitant about Hunter. About his feelings for you; sometimes so convinced they're as romantic as yours are, and other times swaying towards a strong friendship. Hunter doesn't kiss on the cheek anybody else, or cuddle with any other woman, for that matter; he's a bit reserved. But then again, he has never had a close female friend before, either; so maybe he's just curiously exploring what it means, enjoying the change. A bit of your own insecurities play their part as well. Hunter is such a striking man... And though you don't believe yourself to be unnatractive by any chance, you're not sure you're able to compete on his league. But maybe you don't have to, right? Hunter's not one of your past fleeting flings, not someone who values how you look and how many times you have sex in a week with as your main value. He's a decent person; someone who truly cares for your well-being. You snort at your following thought. Maybe that problem of your last relationship hadn't been you; you're sure you'd never lack the desire to jump in bed with Hunter. And you know he wouldn't pressure you if that weren't the case. That's the best part.

One week later, it's him who finally points out the elephant in the room. You're just entering their small apartment after watching a beautiful sunset in Pabu; deciding to make him some company while the rest of the Batch stays with Omega in the beach. He had stayed back under the need for some quiet and silence. After a whole afternoon to himself, you believe he must have had that covered.

Hunter's attention inmediatly snaps to you as soon as you walk through the open door; turning his body towards you and crossing his arms with an arching brow. He knows what's coming. It's tradition, now. You feel the inmediate need as soon as you're in front of him.

"You know... I'm one hug away from kissing you, cyare" he warns, amused little smile dancing on his lips while he gently stops your hips with his hands. "You're driving me crazy with all that physical contact, mesh'la".

You laugh. Your eyes shine up at him, insides warm and fuzzy with the raw affection he's directing towards you. His thumbs trace slow lazy circles over your hips. You love him. You have enjoyed the unhurried natural progression of your developing relationship; but you can't wait to take the next step, to finally being able to call him yours. You want to be that lucky girl you thought of once.

Oh well. If one more hug is all it takes...

You slowly stand on your tip-toes; and without taking your eyes off of him, your hands slowly skim up his arms til you're enveloping his back and shoulders in a half-hug. Your face is inches from Hunter's now. Your smile is impossibly wide and proud while you grin at him.

Hunter chuckles in amusement, quickly catching onto your logic, the silent question in your gesture; and one of his hands abandon your hips for a gentle hold on the side of your jaw.

"Love you" he mumbles, still smiling while he gives you his first ever kiss, making you giggle while you cling to his shoulders and kiss him back as well.

He deepens the kiss, demanding more of you while tigthening his grasp on your hip and pulling you closer. You make a satisfied happy noise with your throat, fingers slipping into his hair and body melting against him.

"Love you too".

THE END.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I JUST THOUGHT OF HOW GOOD A HUG FROM STRONG HANDSOME HUNTER WOULD FEEL AND THIS IS THE RESULT.

HOPE YOU'VE LIKED IT (LET ME KNOW)!

AS ALWAYS, REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APRECIATED.

REMEMBER I'M TAKING REQUESTS/PROMPTS!

Xx,

Sky.

PS. HELPPPP CAN SOMEONE PLS EXPLAIN TO ME HOW CAN I LINK MY ONE-SHOTS IN TUMBLR WITH JUST THE TITLE IN THE CUTE WAY EVERYONE DOES AND NOT LIKE I'M CURRENTLY DOING? TY!

(Back to general masterlist here)

[gallavichpreg]

“Holy fuck!” Carl tried his best to hold his breath… to keep his pelvic floor clenched tight, and stay calm while he waited for Ian to come back to the car with his stuff. It was yet another contraction, shooting through his entire lower body like lightning — the third one since Ian went into the convenience store.

Panicking would’ve only made things worse… but, with each passing moment, it was becoming more and more difficult for Carl to keep his cool. His water had broken hours ago, and the pain was as agonizing as ever. He just wanted it over. After months and months of endless suffering, that’s all he wanted… for his daughter to be out of his belly, and the electric pain to go away… but his labor — the most excruciating part of it all — was going so slow. He could feel the weight of her little body sinking lower in his abdomen — like a six-pound bowling ball, tearing through him. It was almost like he was constipated, but the sensation was a trillion times worse… far worse that he expected. It was in his back. His spine ached so much. It was in his legs. They were on fire.

