#forgive me my head is so sore and words were hard

[gabevargas]

closed starter for @leylayilmz & @bellstrom location: golden hour beach bar

The bar heaved with people in costumes, drunk and letting loose. Gabe didn't know Briar could throw down like this, and he had to admit he was impressed. The place was popping, and everyone had put in so much effort with the outfits. He had chosen Jason from Friday the 13th to add horror to the night's festivities. Girls found slasher dudes hot, right? That's what Gabe argued when he received a few stares.

It had been a few hours already, and Gabe was already tipsy, texting Benny frantically to get his ass here. His mask lay discarded on the table as thumbs continued to tap his screen, pestering his best friend. He had agreed to some dumb trick-or-treat thing with a local mom and her kid. The thought of which made Gabe shiver. The idea of kids had always terrified him, yet his best friend was running around playing daddy. A far cry from the Benny of the Chicago days.

He felt someone hit his shoulder, and he turned to see a woman in a suit with what appeared to be an inflatable alien by her feet—the things you could only see on Halloween. "I think you dropped your buddy," Gabe teased, holding up the alien. His eyes finally took her in, and a smirk spread over his lips, dimples showing. "Women in black, huh? Sexy..." There was something undeniably attractive about a woman in a suit, the power. "Can I get you a drink?"

[dinogoofymutated]

You want X-Men requests? Well, I think I've got a few kicking around for our favorite Cajun.

Ok, so this is NSFW but like...imagine overstimulated Gambit to the point where he can only speak garbled French? Idk, I think that's super hot.

YES OMG YES. I absolutely love this idea I ran with it SO QUICK! I'm Southern, but not necessarily the Cajun flavor of Southern, so I tried to use a translator/dictionary for Cajun-French. There's not really a translator for cajun dialect specifically, so forgive me for some mistakes. I tried my best ;-;

Tw: MDNI. NSFW. Creampie, Overstim, Praise kink (kinda). Reader written while picturing AFAB but no genitals specified. No pronouns specified. Soft dom!reader

Anyone looking outside-in on Gambit's relationships would think that the man is a player, due to his flirty nature, and he could be to an extent, but you know otherwise.

Remy LeBeau was a lover boy. Sure he showed out a lot by flirting, but at the end of the day it's you he's coming home to. The moment someone tries to make a move on him and flirting goes to touching, you know he's shutting that shit down quick.

He was all talk, and you were happy to find out that extends to the bedroom.

Now having said this, it's not that Remy was a liar. He's incredible at sex, but at the end of the day when he's with someone he truly loves, his walls come down. Loverboy was putty in your hands the moment you decided to grace him with your love and praise.

"Plus, donnez-m'en un de plus, s'il vous plaît." Remy is trembling underneath you, head tossed back into the pillow and twitching inside you still as he cums hard. His hands are clenched around your thighs, grip loose enough for you to grind on him slowly as he comes down from his high.

"Remy, I can't understand you." You say softly, cocking your head at him as you brush some hair out of his face. He leans into your touch, chest still heaving. He mumbles something else you can't quite catch, before repeating "donnez-m'en un de plus, donnez-m'en un de plus." Again and again.

"Reeemmmy~" You smile, rocking back against him just slightly to make him groan and curse, before leaning forward to kiss him on the chin. He tries to catch you in a real kiss, but you don't let him, choosing to hover over his lips teasingly. "English, please, sweetheart."

"Je commence Cher, don't tease." Remy whines, leaning forward again. You let him kiss you this time, unable to stop yourself from giving into Remy's charms. You grind onto him a little more to hear him moan and gasp into the kiss, and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter. He mumbles again in Cajun, and you shake your head at him. He'd been trying to teach you, but you still weren't quite fluent. You decide you should ask him to teach you bedroom phrases soon. It'd make this a whole lot easier- but you wouldn't lie, you almost enjoy teasing him like this.

"One more, Cher. Please. Please, give me another one." Remy finally grunts. He looks at you with those pretty eyes of his, all blurry with his pupils dilated. You can't help but lean in and kiss him a few more times. You lift your hips, before sinking back down onto his cock with a little more force this time. He gasps out a broken "merci! merci," tears starting to trail down his cheeks as you start to ride him again.

"Oh- Only because you asked... so nicely." You moan. It's a struggle to get the words out, fighting your own oversensitivity, but hearing Remy crumble beneath you is worth how sore you would be in the morning ten times over.

[luv4fushi]

omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should���ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

[thetxtdevil]

MAE. 🫵

perv priest!soobin with corruption, worshipping and/or breeding kinks. go as insane as possible, or as insane as you desire to. either one. love u.<3

the devil is waiting in hell for you...

nsfw/mdni, christian religion themes

"let us pray"

the tall priest soothing voice echoes throughout the church as everyone in the pews mimics the bow of his head. then a disrupting clank of the churches giant wooden doors fills the room making everyone including the priest's bring the attention to the source of the noise, you.

you just moved from somewhere to live in someplace of a small town. quaint, cute town that seemed to make every sundays quiet. you decided it wouldn't hurt to join in the traditions. however, you lost track of time and now you were late to your first mass.

you tip toe to the seats at the back doing a double take noticing the priest's eyes on you. sitting down next to an old lady you give her smile and she whispers, "don't worry, father soobin is very nice." you smile at her again, but you couldn't help but straighten your posture and act intrigued by the reading when you again see the priest's eyes glued on you.

how pretty the new follower of the religion is, the beautiful colors casting over your face from the stained glass windows. soobin thought you looked like an angel sitting there yet, you maybe a devil in disguise for the burning feeling soobin felt in his stomach.

he's gotten well aquatinted with you the more you came to the weekly mass. he'd always start and end his readings looking at you. would "accidentally" purposefully let his finger touch your tongue when giving you the body of christ. priest soobin has also persuade you to start going to confession.

the priest thought you were pretty, but your voice is something else. in the little confession room, he was separated from you by a wall. you confessed that you've committed adultery by thinking of the most sinful things. you say you would pray more for forgiveness and to stop, but here you are back again to confess. priest soobin couldn't help but ask for specifics, maybe the lord is trying to tell you something, but in reality he just wanted to hear your naughty words making a tent form in his robes.

it became a bad habit. "lord forgive me" he constantly says but continuously jerks himself off to the thought of you. every time you come in to confess, after each sunday mass you attend, even when he sees you at the supermarket on his day off. you are the devil that has consumed his mind.

and oh how much you looked like the devil when you were on top of him. after everyone left the church that sunday afternoon, priest soobin asks for you to stay. to your surprise he confesses to you, "y/n you've been in my mind a lot, maybe god is telling me something but its... haunting me." he told himself he just need to experience this just once, he'll pray harder, more soulful, he just needs to see how the sin of sex is so bad. but... it was good.

soobin's bare back was sore on the hard surface of the pew's wooden seats, he whines, prays to god saying how good you were making him feel. you rode him, knees on the wooden seat like you were praying, the same beautiful rays of the stained window makes every detail of your body mesmerizing to soobin. his big hands usually pressed together, now pressed on your chest. the noises of skin on skin echo throughout the church.

"I know god likes to have more worshippers, do you think you can give me a gift of life?"

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @biteyoubiteme

[munsster]

hold my hand through it

A/N: oh, nothing just thinking about being taken care of by a lovely boy :( (gif creds: @keery)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: Even if there ends up being someone else to turn to, he hopes you always pick him. Especially now, battered and sore and desperate. 1.8k words.

Warnings: season 4 canon divergence, canon level gore, (secret) mutual pining, a hint of best friends to.... lovers?, hurt/comfort, pet names (sunshine, honey, baby), wound/scar description

The clench of your jaw and the way you slump into the dusty cushions of the Wheeler's old couch is telltale. Steve's side aches when your hand curls over your own ribs, the fabric of your band tee wet and sticky beneath your fingers. Nancy, Robin, and Eddie filter through the thickly fogged rooms, waving their flashlights up the steps and walls in slow circles. He watches the ashen air fill your lungs, the realization splintering your face, and you'd scramble to the bathroom if you could get up.

You glance up to find he's watching you.

"Steve?" you squeak. And tears spill over the rims of your eyes, down your cheeks, wetting the corner of your mouth and the column of your throat.

"Woah, woah," he huffs, skidding to his knees at your feet and winding his fingers around your wobbly wrist, uncertainty making you ache and hyperventilate even with his soft brown eyes honeyed over the blood like antibiotic. "Hey, eyes on me, sunshine, look at me."

But you're flickering between your soaked shirt and the delicate slope of his nose, between your scrape and the forgiveness he harbors in his slumped shoulders.

"There you go," he says, "can I...?"

You nod. Lifting your arms, it hurts. Like the skin was trying to heal just to be stretched apart again. You hiss, and he cradles your wrist back down.

"Ooh, careful, honey, don't push yourself. You've been hurt enough for one night."

"Is it bad? Steve," you cry, and he looks up to find your chin wobbling. It breaks his heart. "Steve, please, is it bad?"

"No. No, honey. It's alright." But the panic sets in around your eyes, wrinkling your forehead as blood trickles across your knuckle.

"How bad is it? Fffuck, it's bad, isn't it?" There's a maroon pool, slipping through the hardwood cracks beneath the tangle of your fingers and his.

"No, c'mon, you're fine. You're good," he huffs. Your eyes slink closed out of exhaustion or fear or the fact that it's so easy. "Baby, keep your eyes open, please. I'll go find a first aid kit. Promise me you'll keep 'em open 'till I'm back."

You frown, and his heart races. You were supposed to be the one to make it out. Back to reality. You were supposed to be his forever in the real world. Not just in this fucked up, pitch black underworld. Someone must be playing a trick on him. He's gonna wake up tomorrow to the sun hot on his face and you smiling sweetly back at him, fingers combing through his hair. He blinks hard just in case.

When he opens them, you're nodding.

"I promise." It sounds so weak dribbling from your cracked lips. Steve wipes the dirt from your jaw before darting to the lower level bathroom.

He roots desperately through the cabinets, sweat pricking across the back of his neck and his forehead and his scalp and his cheeks. God, he needs a shower and to make you better and to be home safe in his bed. With you.

You take a shaky, deep breath when he reappears with a dull, blue box under his arm. He sits beside you, wincing at the constricted noise that escapes your scratchy throat.

"What've we got... gauze, yes. Bandages, yes. Antiseptic, fuck yeah. We're in business, baby. Still with me?"

You nod weakly, hissing when he lifts your wrist into his lap. He watches your face as he rips the antiseptic wipes open.

"Gonna hurt, okay?"

A strangled sound escapes you and your head lulls onto his shoulder.

"Okay, sunshine. So proud of you, doin' great," he hums, pressing his dry lips to your damp temple. You grab for the hem of his sweater when he pats the blood from your gash. He can tell you're struggling to stay quiet, muscles tense and fingers wringing. You're tightly wound, and yet, you can feel yourself losing control.

Or maybe it's more like surrender. Relinquishment of your responsibility over your own blood. And you only do it because it's so easy to let him command it. Especially when he's so gentle in cleaning your wounds, why shouldn't you share your hurt if he's so willing to bear it.

His fingers spread neosporin over the cut, which is suddenly clean and only a little irritated. You can't help but watch him, so focused on packing the cotton and tightly sealing the wound with gauze.

"Alright?" Steve hums, and god, those brown eyes deserve their own gallery. He waits for an answer, but you're distracted and pouting at the thought of him putting your hurt before his own. Everyone has scrapes and cuts and soreness from climbing and running and falling. You saw it in his limp. And yet, he looked to you and didn't hesitate to kneel beside you and tend to your open wound. "Sunshine?"

"Yeah," you sigh, more sure than before, "feels better."

"Yeah?" he chuckles, "Feels better? That's good. I'm glad." He sighs, trying not to anticipate your reaction to the next step. He knows it's going to hurt. "Let's get you changed, okay?"

You bat your lashes up at him. That's what he was worried about. You're gonna do it, but it hurts his conscience to know how much pain the process will put you through. He stands from the couch, whipping off his sweater and shivering a little at the hellish chill.

Usually, you'd made a joke about his promiscuity. Something or other about him taking it all off. Maybe a catcall or two. He honestly misses it. The silence is deafening.

"Lift your arms."

You do, wincing and grating your teeth.

"Slowly. There you go." Once your arms are sufficiently above your head, he tugs at the soaked hem of your tee. He feels bad for cringing at the state of your side: sticky and dark red, a chunk of skin missing. Thankfully, it’s not too deep, but it still makes his heart clench.

He can’t bring himself to look in your eyes, knowing the strain and suffering he’ll find. Doe-wide and pleading as he tosses your shirt aside.

“Definitely won’t be needing that anymore,” he teases, looking at the bundled up pile of blood and cotton.

“Too bad,” you shudder, “that was my favorite.”

He grins.

With your arms still above your head, he carefully fits the rest of the gauze around your ribcage, cleaning the excess grime built up around the gash. He can tell you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as he pulls your hands through the sleeves of his damn yellow sweater. You always said it reminded you of a fuzzy bumble bee, a lingering title that he bore proudly.

He thinks you look so beautiful. Even now, streaked with dirt and ozzing blood. He thinks he'll never get used to your lazy smile and how you reach for his hand even when it hurts. His heart skips a beat feeling the warmth flood back into your fingers. "Careful, baby. Don't hurt yourself."

"Okay, Stevie," you whisper. You still have plenty of wounds that need tending to, but you're glad Steve was there for you. "Thank you."

He nods like it's all second nature. Shrugs it off like he didn't just save your life.

"Know what I'm looking forward to?" Steve says. It cuts through the fog suddenly. A welcome breath of fresh air in a conversation. "French toast."

You laugh, but stop short at the pinch of your ribs.

"Shit. Didn't mean to make you laugh. Well, I mean I did, just didn't intend for it to hurt," he says, looking a little guilty. Then, he looks over at you and his stomach drops. "Honey—"

"Sorry"—you choke a little, tears pouring hot down your cheeks, leaving clean streaks through the sheen of grime—"Sorry, I don't know why I'm crying."

"It's okay, you can cry. C'mere," he hums, resting your head back on his shoulder. He catches a tear from your cheek on his knuckle, wiping it on his collar then pushing the hair from your face.

"I'm just," you sigh. "I think I'm overwhelmed. And in pain. Obviously."

He smiles, sympathy tugging at his heartstrings when you inhale sharply.

"I know." It's mumbled against your forehead, his eyes closed and his voice hushed.

...

Eight months and a couple stitches later, the scar tissue on your forearm glistens gossamer in the sunlight as you face the push-door to the Hawkins gym. There’s a low roar coming from inside; the squeaking of shoes and blaring brass section welcomes you back. Steve had asked you to be his date to Lucas’ last game of the season. You couldn’t refuse.

Steve spots you as soon as you enter, his caramel hair sweeping soft across his forehead. Free of all the sweat and blood and weight it had that twisted spring evening. Seeing you again makes his heart soar. Knowing for a fact you’re safe and healthy. It makes him sweeter on you than he’d like to admit.

You climb the bleachers to the spot he has saved next to him. He kisses your cheek, which surprises you.

“I thought we weren’t kissing in public, yet,” you whisper. Yet, he remembers. He had agreed to that, he supposes. Only after you’d both hastily shared one outside your door one night and decided it would be best to share the rest of them where the kids couldn’t tease you incessantly. He scrunches his nose, shoving his nervous hands into his jean pockets.

“Well, you still owe me a certain yellow sweater’s worth of kisses,” he teases, “Besides, I don’t think anyone noticed.” You scowl playfully up at him, nudging his side.

“I told you you could have it back!”

“Nah. Looks better on you anyway.” He shrugs. He wouldn’t take it back if it came with a million dollars cash. It’s rightfully yours. “You know what I could go for right now?”

You tilt your head in amusement. “French toast?”

“You know me so well.”

stranger things masterlist

[loulouwrites]

THE NIGHT WATCH . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie's eldest son is sick - he won't leave his bedside. warnings: illness, swearing, thoughts surrounding the death of a child, melancholy, unedited, angst, violence, discussions regarding the death of a child word count: 1.5k a/n: a lil drabble form the home series! i'm honoured by the love people have for this family. i know i'm not the most active on here but i just wanna say if anybody wants to talk to me (about anything) don't hesitate to hit me up! (i am still putting my taglist together but I completely forgot about it when I wrote this - forgive me pls)

It had been going around for a while now.

Some illness spreading around London that had children dropping left, right and centre.

Some children barely got a sore throat, and those that did were usually better after a few days, but he had heard the stories of the unlucky few, the children that had been bed bound for weeks before silently passing in their sleep.

He hadn't thought much of it at first - he found stories about other people's children mind numbingly boring - even the saddest accounts he had heard had barely registered in his mind.

When Benjamin had started coughing one morning, he had rolled his eyes, insisting he wouldn't get out of school that easily. His wife - who was gentler and kinder than he could ever be - had laid her hands on her son's cheeks, instructing him to go back to bed with a kiss on his forehead.

It had caused quite a tiff between the couple.

"You're too fuckin' soft," Alfie had told her, pointing an accusatory finger in her face.

"And you're too fucking hard on him," she had spat back, smacking his hand away.

She had been right, of course.

When Alfie returned home that night, the house was eerily quiet. No children greeted him at the door, even Bubbe the dog had barely looked up from her bed by the fireplace.

He had found them in the master bedroom, his wife had pulled up a chair next to the bed, and was dabbing a damp cloth on his son's forehead.

He would never forget the way Benjamin looked lying on the bed, his face pale and his hair sticking to his forehead, the wheezing breaths he took being the only sound in the room.

"I sent the children to my mum's," his wife had said, sitting with her back to him, her eyes completely focused on her little boy lying in the bed. "The doctor said it's highly contagious so they shouldn't be around him - or us."

He could tell she had been crying, her voice quiet and shaky.

Alfie didn't say anything in response, because what could he say? He stepped further in the room, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on Benjamin's limp body.

"He's fucking boiling, Alfie," she choked out a sob, "he's so hot but he won't stop fucking shivering, I don't know what to do."

Alfie watched as his wife's body shook with sobs, putting her head in her hands as he sat on the bed, silent, confused, and so very scared.

"He'll be alright," his voice held no conviction, almost as shaky as her's was. "He's a tough lad-"

"No, he isn't," she cried, lifting her head from her hands to look at her husband. "He isn't. He's sweet and gentle, he isn't tough."

"Love," Alfie shook his head, leaning forward slightly, but she cut him off.

"It doesn't matter anyways, it doesn't matter how tough he is - or isn't - kids have died, Alfie, they've died from this."

She stood from her seat, pacing the room as he looked on helplessly. He had seen her scared before, he had seen her sad and everything in between, but nothing compared to how she looked now. Her hair was a mess, her makeup had smudged, and there was already dark circles beginning to form underneath her damp eyes.

"Listen," Alfie rose from the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her in place. "He's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," she whispered, hanging her head.

"And you don't know he won't be," he bowed his head to meet her eyes, "but we're going to do everything we can do to help him, yeah?"

"Yeah," she sighed.

That had been hours ago.

It was almost three in the morning as Alfie sat on the chair beside the bed, a dimp lamp casting a soft glow on his son's pale face. His wife had fallen asleep on the bed next to Benjamin, and the room was silent apart from the occasional raspy breath from his son.

This was all he could do.

All he could do to help his son was to sit by his bedside and watch him breathe, watch for any sign that Benjamin was struggling, and to press the damp cloth to his face whenever a shiver broke out of his body.

He had never felt more useless in his life.

If it were any other situation, they would know what to do. If Benjamin had cut his knee when he was playing, his mother would be able to patch him up and make him feel better, if he had gotten into trouble at school, Alfie could pay the teacher's a visit to make sure it never happened again.

But this was completely in the hands of God.

Alfie wasn't a particularly religious man - not in the common sense of the word, at least. He was proud of his identity, he enjoyed the community and sense of belonging it gave him, but he fell short when it came to the believing part of his religion.

He had always thought God was something people used as a comfort in their darkest times, or as an excuse for things not working out the way they had wanted it to, it was never particularly real to him. Yet, as he sat at his son's bedside, with nothing to offer him but a damp cloth, he found himself bowing his head, and silently praying to God that Benjamin would be okay.

He hoped this would be the first time God listened to him.

The doctor had arrived early the next morning, prodding and poking the sick child and humming to himself.

Alfie stood by the doorway with his wife, both of them shuffling slightly on the feet as they waited for the doctor to finish his assessment, their patience wearing thinner with every passing second.

The doctor sighed when he turned to face the parents, a frown on his old and battered face, his beard moving as he scrunched his mouth.

"I see no improvements," he had spoke, and Alfie had to grasp his wife by her waist when he body began to collapse, another sob racking her body.

"What does that mean?" Alfie asked, his hands still secure around his crying wife.

"It means that you should prepare for the worst."

"No, no, no, no," she whispered, her legs giving way for the second time.

"If he recovers it will be a miracle, I've seen stronger boys succumb to this illness."

Maybe it was the doctor's tone of indifference when he spoke, maybe it was the feeling of his wife's body shaking uncontrollably in his arms, maybe he was just looking for somebody to take his frustration out on, whatever possessed Alfie in that moment to let go of his wife and grab the doctor by the collar, slamming his body into the wall, was as fierce and raw as the fear gripping his heart.

"Now you listen here," Alfie growled, his face inches away from the doctor's. "My son will not die. You know how I know that?" the doctor shook his head, his face reddening in fear. "I know that because you are going to fix him. If you don't, it'll be your body they wheel out of here."

The doctor's eyes widened, and Alfie was sure he was about to start crying. "Mr Solomons, there's nothing I can do, I would if I could-"

"You will," Alfie roared, pulling the doctor back slightly only to slam him back into the wall harder. "You will find a way."

Just as Alfie pulled his arm back, his hand curled into a fist, his wife's voice called out to him.

"This won't help Benjamin, Alfie. Just stop it."

Alfie released the doctor, who gasped for breath, his face pale. He turned to his wife, his face softening. "He can't die."

She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "He won't die," she muttered into his chest, "you won't let him."

It was nearing nine o'clock at night when Benjamin started to stir in the bed. His mother had yet again, fallen asleep at his side, and Alfie was sat in the uncomfortable chair by the bed.

"Dad?" He whispered, his voice weak.

"I'm here, mate," Alfie said, his voice catching in his throat. "I'm here."

"I don't feel well."

"You're not well, mate," Alfie leaned forward, placing his palm on Benjamin's forehead, which was already beginning to cool.

"I told you I wasn't just trying to get out of school," Benjamin choked out, and Alfie let out a hearty laugh, startling his wife awake.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, sitting up and cupping Benjamin's face in her hands. "Thank God."

"You might catch it, mum," Benjamin groaned when his mother bent down to pepper kisses on his face.

"Still sharp as ever, I see," Alfie muttered, the tension in his body seemingly disappearing.

"We need to ring the doctor," his wife said, and Alfie shot her an unimpressed look in response. "A different doctor," she conceded. "Though him being awake means the worst is over."

"What did I tell ya?" Alfie grinned. "Tough as nails, this one."

[theonemeathead]

Sniper x Reader, "Lonely"

sniper x reader fluff bc he's my favorite obviously. tws for the implications of the word 'sheila', otherwise gender neutral :3. enjoy!

"Aw, that's game, mate!" Sniper laughed, heartily. You groaned, throwing your head back as your dropped the last steel horseshoe in your hand. That was the 3rd game you'd lost in a row. Today had been declared a ceasefire, so you had suggested taking the day to go camp with Sniper, your best friend. Truth be told, there's not a whole lot of good camping spots in New Mexico, meaning you were stuck in the middle of the dessert with nothing but whatever was packed in his campervan... and Sniper... by yourselves.

Now, you weren't one to crush. You prided yourself on holding your own, being 'independent'. But, base did get lonely, sometimes. Being surrounded by the same people every day for years could drive the sanest person crazy, especially the group you lived with. But, Sniper was different. He was kind and funny and honest with you. You admired his skill from afar, never really got in his way. You provided good company to him. So, when you had offered to go camping with him, alone... He felt his heart skip a beat. Your presence was different than the others; he liked being around you. 