“C’mon, Ian. Hurry up.” He grunted through gritted teeth. “I’m dying out here.”

His fingernails gripping hard at the leather armrests on either side of the passenger’s seat, and his socked toes digging into the rubber soles of his sneakers, he closed his eyes and thought about all of the advice he’d received in the last few weeks… about what to do when he finally went into labor… but nothing useful surfaced.

He wasn’t paying any attention to Debby when she gave him the full rundown of her labor and delivery, for the thousandth time. He’d heard it so often before, he just kept tuning her out whenever she brought it up again. He didn’t take it seriously when Fiona grilled him about his birthing plan... or when she took him to all of those classes for teenage parents. It seemed so stupid before. That stack of booklets that Lip gave him… the ones with the pregnant guys on each of the front covers… was probably in the trash somewhere, and Ian never really gave him anything he could use.

The only other pregnant guy that he knew was Mickey, but he wasn’t due for months… so, after everything, Carl was on his own. This was the very day that the last ten months had built up to… the big event that everyone tried to warn him about… and, with Ian still shopping around inside, he had no one there to help him get through it. Nobody by his side to make it any easier.

“Fuck! I… I can’t do this!”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for how I handle a messy kitchen?

Hi tumblr! I (f, 23) live with 5 other people (M, 20-24) in a student house. (i did not see the house or know who lived in it before I signed the lease, I was desperate for housing in an awful market and I live abroad so couldn't see it before hand) I've lived here for approximately six months and will live here for at five more because I can't break my lease and wouldn't have anywhere to move even if I could. Generally they're nice enough, and if it wasn't for the kitchen I think we'd get along fine.

The house's layout is done so I walk out and immediately see the kitchen. (I'm off a small laundry room to the right of the kitchen, while everyone else doesn't have to pass through the kitchen to leave the house) This means that I am always angered when I see the mess left behind with the knowledge that no one will clean it up unless I do it, and I see this every day.

It is always dirty. Dirty dishes cover the kitchen table (and would cover the counter if I didn't move all of them). Dirty pans cover the stove top, which is orange and brown because of the build up. The floors and counters are equally covered in crumbs, bits of food, etc that no one wipes off or sweeps. (if they do sweep, they don't throw it out and just leave it in a pile on the floor) Don't get me started on the trash cans that are always overflowing and never taken out unless I do it. Everything is disgusting and no one cleans it but me.

I have had endless breakdowns over this kitchen. The first month I was here I wouldn't cook because it made my cry to look at it. I came back after my holiday break a month ago to find it covered in dishes and disgusting to a point that I sobbed in my room and begged my mom to let me come home. All of my things are kept in my room, even when they're drying, and things are cleaned within a few hours of use.

I have asked the guys to clean up after themselves endless times, verbally and over texts no one responds to. I've cleaned the kitchen three times the best I can just to try and get them to clean their own dishes. Each time the kitchen returns to how it was before with dishes everywhere, the stove orange, and the counters nasty. I have tried putting the dishes into a box so we can still use the table but they spill over with no one cleaning them. Nothing has changed, and the last straw today is after someone set off a fire alarm (again) and someone had dropped a thing of spices all over the floor without cleaning it up on top of the table covered in trash and dishes.

No, I don't know who exactly is doing it but I have my suspicions. None of the boys will do anything and they just sort of nod and agree with my complaints (or complain with me) without doing anything about it. They defend each other and I have like no allies in the house, especially against the one who's sexist in a way I can't call out.

I am at a loss of what to do. I've thought about a group cleaner, which I'm looking into and a few others have expressed interest in, but I don't trust they'll pay me back for it and I'm not paying by myself for it. The alternative I'm thinking about right now is throwing out or hiding (not sure where) the dishes so they'll have to use dishware they can throw away. I know it's an asshole move, but I've asked and made warnings. I'm more wondering if it would be JAH or YTA.

Please, if ANYONE has any ideas share. I have no idea what to do anymore and I don't want to make the next five months that I can't move out of miserable. But I need to be able to leave my room and cook without wanting to destroy the house.

WIBTA for resorting to hiding or throwing away dishware and utensils so they have to use disposable trash so the house will be somewhat cleaner?

(and if I am, anyone have ANY ideas on how else to handle it?)

What are these acronyms?