Kicking a rock, you sat down on a log next to the future firepit. The sun was setting, it was gonna be dark soon. Sniper bent down, grunting as his knees popped, to collect the stake and horseshoes from your previous game. He slid them back into the mesh baggie, throwing them to the side before walking over where you had unceremoniously thrown yourself down in a fit of frustration. The Australian crouched, beginning to build the basic structure of what would be your source of warmth for the impending night. 

"No need to be sore, mate. You did good! I just did better."

You furrowed your brow, scowling at him. He snickered at your expression, clearly proud of his quip. Was it weird of him to find your annoyance so cute? You leaned to the side, taking a small rock and tossing it at him, the sediment bouncing off the top of one of his roughed-up cowboy boots. Everything about Sniper was so rugged, it almost hurt how stereotypically outdoorsy he looked. From his scratched aviators, to his sun-damaged skin, he sure wore that Aussie charm well. 

"Oh, c'mon, sheila! I'm just givin' ya a hard time." You continued to stare him down, doing your best to try and look intimidating. You knew you didn't scare him, but everyone has their dreams. Taking the lighter from the pocket of his vest, he took some kindling and held the flame to it. You watched, silently, as the sticks caught fire, crackling into an uproaring orange flame. Satisfied, Sniper stood up, dusting his hands on his trousers before crossing his arms at you. "Not talkin' to me now, are we?"

"Nope." He chuckled, dryly. He reached up, taking his dusty slouch hat off his head, putting it to his chest and bowing slightly. 

"How shall I ever earn your forgiveness?"

"Shut up... I'll forgive you when you start cooking supper."

"On it, sheila." And indeed he was. Half an hour had gone by and Sniper had brought his rusted pot of stew to a boil. It was filled with various game he'd hunted earlier in the day, ranging from coyote to rabbit. He had taken the edge of his kukri and sliced up some wild onions and some leftover carrots he had in the fridge, not letting them go to waste. Although it didn't sound appetizing, any food sounded like good food right about now. You both had been making small talk, conversing as the sun disappeared completely, leaving nothing but the glow of the fire and the occasional wheezey laugh. When came time, Sniper had been courteous enough to sneak a bowl and silverware for you from the dining hall. He only had plates for him, meaning he panicked slightly when you suggested this trip. He handed you the container, slopping a ladle full of dinner onto it. Immediately, you recognized it. 

"Did you steal this from the kitchen?" You asked, slightly amused by the gesture. 

"I mean—yeah. Didn't have another set of dishes, couldn't let ya starve." A small silence fell between you two. It was different than normal, it was almost awkward. You hadn't really thought about it, but you guessed Sniper had really never needed more than one of anything he had. You used your spoon to prod at the concoction, shuffling slightly as neither of you seemed to dare break the silence. Sniper had cleared his throat, grabbing a scoopful himself and sitting across from you. However, he didn't eat, but instead sat it on the ground at his feet as he took a stick, prodding at the open flame, absentmindedly.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" He froze. You stared at him, slightly shocked at how fast the words had left your mouth. They were in the air now and you couldn't take them back. And they stayed, too. Your words came out heavy, soaked in something Sniper hadn't experienced since moving away from his parents; Empathy. 

"...'Lonely'?" He repeated back. He scoffed, shaking his head. Him, lonely? I mean, yeah, sure he wouldn't mind having a companion around, but he's always been by himself. Even as a kid, he was an only child. This was new and unfamiliar; This was uncharted territory. You felt you had touched a sore spot, something sensitive about Sniper. You feared you had caused him to retract back into himself, making him regret ever opening up to you at all. 

"Yeah, well, I mean—" You started, eyes darting around as you conjured a response. "—Surely it gets a little isolating, doesn't it?"

"That's life, mate. I can't keep people around, considerin' my occupation 'n all."

"Well, what about me? You let me tag along." He sighed, swallowing harshly. You could tell you were beginning to fuel a fire, something that could quickly begin to spread and become untamed. Yet, still, you marched, like a moth to a flame. 

"This is my job, you just happen to be apart of it."

"Oh." There was a slight pang in your heart. It hurt, how he was quick to make a statement like that. You stared down, your bowl still full and growing slightly colder by the second. He seemed to know he had said something wrong.

"Listen, uh—"

"I guess I thought we were, I dunno, friends or something." You grinded your teeth together, your jaw clenched tight. You felt naïve, even foolish. Without another word, you dumped your bowl back into the pot, sitting the dirty dishes next to the log you were sat on. You didn't even look at him as you began rolling out your sleeping bag. Sniper was never good with words and now he was stunned, stuck between saying something and saying nothing at all. You folded the top blanket back, as if you were about to crawl in. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Don't be like that, sheila. I didn't mean it the way I said it," he tried to reason with you. He took a deep breath. The one person that he felt comfortable enough to be around and he had forced them back; Pushed them away just like everyone else. God, couldn't he do one thing right? If not for himself, then at least for you. He hesitated to continue, the look in your eyes sending waves of guilt through him. It was now or never. 

"I meant... Look, roo. I've always been like this, by myself. So, when you started stickin' around, it was different. It was change, and Aussies don't like change." You looked at him, quizzically. He sighed, his rough hands grabbing at the bark of the log he sat on.

"You should've just told me you didn't want me around th—"

"That's not what I'm sayin'!" He snapped. Your eyes widened, lips parting to retort, yet you couldn't find anything to say. You were dumbfounded by his outburst. He took his hat off, putting his tinted sunglasses around the brim, and placing it on the ground. He ran both of his hands through his short brunette hair, pulling on it slightly as if to soothe himself. "I don't know how to say it without soundin' pathetic."

"Say what?" You crawled over to him, noticing how his breathing was shallow. You looked up at him, sitting on the ground on all fours. He trembled slightly, his eyes screwed shut as he seemed to be lost in thought. Without a second thought, you reached a hand out, holding his knee and rubbing comforting circles. You had never seen him so distraught before, so wrecked about something. He was Sniper, the one person who was supposed to always have a calm head and a steady hand. Yet, here he was, rattled. You yelped when he whipped his hands to meet your face, both of his calloused palms rested against either side of your skull. With one hand cladded in a fingerless glove, the other one slightly clammy, he gripped you firmly.

"I really like ya, roo. I don't think I could take it if you stopped comin' around. I don't mean to sound like such a drongo when I speak, I just have never... had much to say, or anyone to say it to." His eyes scanned yours. Hardly, did Sniper ever take off his hat and sunglasses. You took the opportunity to flick between his greyed eyes. He was so scruffy for someone who wasn't even thirty. Your slid your hands from his knees, up to his wrists. You took your fingers and wrapped them delicately around his rough skin, careful not to push on the watch on his left wrist. 

"I like you too, Mundy. Even when you're whooping my ass in horseshoes." You smiled, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth across his knuckles. He scoffed, a big smile playing across his lips at your remark.

"You're still sore about that?"

"Maybe," you teased. "So, what's that mean for us, now?"

"Well, love, I reckon it means you're stuck with a wanker like me." He pulled you forward, planting a gentle peck atop your forehead. Sniper released you, ruffling your hair as he stood up, pouring water on the fire to put it out and grabbing his personal belongings. "Roll that sleeping bag up, we're sleeping in the camper."

"But, there's only one bed in there?" You mentioned, scrambling to your feet to do as he said. 

"I'm aware, darl'."

[nicolesainz]

take it off and maybe we’ll get along (cs 55)

Carlos Sainz x f!reader

Warnings: smut, sexual themes, sub reader x dom carlos, minors dni, foreplaying, angst, 2% of fluff

Summary: things tend to get heated when your and his favorite team play against

“Mi amor, are you coming down soon? We’re going to be late!” Carlos shouts from the living room as loud noises echo from the television.

“Okay! I’m ready. We can go now” I show up from our room, with my bag on one hand and my hoodie on the other.

Carlos and I have been invited to a bowling game that Charles organized with Lando, George, Alex, Lily, Pierre and Kika. We agreed that it would be nice for the boys to take some time out and for us girls to have fun altogether.

Carlos stands up, closing the Tv. As he turns around his smiley face darkens and turns into a serious, deadly one, as if I had done the most unearthly crime ever.

“Cariño, what are you wearing? He comes closer to me and I can clearly understand why he asks me that question, following his sudden change of expression.

“What? Don’t I look nice? I thought, since we won’t watch the game, I could root for my team by wearing my jersey” Carlos’s eyes scan me from head to toe, with flames flaring out of them.

At some point his eyes get fixed at the place in my chest where the badge of the team is standing. His index finger starts tracing it slowly, whilst his eyes rise and lock with mine. The soft brown that used to light has been taken over by a darker shade, sending shivers all over my body.

“What are you doing?” I let out with a shaky breath, almost whispering the words as he continues to shape each letter that is on my shirt and hits beneath my chest. His hand goes back up and lands on my heart that is currently beating very rapidly.

“What makes your heart beat faster? A single touch of mine or a glorifying win of your team?” At this point my nipples had gone hard, even through my bra and they were visible enough to his eyes. Also me tiptoeing to reach his height made my answer more clear.

I couldn’t utter a single letter and only deep breathing would come out of my mouth. Carlos knows that under certain circumstances has me wrapped under his pinky and I could never say no.

“How about, we took this shirt of yours off and test my theory, huh?” Before I even replied, his hands had gone under my shirt, caressing my skin. My eyes were shut and enjoying the sensation of his fingertips leaving tingles and sparks.

“Carlos, we need to-“ his mouth softly landed on my neck, started leaving wet kisses and sucking my skin, caressing with his tongue the spots he would leave his mark on.

“How about, you let me take care of my baby for tonight?” He whispers breathing deep on my neck and causing me to let out a soft groan. I didn’t have to agree or say anything. This was more than a confirmation to him.

“Wonderful” Carlos picked me up with one hand and with the other removed my shirt, pulling it from the hem and tossing it away. His lips attach to mine in a hungrily way, as both of his hands now, make their way towards underneath my thighs, holding me firmly.

I can feel his arousal growing against me and my excitement skyrockets. Breathing seems like an unnecessary task when all I could do is kiss him until my very last moment.

We reach our bedroom but instead of landing on the bed, he guides us to the bathtub. He helps me land back on my feet and starts playing with the hem of my leggings. His finger grabs the lace of my underwear.

“Strip for me amor. Strip until I fall on my knees for you. Strip until you start begging for forgiveness” he commands and I place my hands on my thighs, slowly pulling down my leggings. Carlos unbuckles his trousers and tosses them next to the bed. I have never seen him remove his Real Madrid jersey so hastily.

His beautifully strong built body, is a sight for sore eyes. The v-line showing off makes my eyes roll and I am slowly unbuttoning my bra, leaving myself exposed and extremely aroused.

“Leave them on baby. I wanna have the pleasure of striping you fully” he refers to my underwear, as he places me on the stand of the sink, separating my legs from one another.

His mouth lands on my thighs, kissing and licking them furiously, until he reaches the hem of my panties. His eyes make their path towards mine and as I am trying to control my breathing, Carlos exhales softly,

"I want eyes on me cariño. I want you to see how good I can make you feel. Until you drop on your knees for me" the seductiveness in his voice sends tingles all over my spine, causing me to bend more and open up my legs.

His teeth grab the hem and fiercely pulls down my panties, revealing my full names body to his eyes, which are sparkling once they take a good look of my embrace. The only person that can make me feel good about myself is Carlos. His words, his touch and kisses are my addiction, that I never want to give up.

"Qué belleza eres" (what a beauty you are). Do you remember our safe word, amor? I need to make sure I can worship you properly. And that consists any possible ways of fucking you and making you cum" my brain almost shuts off by his words, expecting the unexpected from him.

His fingers slowly creeped inside my already wet core, making me bite back a moan I was holding on for dear life.

“Oh how I adore this wetness of yours. Always ready for me” he mumbled against my lips, as his tongue was attacking mine, dancing softly against each other.

The pace became faster and faster making me clench even harder than before between his fingers. It was just the beginning and I needed more.

“Oh my darling, what do you desire?” Carlos took another quick look at my nakedness and flushed cheeks because of his touch. A smirk was shaped on his lips, casing my eyes to roll back again. I was trying to catch my breath but my fists were too occupied with the bedsheets.

“You. Forever you” I managed to let out, when I felt my hands being removed from the sheets, and being placed onto Carlos’s bare ass.

“I want us to cum together. I want you to touch me and be in command” his words shocked me as he usually was the one with the upper hand.

I kissed him once more softly, deepening the moment as much as I could, whist my hands were running all over his cheeks and thighs, pushing him inside my womanhood, wanting to fill my pussy at its maximum.

“Fucking hell. Keep up Y/N. I need you baby” Carlos breathed out as he was forcing himself even deeper inside of me, hitting my soft spot, earning a loud moan of his name that echoed through the room.

“Oh my word! Carlos!” I was in the seventh heaven, with his fingers playing with my aroused and hardened nipples. My fingers though were running through his long hair that had grown since the last Grand Prix.

“I’m so close cariño. You’re making me feel so good” he groaned in between licking my nipples and I was on the verge too. Love making with Carlos was one of my favorite things to do with him.

“I need you to get up and look at me” he commanded as his thrusts were getting faster and faster, because we couldn’t keep up anymore.

My legs were curled against his waist and I could feel his entire length inside me, filling me up with with every single of his juices, while I was covering his cock with my cum.

Carlos’s hands roamed through my hair, before landing back on my cheeks, caressing then softly with a kiss along the way. I always loved this version of Carlos. Soft, tender and angelic.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you, my love. You were amazing” his eyes were full of concern and my heart fluttered against his chest.

“You could never Carlos. You’re only making me happier as days go by!” I gift him a big smile and he wraps my entire body into a an equally big hug.

“I think we missed the date with the guys” I let out giggling, seeing all the texts from Kika and Lily worried as to where I am.

“And I think that we found a better way to spend our afternoon. One that we both enjoyed much more” Carlos winked at me playfully, earning a final giggle from me, before we restored to our calmness and peace against each other.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The King's Gift For His Flame

so uh heres unexpected wonderwall?? the idv ladies need more thirst for them (im very gay for Mary and Michiko) and it pride month! BE GAY, DO CRIMES

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: Threesome, bdsm themes/undertones, it just horny

“M-must you stare!?”

“Why not? One can admire another's borrowed gift.” The demon king says as he sits in his chair with his legs open and covered by his attire. You click your tongue as you look away, flustered and cheeks hot as you blush in shame. The devoted follower of the King of the seventy-two demons, Infernal Sin, is gifted you for the night. Her name is Mystic Flame and you know her well. As a human touched by the demon's influence, she is a perfect example of sin. She is the seven deadly sins, the mistress ready to please her king.

You tug the rope holding your hands above your head, you hate this. Naked with ropes wrapped around your body in a specific way to entice pleasure, the weighted clips on your perky nipples, and worse the eyes of the demon king who is enjoying watching you squirm. You were looking away until he stood up to grab your chin to force you to look at him. The sharp toothy grin on his face as you press your lips together to stop moaning as a pair of smooth hands with pointed nails cup and fondle your breasts, the chime of the small bells on the clips on your perky and sens

“Thank you, your worship!” The woman says as she likely slipped in while you were distracted and hating yourself for getting mildly turned on. You hold your tongue as she licks your cheek, “So tasty!”

“Nearly ripe for the picking.” He says before leaving back to his seat, “Go on, indulge in a bite, my pet.” Infernal Sin waving for his worshiper to perform for him.

“Thank you, my king!” Giggling as you squeal when she tugs on the nipple pinchers, “Do be vocal, you know how he adores your voice.” Whispering in your ear before her tongue traces the shell of your ear. You shiver, she is toying with you as she is the type to play with her food. You cannot help but be vocal as she touches you, litters your skin with her lipstick, your body begging for her gentle yet devious touch.

Her touch is clearly different from Orphan of Goetia and Infernal Sin; Mystic Flame likes to focus on spots that are not direct intimate spots. Sensual and slow, you can not help but whimper and moan as you tremble.

“Your arms must be sore by now, darling,” You nod at her words, “Poor thing, slowly, there there.” Though your wrists are still bound, she rubs your arms to help with blood flow and numbness that was going to start hurting. You hate how any touch has you yearning, have you giving in when she has you lay on your chest with you raising your ass. Legs parted, the rope between your legs is wet with your essence, it stained the red sheets too, you hide your face as the king is enjoying the show.

The muffled cry of Mystic Flame’s title as she uses the rope to toy with your neglected clit, laughing with perverted joy as your hips move and legs tremble.

“Ah!” Head up as you cry out as her fingers, two enter you suddenly, “Please! N-not so fast!” Your pleas are ignored as she is mercilessly fingering and preparing your cunt.

“Oh, by the sins, you taste so good!” Tasting your dripping wet pussy, “Sweeter than any ambrosia!” It is delightful to be able to taste what the king and his heart have been denying her since you were brought to this domain. You cannot help being a mess, cumming all over her fingers too soon. It was her intention as then feasted on you once more but directly with her tongue exploring inside your sensitive cunt.

The king is watching the scene before him is debauched, the king always enjoys seeing how expressive you are no matter how many times you have fallen into the abyss of lust.

“Mystic Flame.” His tone is impatient.

“My apologies, my king,” Speaking as she turned you over onto your back with your legs wide open, “It is hard to resist not indulging further. Do forgive me.” Pretending to be sorry as her tone is playful. You lay there helpless, incredibly dazed, trembling with need as your second orgasm was denied. You look above to see the woman's beautiful face, her smile wide as you breathe heavily, turning your head away as you feel the next part of her gift rub between your folds.

Her cock entering you is easy, filling, hot; likely a gift from the demon king for her to experience the pleasure he feels when taking you. The unison moan, the way you both threw your heads back as the final part of this gift is about to be experienced. Your arms are placed around her neck, her small breasts rubbing against yours, the way her mouth takes yours sharing the taste of yourself.

All of this is seen by the demon king in amusement.

He allowed for a time for his worshiper to have her fun, to enjoy setting the pace. A hum before he gets up removing his attire before joining both of you in the bed.

“Your worship!” The dancer moaned as he stopped her movements and he entered her cunt, “Yes, yes!” Obsessed with him to the point of worshiping the ground he walks on, Mystic Flame is completely overjoyed. His hands on her hips and pace set is felt by both.

“This is how you fuck (Name),” Announcing as both his subjects are moaning tearful messes, “That's it, perfect.” His mouth is on her shoulder licking a spot he likes before biting the other woman with his eyes on you who is lost in pleasure.

Mystic Flame is beaming in getting attention from her king, to be fucked by him while fucking you is perfect!

[folkookie97]

❝ twisted in bedsheets ❞ — jjk

— PAIRING: ex boyfriend!jungkook x female!reader

— SUMMARY: ❝ An affair with your ex who's your children's dad isn't a good idea. Especially when he's about to get married. ❞

— TYPE: angst | non-idol!au

— WORD COUNT: 2,617

— WARNINGS: Past/Secret relationship, Cheating, Coparenting, Husband!Taehyung, Jungkook has a fiancée, Mention of (2) Unplanned Pregnancy, Slight Toxic!relationship, Curses, Sad/Open(?) ending, Inspired by August & Illicit Affairs (Taylor Swift), Mention of brother!Namjoon, Mention of Marriage Convenience, Argument

— NOTES: i hope u like it <3 happy birthday to our bunny

— RELEASE DATE: September 01, 2023

— CROSSPOSTING: ao3

Forgiveness is inevitable for our individual evolution. It's necessary in any religion or even in psychology, which emphasizes the importance of that attitude and feeling so that we can have a better life.

Could that be the reason why things were so complicated?

Your brother used to say that you had extreme difficulty in overcoming certain situations, especially when people harmed you. It was as if you didn't care about their remorse. Even when years passed it was like you focused on the pain felt by your past self and refused to forget what they'd done.

Whenever Namjoon said that you would roll your eyes and vehemently deny it. Not only due to the discomfort of acknowledging a possible red flag but also because you didn't see yourself that way.

At least until that day.

"I'm seeing you received his wedding invitation." You felt a kiss on your face as Taehyung entered the living room accompanied by your two children, who didn't waste any time jumping onto your lap and showering you with hugs.

With your head still slightly sore, you returned the affection and watched the two kids running towards their bedrooms.

"How did you know he was engaged?"

The sigh that escaped Taehyung's lips increased your irritation. You made an effort to not rush him as you continued analyzing the expressions on his face. You noticed everything from the subtle bite he gave to his upper lip to the furrowing of his brows.

"He mentioned it to me."

You definitely didn't expect that. Anything was possible except for that.

What the hell was going on?

"Wow, amazing! You and Jungkook become fucking friends again?" You screamed and laughed sarcastically at the same time. "How'd it happen?"

Taehyung trembled at your voice's volume. He never saw you so stressed before. Yelling at him wasn't your style. Like never.

"My darling..." He attempted, sitting beside you and trying to get closer. Despite knowing the reason for your anger, Taehyung wasn't ready for the blow to his heart as he saw you move your body further into the sofa's corner. Away from him. "(Y/N), stop it…"

"Tell me that shit right now or I swear I'll sleep somewhere else tonight."

You didn't want your words to sound so offensive. You were even trying hard.

However, Taehyung knew you well. He knew you all too well. You couldn't fault him for being such an amazing husband.

You changed the question when the silence hung too long, "Why'd you keep this from me?"

“I was afraid you'd wanna be in his bride's shoes."

At that moment you knew Taehyung was correct even with such selfishness.

You really wanted to be in Jihyo's shoes.

You wanted to be Jeon Jungkook's future wife.

After so many years. You still wanted him back.

Resentment. Anger. Jealousy. Envy. Sadness.

Those were the feelings that took over your heart when Jungkook's messages showed up on your phone screen.

"Can you meet me at the snack bar near your house in half an hour? It's about my wedding. Take the twins if you can."

You rolled your eyes with an urge to send him to hell fucking strong.

So it was hard to believe that you were really fighting the intrusive thoughts and getting the twins ready for the meet.

Ivy wore a pink dress detailed with sunflowers and yellow shoes. The little hair bow was the same color as the flowers and contrasted with the dark tone of her hair strands.

Dressing Oliver was always a hard situation so you chose didn't stress yourself more than usual. You gave way to the little boy's desire to wear a simple Spider-Man costume and Iron Man flip flops.

You looked around for Jungkook when you arrived at the snack bar but couldn't find him anywhere. Rolling your eyes and biting your lip to push away the anger starting creeping into your veins, you decided to sit with the kids at a table farther away and near the large window.

The bell on the entrance door rang once again after you ordered a portion of French fries and hurried footsteps ran towards the three of you.

"Did you already order without me?"

Tears were already welling up in the corners of your eyes before you could muster efforts to contain the pain in your heart. The warmth of the liquid reminds you how pathetic you'd seem if you cried in front of him.

You couldn't show weakness.

"Hey, Jungkook. I see you're late... As usual." You commented and saw your children leave their seats to hug his waist and hug him. That damn tiny waist.

"Don't be so mean, my angel. You know I'd never be late on purpose."

His sarcastic smile caused a frown on your face. He was such an arrogant bitch.

Jungkook whispered something to Ivy and Oliver, who nodded with their little heads and hurried to the snack bar background where you knew there were some small tables with blank sheets of paper and colored pencils to draw with.

The owners of that place understood how great it was having a space to entertain customers' children. No one liked seeing kids witnessing adult arguments.

"Why'd you ask me to bring them if you just sent them to drawing?"

"I just miss my children, (Y/N). They're mine too, you forget?"

He didn't say it with a rude tone but a guilt feeling hit you instantly. Even though you knew he wasn't blaming you for those trip days, you were aware that Jungkook would miss the twins a lot and yet you refused to let them being at his house.

"How were the days in London? Business trips are usually quite tiring and I-" You cut off him when he sat across from you. Was he beating around the bush?

"What the hell, Jungkook? You call me here to talk about my work at my dad's company or talk about your fucking wedding?"

It was his turn to rolling eyes and wrinkling his nose while he noticed your impatience. You looked like a cartoon character with your flushed face, furrowed forehead and lips being bitten to avoid more shouting.

If he tried a bit harder certainly he'd glimpse flames coming out of your body. Really like a common facial expression in comics cartoons.

"Wow! Looks like you aren't happy for me."

"And how could I be?" You chuckled with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He couldn't be serious. He'd be cruel as hell. "Why are you marrying Jihyo?"

"Cuz I'm in love with her." Jungkook shrugged as if that were the most obvious answer in the whole world.

For the hundredth time since the wedding invitation papers landed in your hands, you rolled your eyes and felt the urge to grab him by the neck until he dropped dead.

"You didn't look so badly in love with her like that when you were eating me out before my trip just like a dumb needy virgin." You took the initiative to curl your lips into a mocking smile and Jungkook widened his eyes on your sharp words.

"Don't say that." He warned you with a sound coming out much rougher than you anticipated.

Instead of containing the venom dripping through your teeth, you continued the session of criticizing the character of the man in front of you.

"Actually, you didn't look to love her in any of so many nights we've fucking these last three years. But I think you loved moaning my name when I was creaming around your cock and also when you cumshot in my face. And maybe when-"

Your mind stopped processing any more humiliations when Jungkook punched the table and all the decorations placed there rattled, just like the instantaneous movement of your body.

It'd been a single punch. Very quick. But you couldn't help but feel scared in Jungkook's presence for the first time in all those years of going back and forth.

The silence between you two lasted for just three minutes although a discomfort in your chest felt like it hung there for almost an eternity. Slowly you looked at him; his trembling lips and eyebrows frowned. Almost like he was about to cry.

Anything about that sounded impossible to you. Jeon Jungkook never cried easily. Why was he so broken?

"Jihyo's pregnant…" The news came along with a few tears in the corners of his shining eyes.

You definitely weren't expecting this. He knew you weren't because whilst you were trying to come up with something to say Jungkook was faster and cut off anything you could think of.

"Taehyung found her a few days ago at the mall while he was there with Ivy and Oliver. She was buying baby clothes and he saw her briefly."

"It was the day he told me that you asked him to see the kids at your house before the agreed-upon time." You said more like thinking out loud. Jungkook nodded in agreement.

"He got really confused so he came to my house and wanted to confront me. I left the kids playing in their room and sat with him in the kitchen." Jungkook fiddled with his own hands studying the collection of tattoos on his skin with as much interest as he had when he got it. "I told him that I knew about it a few days before. Tell him about the wedding wasn't in my plans but he noticed my engagement ring."

There was so much to ask and so little courage to do it. Your mind was boiling with desperation and your heart felt shattered into pieces.

Goddamn fucking fate!

"How many weeks of pregnancy is she?" You allowed yourself to ask, not interested in more minutes of painful silence..

"Sixteen," Jungkook replied. Sixteen weeks! Four damn months! "It's a little girl. She'll be named Liz."

You clenched your teeth remembering the reason behind the choice of her name.

"Before our breakup you used to say your dream was having a daughter named Liz." You reminded him and he swallowed hard realizing that memory remained fresh in your mind even the years that passed.

"Yeah… But when you were pregnant it was you who chose the name Ivy, so I thought-" Jungkook stopped talking and widened his eyes noticing what he'd just said. "But I love our daughter's name! It's so beautiful!"

You almost wanna laugh remembering how upset he was when saw your pregnancy belly and found out that you hid the pregnancy from him. Annoyance for your secret turned to happiness after a few minutes of civil conversation. And it turned into shock when you told him it wasn't a common pregnancy but a twins pregnancy. He went back to being happy when you told him about the babies' genders and he went back to being upset when heard you say that you'd already decided the babies' names on your own.

And the little girl wasn't named Liz as he always dreamed.

“Well, you know… maybe if I'd chosen the name Liz instead of Ivy you might have changed your mind about us and our relationship."

It wasn't true. You loved your daughter's name and could never imagine it any other way. You were just hating the perks in Jihyo's life and the fake "perfect love" she swore existed between both of them.

"My angel… you know you were already engaged to Taehyung. He's… He was my best friend. I couldn't act that way. I couldn't go against your families' desire to see you two get married."

"It was just for the company's sake, Jungkook! Just for the reputation of Taehyung's family and mine!" You fumed and clenching fists before running the fingers through your head, where you tugged a few hair strands overly desperate.

"I don't give a fuck about that bullshit! It's because Taehyung loves you! HE ALWAYS LOVED YOU!"

If you and Jungkook weren't such frequent customers in that establishment, surely the owners of the place would tell you two to leave the instant Jungkook punched the table for the second time.

Though Ivy and Oliver remained quiet drawing in the other room, you knew your children well enough to know they were covering their ears when they both saw their dad so furious with you.

For that one reason you stared at Jungkook. Eye to eye. Tears to tears.

The resentment was high. However, it wasn't strong enough for your pride worthed more than your children's mental health. Jungkook looked like he shared the same thought and tried to normalize his breathing and clear his mind. He adjusted himself in the chair until his posture was more relaxed.

"Love you, my angel. I swear I love you with all my soul and I think that my love for you can never go away." Jungkook looked like he was about to break. "But it's not fair."

His voice came in trembling whispers and his eyes were teary as you've never seen it. "It's not fair to Taehyung, it's not fair to Jihyo, or our twins, or Liz. Much less to us. Me and you. We don't deserve to live like this."

Deep down, you knew it was true. And that hurt more than if you were lied to.

"So are we done again?"

You never really started over. Everything should've ended after the casual fuck when you found out your father wanted you and his business partner's son to get married.

Jungkook swore to himself that he was happy as a single man and you swore to yourself that Taehyung would be an excellent husband and dad, even if you didn't love him.

But then when Jungkook got back from his exchange in Canada everything snowballed. He found out about your pregnancy and the fact the child was the result of the drunken reunion you two had a few months after the breakup.

As if everything couldn't be more desperate, you were actually gonna marry his best friend the next quarter.

Taking on responsible fatherhood and coparenting was all he promised to you. The whole coexistence between you two should be only for the twins.

Of course it didn't go as planned. He was angry seeing you in a fake marriage with Taehyung, who still laid with you every night despite loving you with all his heart and not being reciprocated.

His self-control lasted just for three years until the desire to feel you again took over, and after Ivy and Oliver's third birthday party you two fucked for the first time since the night that reconnected your lives.

Jungkook knew you confessed the first cheating to your husband and he also knew that he could ask for a divorce. However, Taehyung loved you enough to remain a second option and only get out of your life if your true love asked you to come back.

But Jungkook never did it. Because of the fear of spoiling your life. Because of the fear of hurting Taehyung's heart. Because of the fear of being a bad example for your children.

The affair between you has never ceased during the last three years. Not even when he forced himself into a relationship with Jihyo to try getting over you.

He wasn't proud of it. Deep down, you weren't either.

And Jungkook couldn't allow himself to fail one more time.

"You were never mine to lose.“ It's the confirmation you needed. It was over. You and Jungkook were done.

On that August 31st you knew Jungkook was no longer the target of your anger. It was yourself.

And you would never forgive yourself for getting twisted in bedsheets of someone that were never yours.

[crazyringo]

Okay. Since I've started playing HSR, I hardly surfed Tumblr for any theories. Mostly started doing so 2.0 onwards, and most of them are pretty interesting reads. However, one theory for 2.3 has me lukewarm since it first started... And that's Sunday potentially becoming a Stellaron Hunter.

While interesting in theory, I honestly don't really see it happening. Yes, Elio is indeed striving towards the Script that displays a better future for everyone. And yeah, okay, Sunday wanted to ensure everyone's happiness within the dreamscape and with this line of thinking we can assume he'd want to ensure the best possible future for everyone being a Stellaron Hunter. And while we can all agree that he's a misguided good boy with good intentions, I still don't see him joining the group.

Here's why (my opinion): He'd be leaving Robin behind.

His beloved sister who, despite his betrayal (and by that I mean being the cause for Robin's singing voice), still hugged and forgive him for his mistakes. Despite the fact that he had failed to achieve his goal, he was still loved by the one person he cared for most. I honestly don't see him leaving her behind...

And if he did join the Stellaron Hunters, who by the way are considered to be dangerous criminals/terrorists among other things by the IPC and the rest of the cosmos, it'd be damning for Robin's career as a renowned songstress since she's related to Sunday, who's a family head and most likely a well-known authoritative figure outside of Penacony. I wouldn't be surprised if Robin had mentioned his name every so often whenever she did her thank you speeches in interviews on radio and/or TV

Moreover, before his boss fight, he did say that he wanted a fair fight with the Trailblazer. He wanted to see whose ideal was stronger. Clearly, it was the Trailblazer's. Personally, I see Sunday being a man of his word. He's confident, righteous, and very clever for his age. I don't see him being a sore loser. And since Robin forgave him, I'd like to think that he would no longer push himself as hard as he did before. For me, Robin's hug tells Sunday he's no longer alone. That no matter what happens next with the Family they will still have each other to rely on. I really adore/admire their bond as siblings and the theory of Sunday potentially becoming a Stellaron Hunter kind of saddens me if they're going to be apart

Now, if Hoyoverse DOES go through with this theory... Fine. I will accept it for what it is, but they better do a damn good job of it narrative wise. And if he doesn't, that will be great for me because the Halovian siblings will be together.

Not to mention, story wise, Firefly has mentioned more than once that the reason why she's in Penacony is to guide the Astral Express to the truth of what's going on. There was no mention of potential recruitment concerning her Script. Who knows? That might possibly change in 2.3, but with everything else going on story wise with Sparkle, the IPC, and the Family I highly doubt it's going to happen.

Don't get me wrong. I love Sunday's character, and I'm sure that he'd be a great asset to the Stellaron Hunters if he becomes one. I just don't see it. If anything, I'd rather have him be a new member in the Astral Express. Robin could be calm and pretty much be free of worries if her brother is surrounded by people she can trust. And they could communicate on the phone and write letters to each other when they have the time/arrive at a new planet. She'd be worried sick if Sunday was with the Stellaron Hunters, and of course if that were to happen there's hardly going to be any communication between them. I'd like our chicken wing siblings to be in a safe environment, thank you! 😤

Overall, the Penacony storyline has been awesome. Though, admittedly, I was kind of disappointed on the lack of Silver Wolf. Was hoping to see more screen time with her since she's paired up with Firefly for this assignment but~ nope! Our Wolfie, yet again, works from the sidelines. Other than that minor complaint, it's definitely been an emotional rollercoaster for me as I played through the story. And while I am excited for 2.3, I am also apprehensive about it...

Something deep down in my gut tells me that we're going to lose someone in the finale. And if not our precious Firefly, then it's going to be our good boy Sunday.

I really don't have much thoughts for Firefly aside from I obviously don't want her to die, so I can't speak much there. For Sunday, on the other hand, I can. I am scared for this boy. Fear has gripped my heart the moment I heard his voice line on that clue we find on the Grand Theater.

Sunday. Is. Scared.

Since the moment he's been introduced, he's been nothing but cool, calm, and collected. Now, this poor boy is scared. Considering he had failed miserably on what the Family had been planning for years, I would not be surprised if they throw the poor boy to the wolves. The wolves being the IPC. Since Jade is now in Penacony... I predict that this will not end well.

Aside from attempting to reclaim Penacony for the IPC, I wouldn't be surprised if Jade mentions about Aventurine's mistreatment during his stay with one of the Family heads to get a word in edge wise. To which, they would simply say, "We know. He's no longer one of us. Do as you see fit." Giving Sunday over to the IPC in exchange for Penacony's independence in the name of "Harmony" so that said "Harmony" would be restored on both sides. If that line of thought more or less happens on 2.3, I sincerely hope that the Astral Express will be able to save him before it's too late. That, or maybe the Family will use Sunday as collateral and force Robin to cooperate with their plan B to ensure Sunday's safety (I really hope not)

Something also tells me that we as the Trailblazer are going to be forced to make a very, very difficult choice for 2.3... As in, one or the other kind of scenario. And, of course, there's only ONE right answer in said choice and I really hate those...! *Glares at Black Swan, who forces you to hear out Aventurine's truth, despite me not trusting him (still don't tbh. I'd rather trust Sampo, and that's also bad lol)*

But yeah, those are my current thoughts as of now. Might be wrong on some things, but I at the very least wanted to put my thoughts out there before 2.3 arrives. I'm looking forward to the next update, and I definitely can't wait to bring my darling Firefly home! I'll finally have a full Stellaron Hunter team~! Jade, too. Me love evil gorgeous lady! 💕

Good luck on your pulls everyone~!

[velvetvexations]

I was commissioned to write how I'd torture someone without minding for how sexy other people may or may not find it. To my genuine but pleasant surprise the commissioner really did love it, so I thought I'd post it on here.

Warning:

The following artistic exploration of a hypothetical relationship between a dom and sub is very intense, and portrays extreme abuse that should never happen IRL, so please take the time to think about if that may be triggering for you before clicking through. It's told in the second-person, which may make it worse. Content warning for physical abuse, emotional abuse, non-con, drugging, unsanitary, gaslighting, isolation, misgendering towards the dom, and ableism.

Please keep yourself safe, your comfort matters. <3

Object of Affection

The day starts with you walking groggily into the dining room in nothing but the underwear I’ve been making you wear for a couple of weeks now. You look like you have eyes full of sand. You’re late, by the way. I’d have liked us to have left the house thirty minutes ago, but you had to sleep in.

You’re so selfish. But I forgive you.

You look directly at my breasts, because that’s the center of my personality and you have to address it like you would anyone elses face, and start to say something stupid, I don’t really care what. My hand is smacking into your face before you can get the full sentence out. That’s how I say good morning, sometimes. I laugh and tell you how cute you are, stumbling around like you’re drunk. The medicine I put in your drink last night really knocked you the fuck out, didn’t it? It’s a miracle you were able to wake up at all. I know it makes you a little more useless the morning after, but since I love you and I wanted to hurt you down there especially bad last night, I decided you’d be better off sleeping through it. It’s okay, you’ll be sore for ages and ages, you’ll still get to suffer for me, don’t worry.

To make sure you get the point, I grab you between the legs and squeeze as hard as I can. Pain shoots through you like lightning as you whimper and quietly beg me to stop, which makes me laugh, because it’s so funny for you to think you have any say in things. I put you to sleep because I’m so nice, and I chose to, but when I want you to hurt you’re going to hurt, and you’re going to thank me for it.

You fall to the ground and hit your head hard against the floor, because I pushed you, but later I’m going to tell you slipped and fell. My foot comes down hard on your groin, pressing into it with all my weight as I tell you to say thank you.

Go on, I growl, say it. And you do, through a pained moan that makes me want to beat the shit out of you even more, but I press a little harder and remind you you’re supposed to say “thank you, Daddy.”

It’s funny how hard that was for you at first. You were so nervous about misgendering a trans woman, but I loved seeing you squirm as you forced the words out of your mouth. It just sucks that you’re used to it now. It’s hard thinking of offensive things I haven’t made you do or say just to watch you look so uncomfortable you could just about die. I’m going to have to come up with a lot more, but first I’m going to take you out on a nice date.

I know you don’t like what I dress you in, but I do, and that’s all that matters. I have to literally do it for you since you’re too stupid to put your clothes on yourself. I drag your hot pants up for you, help your head and arms into your tank top with WHORE written across it in glitter, and I kiss you on the cheek for being such a good pet. Then I put on your lipstick, cherry red today, because it’s your turn to kiss me.

You get down on your knees, because I don’t go out unless people can see your devotion to me, so we’ve done this a thousand times. I turn around, and you press your lips right up against the seat of my pants, your lips flattening as you did your best to leave a big, colorful mark. Then, knowing how much you hate it, I rip ass right in your face, and chuckle at the fact that you’ve been trained to inhale like you desperately need my gas to live. You can be so well-behaved sometimes, thanks to me being patient enough to to train you.

I grab you by your hair and pull you to your feet, but before we leave, I clasp your collar around your neck, one last finishing touch. I like you down on your hands and knees, crawling next to me as I hold your leash tight, ready to yank whenever I want. I have to do that a lot, since you keep falling behind – and why? Just because the mall is a quarter mile away and you’re bruising your knees something awful? Poor thing. I don’t really care, though, beyond the fact that it gives me something else to yell at you for. And it’s not my fault how warm it is for Autumn, either. Why should I care if you have to put your hands down on far too hot concrete? You know that if you keep complaining I’m going to turn around and throw a kick right into your stomach, so you finally shut up.

As we walk, I notice someone doing yard work gawking at us. That’s the best part of going out together, getting to show off our love. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably nothing too bad about me, but you, the one who’s crawling like a dog? He probably knows what a freak you are on sight. Someone who wants to be treated like this. Someone who finds fulfillment in being my little pet clown. I almost want to drag you over to him just to see the disgust in his eyes as you get closer, but we wouldn’t want to get too distracted, now would we? If we stopped for everyone who judged you we’d make it home in a few hundred years and not a moment sooner.

In the mall, things are a little different. I let you on your feet, if only because the sound of your knees on the polished floor annoy the shit out of me. Doesn’t stop people from staring, considering you’re still on a leash. Then I remind you of that you had to do for me the next time we went out.

A look of pained confusion crosses your face, then resignation, and you do like I explained to you the day before, sticking your finger right up your nose, digging for a solid minute or two. I bet you look even stupider to anyone who isn’t used to you having nothing between the ears. I can’t tell, because I’ve just internalized it and fully expect you to be as much of a ridiculous dumbass as you are, but everyone else is seeing you blatantly pick your nose and wondering what kind of idiot you have to be to not be embarrassed by your behavior.

You are embarrassed though, of course, or why else would I have you do it? I revel in how red your face is getting, or how you keep nervously looking around to watch people watch you. You must just be an attention whore. It says “whore” on your shirt, doesn’t it? Just be grateful I let you wipe the snot off on your pants instead of sticking it in your mouth and eating it. Maybe next time, if you piss me off.

I take you into the alt-goth store, because I have shit I want to buy, and if I see anything that’d make you look cringe we’ll grab that too. My tits are too big for everything they have here, or most other places for that matter, but that’s fine because it makes them even more noticeable, so I’m not complaining when we go into the dressing room and you watch with slack-jawed awe as my boobs nearly tear through something that would have been too small on me even if I were flat as a board. I notice how affected you are by my magnificence, so I smile and take the shirt off to let you stare at them in their full glory, barely contained by a bra I needed custom-made.

There’s no warning when I suddenly reel you in by your leash with a violent tug, letting your face fall right into my cleavage. I put my hand on the back of your head to keep you there as your training takes over and you start muttering “I love Daddy’s boobs, I love Daddy’s boobs, I love Daddy’s boobs…” like a broken record. I laugh because I can’t even remember if you were this into tits until I terrorized you into worshiping mine.

Remember how I broke a finger every time you looked me in the eyes instead of my chest? I bet every stray glimpse of my face still makes you relive that just a little. Now you’ll never make that mistake again, and I’m as proud of you as anyone can be proud of such a useless loser. Which isn’t much. You know I’m the only person who can stand to put up with you, you’re not capable of eliciting affection from others, but I’m built different and I can manage to put aside my disgust at your existence to take care of you.

And I do take care of you. Aside from putting your clothes on, I also fix your hair, brush your teeth, occasionally wash you with the garden hose, and even help you in the bathroom because you’d probably fuck that up too if you didn’t have me to do everything for you. I don’t care how long you think you’d been doing just fine with those little tasks, even generously assuming you really do believe that at all and aren’t just trying to get out of the tedium of personal hygiene like a lazy slob. The only reason I’m not certain it’s the latter is that I know you really are dumb enough to believe your own imagination.

The fact is, I’m in charge of you and if I wasn’t you’d probably be dead by now, because no one else has ever really loved you. We’ve talked about that more than enough for it to sink into your soul and understand that your friends and family were always just lying whenever it seemed like they might have cared for you even a little bit. You were an annoying burden to them and wherever they are now they’re infinitely happier since I removed you from their lives.

I start to get all sentimental now, sitting down on the dressing room with your face nestled into my chest, petting softly down your neck. You’re mine and I love you. I love you so much. I know our relationship doesn’t make sense to you, because you can’t make sense of kindergarten math, but it’s odd to other people too, you know. They don’t understand that you’re not my partner, you’re my object of affection. More than anyone else I want to hurt you, forever and always until death do us part. I’m happy to stay monogamous because no matter how attractive someone else would look crying as they gagged on my cock, you’re my object, and you alone.

I reach down and squeeze your groin again. You start to quietly sob, tearfully thanking me to hurting you, because you know you deserve it. I start to get excited, and so, so full of love for my object, that I push you off me and onto the floor and take my cock out. Your eyes go wide, transfixed as you get to see your favorite show – your Daddy jerking off. You sit there and stare, the closest thing to sex you’ve ever had or ever will have, consciously at least, and bite your lip with tense passion. This is our equivalent of making love.

I tell you to get out of the way when I’m close, because I don’t want my cum ever interacting with you, and I get off, completely independent of you. It used to make you sad, but now you know it was silly to think you could ever be sexually desirable or worthy of normal human intimacy. Watching me masturbate is all you get and you’ve learned to be satisfied with it.

We hit a few more stores and get some Chinese to eat. I feed you, of course, gently placing every bite into your mouth because even that’s beyond your ability to achieve on a consistent basis and I won’t even let you try to prove otherwise. It’s either me feeding you or lowering your face onto your plate and slurping it up like an animal, which may be more personally humiliating for you, but I like rubbing in how much you rely on me as often as possible.

When we go home, you assume your usual position in front of the couch, still on your hands and knees but at least the floor here is so much cooler than the sidewalk. I toss my feet up on your back to use you as a footstool while I fuck around on the internet. I don’t pay a lot of attention to you, but every now and then I glance over at you as you struggle to remain in position, and I smile, and even without looking you can feel my smile hitting you like a cannonball as I think of ways I want to hurt you next.

Because I love you.

______________________________________________________________

"Object of affection" as a role in a relationship was inspired by the following text, posted anonymously to one of /d/'s Globalized Fetish threads eleven years ago:

About 33% of the population grows incredibly possessive, narcissistic, and devoid of empathy. For them, owning, humiliating, and abusing another human becomes a pathological need. Without a person to objectify and mistreat these people become incredibly likely to commit well-planned, large-scale violent crimes. At first, volunteers are selected, but numbers are too few. In order to preserve order, the normal 66% of the population opt to force many, many, non-consenting individuals into lives where they are maltreated, humiliated, and have no right to consent, privacy, or decision-making. In time, punishing a crying "object of affection" in a public space, forcing them to feel misery, or displaying them in a shameful way becomes common.

[forsworned]

⃘ ֹ ִ 🎧 ֹ ִ 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 ֹ ★ ִ ꒱

ㅤㅤ

♡ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. HIII I TOLD YALL ID B POSTING SOON EJKEMDKRND sorry it took me so long life has been v v v cruel to me but here is to my gyomei lovers

♡ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. smexy situations ahead, edging, m*sturb*ting, sub! gyomei x f. dom! reader

♡ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 hubby gyomei comes back from a long trip and he is begging for some release heheheh

Early mornings in May were slightly brisk and always nipping at your naked skin as you slid off your kimono to enter the waters. You hummed to yourself as you tread over to the man that was nearly just as tall as the waterfall that he was sitting under massaging his sore muscles from the mission he was on. Only the upper part of his toned body was exposed and his tanned skin glistened in the sunlight. 

His eyes were closed as you approached him and a small smile etched at his handsome lips.

“Good morning. I missed you, yome.” He murmured.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you pressed your body flush against his sturdy chest and his hand reclaimed the small of your back pulling you closer to him. 

“I missed you too, dannasan.” You mused at him in a sing songy voice. 

His cheeks warmed at the added cuteness of the nickname you had already given him. His touch felt electrifying against your naked skin and your felt his warm breath against your forehead before he pressed a chaste kiss to it. 

“That’s all you’re going to give to your sweet yome.” You teased as you pushed your chest against his. 

His blush spread to the tips of his ears as he hid his face in the crook of your neck causing you to giggle. 

“Don’t I deserve a little more?” Your fingers danced along his spine as they slowly disappeared under the water. 

“[name]!” He jolted slightly at your touch but it was soon accompanied by a moan. 

“You left me for so long, Gyo.” You pouted as your hand teased at his tip. 

And he really had. It had been two weeks since the last time you had seen him. He had, however, gotten some random villager to help write letters to send out to you. 

Unfortunately, it was nothing explicit, but it was still enough to make said villager blush as they wrote down his thoughtful and compassionate words. 

“Forgive me…” He breathed out, but you weren’t letting up as you picked up your pace. Your free hand had cupped his cheek and raised his head so that you could take in every pleasured expression. 

You bit your lip at your hunky husband who was putty in your hands as you pumped away at his hard member that was now fully erect.

“Forgive you?” You paused your ministries for a  moment and he pouted at you.

“Am I not worthy of forgiveness?” 

His lip quivered as he touched his forehead against yours and his member twitched in your hand. Something about Gyomei looking utterly submissive and downright resistless really turned you on. His puffy unkissed lips that jut out at you, his thick scrunched up brows, onyx black hair that was completely wet and the way his buff chest had rose and fell so deeply with every touch. Your touch.

“Only if you beg for it.” A wicked grin had made its way onto your lips and a small whimper has escaped his throat. 

“I’m sorry, [name].” He moaned out as you slowly started to pump him again, but not nearly enough to send him over the edge. 

“More.”

“I’m sorry, [name]. Please forgive me.” He groaned as he shifted uncomfortably as you squeezed the tip.

“And?” Your tone was pressing.

“Please let me cum.” He whimpered softly against your lips.

If there was one thing that satisfied you, it was your hunky husband begging you to make him cum. And even if someone were passing by, the rushing sound of the waterfall would muffle every moan. But this was your safe haven. You two had claimed it long ago, and it was rare whenever either of you were bothered. 

“As you wish.” You whispered as you pressed your lips against his capturing a moan while you stroked his dick at the pace he loved. It wasn’t too quick and it wasn’t too slow and oh how it made him weak in the knees when you squeezed it just right. 

“I’m going to…” His voice quivered and then melted into another moan as his body faltered against the rocks and his member and your hand surfaced. 

His member was hard and agitated, ready to release at any given moment. Precum had covered the tip almost immediately, but you felt a little merciful so you had continuing your strokes, indulging in every strained moan.

His large hand had grasped at your hip and the other on your ass as you were getting him closer and closer. The knot in his lower abdomen was slowly unraveling with every stroke until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“...cum.” He finished as he came in long, thick, white spurts that covered your hand. His body gave out as he completely laid back against the rock formation that the water had carved out that somehow perfectly fit his stature. His chest heaved as slowly collected himself from his climax. You giggled as climbed on top of him and kissed his lips. His hands instinctively find themselves around hips and he shyly smiled at you. Gyomei’s pretty rosy lips glistened from the sun’s rays. 

“Thank you, yome.” He breathed as he traced patterns on your thighs.

“No need to thank me.” You replied as your traced your fingers against his lips. “Soon these lips will be coated with my cum.”

As if his face couldn’t get any redder! You giggled at his flustered expression, but he was already tugging at your body to get you ready.

“Don’t you need a little break?” You laughed trying to grip at his biceps. 

He shook his head as he glanced up from his position adjusting you to get ready to sit on his face. A shit eating grin that resembled your own was now on his pretty lips. He eagerly licked them causing your pussy to throb.

“I don’t need a break. Not when I’m going to make you shiver at every touch."

[inhurtandincomfort]

The Black Syndicate Survival Guide

Have you found yourself caught up in a powerful criminal organisation? Did they neglect to tell you the rules, letting you find out the hard way? Well don't worry: Eldwin’s here to help! Begrudgingly. Don’t fuck up next time.

Aka what started out as me just making some rules for my own reference and amusement turned into them being accompanied by little drablets or snippets. Just a little something to tide us all over whilst I plan the next fic >:)

CW: Implied noncon, just the italics under number Eleven, it's very brief.

There are rules in the Black Syndicate that must be followed to maintain order. Although perhaps they’re less Syndicate rules and more Family rules. Lower ranks get away with more; the closer you are to the head Family, the more important rules are.

One: Do not speak unless you are spoken to. You better be good socially because woe betide you if you answer a rhetorical question, or neglect to speak when you were expected to. 

His jaw started to ache, a humiliating gag forcing his mouth open for long hours. Saliva dribbled down his chin and his face flushed when Clyde knelt in front of him, tilting his head up to look in his eyes with amusement dancing in his own. “What a state you are,” He tutted, tenderly running his hand through Eldwin’s hair before grasping a fistful, yanking his head back further. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before disrespecting me, hmm?”

Two: Do not look at your seniors unless given permission. Stand up when they enter a room, always keep your head bowed in submission, and make sure you kneel when you beg for forgiveness. 

“It won’t happen again Sir.” He sounded pathetic. He must look it too, bowing so low his head touched the floor. In a way, the blindfold made it easier - he didn’t have to see the smug look on Clyde’s face. “Please sir, I’m sorry.” His own voice made him feel sick. How had he fallen so far? Clyde hummed thoughtfully, no doubt enjoying the sight.

“Grovel a little more for me,” He said, and oh Eldwin was glad he couldn't see because that tone alone made him want to wipe the smirk off his face. "Then perhaps I'll take it off before the week ends."

Three: Senior ranks are to be addressed only as ‘sir’.

A sharp slap resounded through the room. “Yes, what?” The Handler demanded, towering over him as a new bruise blossomed on his cheek. 

“Yes, sir,” Eldwin hissed through gritted teeth. The word still felt like lead on his tongue.

Four: Appearance can make or break a good impression. Be neat, maintain good posture and dress nicely when representing The Family. 

He fixed his collar, smoothing it out to carefully sit over the bandages on his neck. He folded the sleeves back with a set of engraved cufflinks carrying The Family crest before drawing on a sleek waistcoat, wincing as his shoulders stretched, tugging on sore muscles and healing wounds. Black gloves were his final addition, softer and more elegant than the rough fingerless ones he usually wore, hiding bruised knuckles and the demon's brand, his ultimate mark of shame. He looked in the mirror only briefly, for he didn’t recognise the man he saw. It wasn’t just because of the makeup concealing dark shadows under cold, lifeless eyes staring back at him and hiding contusions that decorated his skin like paint on a canvas. He couldn't even explain it if you asked; He looked like himself, yet at the same time he looked a stranger. 

He flattened his hair, checking one last time that he was appropriately covered before grabbing his coat by the door. Alastair was meeting with business partners tonight, and it would not do to embarrass him in front of them.

Five: Do not cry in front of The Handler. He will not sympathise with you.

“Crying is weakness - weakness will not be tolerated.”

Six: Treat your fellow members with respect. Do not touch their wives or children, nor their property.

“It was a mistake, please, please,” A man cried as he was held down by others, legs outstretched. Eldwin pretended to muse over the implements he had been provided. Crowbars, cleavers, pistols, and more. There was only one thing he needed today, though.“I’m begging you, please, I won’t do it again, I swear-” “You’re right,” Eldwin said pleasantly as he picked up a large hammer, swinging it around to get a feel for it. A smile graced his lips as the man squeaked, growing evermore frantic to the point the men were almost struggling to keep him still. “You won’t.” 

Seven: Alistair is exempt from this rule. Alistair can do what he wants. 

“That fucking bastard,” Clyde growled, banging his fist on the desk. Eldwin’s never seen him break composure like this - he wonders what happened to make it so. “He has no right!”

“What are you going to do?” The Handler asked. “His word is law.”

“I know that! Fucking damn it, I know that.” Clyde ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth with his face twisting in various expressions, none of them pleasant. He eventually came to a stop in front of Eldwin, placing a hand on his shoulder almost comfortingly though his words were anything but. “You better just do as he says.” He was trying to sound calm, commanding, but his face hardened and he couldn’t hide the ripple of anger in his voice. “Just remember who you really belong to. Don’t you dare disappoint me now.”

Eight: You are not allowed to say no. You cannot fight back, you cannot refuse an order, and you must never say no. 

“No! No more, I can’t do it, I can’t do it, please no-” His words turned into a scream as the woman lazily flicked her hand, sending a shock of pain that coursed through his body like lightning until she chose to stop it. Her brand of magic was unlike anything he'd even heard of. She didn't touch him, nothing was visible but the feeling was some of the most intense he'd ever felt and he lay crumpled on the floor, gasping for breath, muscles still twitching. “You know we don’t like that word,” She chided, her voice sickly sweet. “I don’t care if you can’t do it. You will. We’ll go through this as many times as it takes.”

Nine: It can always be worse. 

That’s what they all tell him. You’re lucky. Be grateful. 

Ten: Be grateful for what you are given. 

He is grateful.  He knows what it’s like out there.  People like him don’t last long out there alone, he has the scars to prove it. If Clyde hadn’t got there when he did… 

The Family grants him protection. He bears their mark and it keeps him safe. With them he is safe. 

Eleven: Remember it can always get worse. 

That’s what he tells himself whenever he closes his eyes with a lump in his throat, hot breath on his neck as he lies still, too afraid to move, can barely bring himself to even breathe as he pretends hands aren’t wandering, trying to let go, to go anywhere but here… 

It can always get worse.

Can it?

Twelve: Do not die. Reviving people takes a lot of work; you will be punished. 

“This is tiring you know,” The woman says, sounding bored. There’s something off about her, something about her eyes, her smile, in a way he feels he’s seen before. "You need to be more careful."

“I’m sorry,” He repeats mechanically. He’s not sorry. He’s not much of anything anymore. She knows it, pale eyes narrowing in irritation.

“I think some time in isolation will help you reflect, wouldn’t you say?”

Thirteen: It’s your fault. 

“You brought this on yourself,” The Handler shrugged as he closed the door, leaving him chained up in the darkness, his desperate pleas swallowed by the void.

Fourteen: It is always your fault. 

He draws his knees to his chest, grasping a fistful of his own hair, his breaths increasingly quick and shallow. “Shut up shut up shut up!” He hisses into the empty room. Cackling laughter echoes in the back of his mind and he tugs harder, squeezing his eyes shut, nails digging into his scalp. Reminiscent of a child, sitting on the stairs listening to his parents arguing, arguing over him, they argue so much these days…

“Why should I?” The Demon purred in delight, “You brought it all on yourself, my dear,.” He said mockingly. Eldwin flinched,  feeling cold hands snake around his shoulders, the presence of a looming figure behind him. If he were to look, there would be nothing there. But he knows. He can feel the icy breath on his skin and he knows, he knows when the demon whispers, can sense his wicked grin. 

“You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

----

If you enjoyed this story please consider reblogging, it really helps the reach for others to enjoy it too!

Taglist: @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees (let me know anytime you want to be added or removed!)

I have edited and reread this so many times I'm no longer reading the words I'm seeing, I hope there's no mistakes but I'll come back to check in a day or two

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Would you say your spiritual beliefs have changed significantly since you first began exploring spirituality? Do you feel your core beliefs have changed or remain the same?

ooooooh hell yea! how horrified my 14yr old self would be at the shit I get up to now xD

I started out as a neo wiccan, super-duper new age. I'm talkin crystals, reiki, "smudging", rede thumping, love and light and pixie farts. There was some animism, I think I've always been one to an extent. I have very distinct memories of being angry at kids for "hurting" the plants outside the church at school and being absolutely horrified to hear that only humans had an immortal soul. Firmly rebuked that idea in my lil ginger gremlin heart, much to the priest's annoyance. Once I found wicca it validated those feelings of mine and allowed me room to explore them, though not to the extent I later would. Given that I was very fluffy when I began, around 2014, I was very much into (for lack of a better word) toxic positivity and I struggled to accept/acknowledge the darker parts of myself, nature, magic, occult/pagan history and spirits. While there was some animism there it was lacking nuance. It made me uncomfortable to try and reconcile this nature-based religion with the violent colonialist history of the country. So I ignored it.

I found, or rather was led to, traditional witchcraft in late 2017. This led to me fully embracing animism as the focus of my craft/spirituality and accepting all those dark things I had shunned. I moved completely away from deity worship. Tho, tbh, I don't think I ever really did believe in The God/Goddess. (I was one of those all gods are The God/dess types) I think it was more that I liked the sound of it, and I agreed that the divine feminine was sorely underappreciated rather than having actual belief/devotion. I was able to reconnect with my Maliseet relatives which was so instrumental in my developing a more nuanced approach to and understanding of animism.

Rather than craft being a religion it was a spiritual practice. A way to connect with the spirits and make things happen. I yearned for power, for witchcraft. It was how I survived living with my father, how I survived my ex's abuse and how I escaped. I was spite, hate and venom. Cursing, binding, dominating, sweetening and twisting.

My local lore as well as the lore of my ancestors' cultures informed my craft. I balked at the idea of worship. A witch makes magic, we do not bow. Why rely on a god when ours is the weaving of fate? What God would want such a cruel and twisted witch anyways... We have our devil(s), land spirits, the dead... our "little gods". I Didn't need or want a Zeus. After all, there was none of that in the lore. Coming from a catholic background I saw people begging God to fix their problems. Issues which, for the most part, could probably be handled pretty easily. I learned to see seeking solace and strength in religion as a kind of weakness.

Once I was free a vacuum was created. I had my relationships with spirit but I felt rather aimless.. I have reverence for my witch father, after all, it was He who opened the door, yet I felt a certain emptiness. There was no need for all this malefica I had been used to.

Eventually She appeared to me; all those hidden parts of myself were brought to light. I felt like a granite pebble. Hard and unyielding, to be worn smooth ever so slowly by the ocean. Try as I may to remain jagged the waves will win; I will be softened/polished... She opened me to love, not philia but rather something rather like agape. If you'll forgive my catholic terminology haha. I still don't understand. As I'm writing this, I'm in disbelief that I actually said that... that I actually truly feel this way now... This is new and not at all where I thought I was headed. I'm embarrassed that I ignored her for SO long and all because I couldn't find mention of what I was seeing/experiencing in folklore. Yet she was there, from the start.

I'm not sure where this will lead nor how it'll shape my craft. I'm exploring (and adoring) gaulpol. I'll have to, like my animism, learn how to practice it in stolen land. I'm unsure of how syncretic my craft will remain, as a large portion of it was informed by new England lore. My ancestors faith has always played a large role in my veneration of them.. then again they sent me messages/omens when I asked for guidance in identifying Her.. so perhaps neither of them will mind haha.

My craft began very terrestrial, and it will continue to be so, but it has become much more focused on water and stars than I would've thought. I always thought of the heavens as more the purview of ceremonial magic. One thing that's stayed 100% consistent is the imposter syndrome and fears/feelings of inadequacy xD

Good lord I fuckin rambled huh? TLDR yea shits changed, always been a dirty soil lovin animist from the sticks. THank you for the ask bud! Sorry about the novel that shit is wicked long

(I hate that when I'm tired the fuckin Mainer comes out)

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 5: Breathe

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: two posts within a few days?? what's this?? anyways, this is a short kind of filler, so i hope you enjoy! this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: People say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that is nothing but true after (y/n) and Lewis are separated in the aftermath of Market Garden.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of wounds, straight fluff pining

OCTOBER, 1944: HOLLAND

For Lewis Nixon, the remainder of September had passed in a haze of numbness, and before he knew it, the calendar had turned to the first week of October. The once-warm Dutch air had seemingly overnight transformed into a chilling autumn breeze. On that crisp October day, he found himself in the Battalion CP, meticulously going over recovered German intelligence alongside Colonel Strayer. 

Amidst their focus, a knock echoed through the small office, momentarily breaking the officer’s concentration. Colonel Strayer, engrossed in his reports, responded without looking up, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Vest stuck his head inside, offering a brief salute to the ranking officers before holding something out for Nix. “Cap’n, I have a letter here for ya.”

His heart leaped in his chest as he accepted the letter, instantly recognizing the familiar handwriting on the envelope. It was (y/n)’s handwriting.

Three long weeks had passed since she had been evacuated to the field hospital, and if he were honest with himself, he didn’t know how much longer he could endure her absence. The void left by her departure was suffocating, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe without her by his side. The mere sight of her handwriting brought a mix of emotions – hope, longing, and a sense of connection he had sorely missed, regardless of how they left things.

Sensing the importance of the letter, Strayer dismissed Nix with a friendly slap on the shoulder. “That’s enough for now, Captain. You’re dismissed.”

Rising to his feet, Lew quickly saluted his superior and stepped out of the CP, the chill of the autumn wind hitting him as he found a quiet corner to read the letter. His anticipation was palpable as he carefully tore open the envelope. 

As he read (y/n)’s words, he felt a rush of emotions that seemed to fill the void her absence had left behind. Her words were like a lifeline, connecting him to the woman he missed so dearly. 

September 29th, 1944

Lew,

How have you been? I hope you’ve not given Dick too much trouble yet. We both know how mischievous you can get without me there to supervise you. I miss you and the men dearly. 

The hospital is filled to the brim with injured men from Market Garden. Was it really as bad as everyone's said? Apparently, the British took more casualties than us. 

As far as my recovery goes, I’m feeling better by the day. It still hurts to breathe, and it’s also hard to walk without my stitches pulling painfully, but I’m gonna break out of this prison and come back to easy as soon as I can. This place is driving me crazy, Nix. Thankfully, the doctors said I should be out of here within the next few weeks. But will I wait that long? We’ll see. 

On another note, I didn’t get to properly apologize for the way I treated you before. Sure, I did say I was sorry, but we also thought I could die, so it felt a little rushed. So, I’m sorry for getting upset with you about Eindhoven. I know you were just trying to protect me. I hope you can forgive me. 

I’ve got to go on my daily walk around the hospital, so I’ve got one thing left to say…please don’t drink yourself away. If I hear one peep about you being drunk on duty, I will not hesitate to write Dick and ask him to throw out your stash. Just because I’m stuck here doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself. 

Please stay safe,

(Y/n) (y/l/n)

Lew lowered the letter with a gentle sigh, a warmth spreading through him. She was recovering well, and that was the best news he could hope for. A soft smile played on his lips as he reread her words. In his mind, he could hear every sentence in her voice.

“If I hear one peep about you being drunk on duty, I…” he muttered to himself, chuckling at her playful threat. Even while confined to a hospital bed, she still was trying to take care of him.

“That from her?” A voice asked.

Nix looked up with a smile to see Dick approaching. “Yeah.”

"How is she?"

“Good,” he chuckled. “She threatened to get you to pour out all my whiskey if it became a problem.”

Dick shook his head with a grin. “I would do it, you know.”

“Oh, I know you would,” Lew replied, raising his eyebrows.

Silence settled between them, both men lost in their thoughts. 

“How are you doing?” Dick asked. “I know we haven’t been able to talk much with everything going on.”

Nixon grabbed his flask from his pocket and took a sip. “I’m alright. I miss her like crazy, though. It’s like…I don’t know, Dick. I think I’m in love with her.

The ginger’s eyes widened, locking onto Lew’s face, which bore a boyish smile. ”I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”

“Now what do I do?” Nix chuckled bitterly. “We’re in the middle of a warzone and I’ve gone and fallen in love. They should put that on the recruitment posters, huh?”

Dick sighed, scanning their surroundings. “When she gets back you tell her.”

Lewis furrowed his eyebrows. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Everyone can see that she does, Nix. Trust me.”

A faint smirk tugged at Nix’s lips. “You know, Dick,” he remarked. “You’re not as bad as they say.”

Dick rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with Sink about our Market Garden casualties.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to be a part of that.”

Dick started to walk away but stopped and turned back to Nix. “Lew, be careful. You know there are rules, and the last thing I want to see is one or both of you getting in trouble.”

Nixon nodded. “Well, nothing’s happened yet, but I know. I will.”

With that, Dick walked around the corner, leaving Lewis alone with his thoughts. He took another gulp from his flask, the warmth spreading through him. Dick didn’t have to know every detail about his drinking habits.

Once (y/n) got back, though, he decided that he was going to reign it in. But until then, he reasoned, he could continue with whatever he needed to cope with the emptiness that had settled in his heart during her absence.

OCTOBER 31, 1944: AMERICAN 24TH EVAC HOSPITAL

(Y/n) lay in her uncomfortable cot, staring up at the blank ceiling as she had done for the last month. Although the nurses tried to give her some privacy by hanging sheets around her bed in the corner, it did little to block the sounds of snoring coming from Webster beside her. 

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but her side still ached from the wound. The pain was a constant reminder of their failed mission, and she longed to be back with Easy Company. The inactivity gnawed at her and the hospital walls felt like a prison.

The room was dimly lit by a flickering lamp, casting shadows across the walls. The war had taken a toll on everyone, physically and emotionally, so it wasn’t unusual to wake up to the horrifying sound of screams echoing through the halls. When the lights went out, it was the time when the hospital’s occupants became the most lonely. 

She missed the camaraderie, the shared laughter, and even the adrenaline-fueled moments of combat with her friends. But most of all, she missed him.

As she lay there, she couldn’t help but wonder how Lew was doing. His absence was keenly felt, and she longed for his familiar presence and snarky attitude. She knew he had his demons and struggles, but they all did. The war had a way of shaping and breaking people in unpredictable ways. 

A sudden noise from outside the room startled her, and she strained her ears to listen. The distant rumble of a jeep and the murmur of voices reached her. She imagined Lew out there in the field with Dick, and it brought her a sense of comfort to think of the duo out there doing what they did best, and that they were watching each other’s backs. With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes and tried to push aside the pain, allowing herself to drift into a restless sleep.

The small squeak of boots on the tile floors awoke the (y/h/c) with a startle. Her breathing quickened as she sat up slowly and pulled back the curtain, revealing someone with a familiar screeching eagle and medic patch a few feet away.

“Gene?” She whispered, face contorted in confusion.

The Cajun turned quickly and smiled distantly as he recognized her. “(Y/l/n). How are ya’ doin’, cherie?”

She took a moment to glance at his blood-smeared ODs, realizing what had brought him to the hospital at such a late hour must have been bad, so she didn’t question him about it. 

“I’m ready to bust out of here.”

He sighed, a knowing grin painting his lips. “Are you healed up enough to bust out?”

“Yes,” (y/n) nodded enthusiastically. “Doc said any day now.”

Gene raised an eyebrow, approaching her cautiously. “Let me see. If I think it’s healed well enough, I’ll take you back with me tonight. If not, you’ve gotta stay, alright?”

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of reuniting with Easy. “Wait. Seriously? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just like that.”

Suppressing a wince, she carefully laid down on her back and pulled up her shirt, revealing the thick white bandage that was wrapped around her side. Gene, ever the respectful young man, looked up at her for confirmation before he began unwrapping it.

As Roe carefully unwrapped the bandage, (y/n)’s healing wound was revealed. The site of the injury was marked by bruised, discolored skin, and a well-defined entry point where the bullet had torn into her body. 

Gene leaned in, his eyes focused and gentle as his hands hovered over the wound. He was meticulous and caring in his inspection. His fingers probed around the entry point with a practiced tenderness, gauging the healing process and the neatness of the stitches. He checked for any signs of infection, monitoring the redness and warmth around the stitched area. His eyes scanned for swelling or abnormal discharge, all signs that would indicate the need for further care. 

(Y/n) winced slightly as he pushed on a sensitive area where the stitches were pulling on her skin, and Gene immediately eased his touch, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Cap’n Nixon will be glad,” he smirked, wrapping up the wound.

(Y/n)’s eyes lit up. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes ma’am. It looks good. I’ll just tell the officers to put you on light duty until you’re a hundred percent.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She whispered, excitement brimming in her voice as tears threatened to fill her eyes.

Gene smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, cherie. Everyone’ll be glad to have you back.”

As Roe left to inform the necessary people, (y/n) settled back on her cot, a surge of relief and happiness coursing through her. She was going back to Easy, and she couldn’t wait to reunite with her comrades, especially a certain intelligence officer whose absence had left a void that was now going to be filled.

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