#has once again been reignited in full

[leighiche]

.

[reasonsforhope]

"With Donald Trump set to take office after a fear-mongering campaign that reignited concerns about his desire to become a dictator, a reasonable question comes up: Can nonviolent struggle defeat a tyrant?

There are many great resources that answer this question, but the one that’s been on my mind lately is the Global Nonviolent Action Database, or GNAD, built by the Peace Studies department at Swarthmore College. Freely accessible to the public, this database — which launched under my direction in 2011 — contains over 1,400 cases of nonviolent struggle from over a hundred countries, with more cases continually being added by student researchers.  

At quick glance, the database details at least 40 cases of dictators who were overthrown by the use of nonviolent struggle, dating back to 1920. These cases — which include some of the largest nations in the world, spanning Europe, Asia, Africa and Latin America — contradict the widespread assumption that a dictator can only be overcome by violence. What’s more, in each of these cases, the dictator had the desire to stay, and possessed violent means for defense. Ultimately, though, they just couldn’t overcome the power of mass nonviolent struggle.  

In a number of countries, the dictator had been embedded for years at the time they were pushed out. Egypt’s Hosni Mubarak, for example, had ruled for over 29 years. In the 1990s, citizens usually whispered his name for fear of reprisal. Mubarak legalized a “state of emergency,” which meant censorship, expanded police powers and limits on the news media. Later, he “loosened” his rule, putting only 10 times as many police as the number of protesters at each demonstration.  

The GNAD case study describes how Egyptians grew their democracy movement despite repression, and finally won in 2011. However, gaining a measure of freedom doesn’t guarantee keeping it. As Egypt has shown in the years since, continued vigilance is needed, as is pro-active campaigning to deepen the degree of freedom won.  

Some countries repeated the feat of nonviolently deposing a ruler: In Chile, the people nonviolently threw out a dictator in 1931 and then deposed a new dictator in 1988. South Koreans also did it twice, once in 1960 and again in 1987. (They also just stopped their current president from seizing dictatorial powers, but that’s not yet in the database.)  

In each case people had to act without knowing what the reprisals would be...

It’s striking that in many of the cases I looked at, the movement avoided merely symbolic marches and rallies and instead focused on tactics that impose a cost on the regime. As Donald Trump wrestles to bring the armed forces under his control, for example, I can imagine picketing army recruiting offices with signs, “Don’t join a dictator’s army.”  

Another important takeaway: Occasional actions that simply protest a particular policy or egregious action aren’t enough. They may relieve an individual’s conscience for a moment, but, ultimately, episodic actions, even large ones, don’t assert enough power. Over and over, the Global Nonviolent Action Database shows that positive results come from a series of escalating, connected actions called a campaign...

-via Waging Nonviolence, January 8, 2025. Article continues below.

East Germany’s peaceful revolution

When East Germans began their revolt against the German Democratic Republic in 1988, they knew that their dictatorship of 43 years was backed by the Soviet Union, which might stage a deadly invasion. They nevertheless acted for freedom, which they gained and kept.

Researcher Hanna King tells us that East Germans began their successful campaign in January 1988 by taking a traditional annual memorial march and turning it into a full-scale demonstration for human rights and democracy. They followed up by taking advantage of a weekly prayer for peace at a church in Leipzig to organize rallies and protests. Lutheran pastors helped protect the organizers from retaliation and groups in other cities began to stage their own “Monday night demonstrations.”  

The few hundred initial protesters quickly became 70,000, then 120,000, then 320,000, all participating in the weekly demonstrations. Organizers published a pamphlet outlining their vision for a unified German democracy and turned it into a petition. Prisoners of conscience began hunger strikes in solidarity.

By November 1988, a million people gathered in East Berlin, chanting, singing and waving banners calling for the dictatorship’s end. The government, hoping to ease the pressure, announced the opening of the border to West Germany. Citizens took sledgehammers to the hated Berlin Wall and broke it down. Political officials resigned to protest the continued rigidity of the ruling party and the party itself disintegrated. By March 1990 — a bit over two years after the campaign was launched — the first multi-party, democratic elections were held.

Students lead the way in Pakistan

In Pakistan, it was university students (rather than religious clerics) who launched the 1968-69 uprising that forced Ayub Khan out of office after his decade as a dictator. Case researcher Aileen Eisenberg tells us that the campaign later required multiple sectors of society to join together to achieve critical mass, especially workers. 

It was the students, though, who took the initiative — and the initial risks. In 1968, they declared that the government’s declaration of a “decade of development” was a fraud, protesting nonviolently in major cities. They sang and marched to their own song called “The Decade of Sadness.” 

Police opened fire on one of the demonstrations, killing several students. In reaction the movement expanded, in numbers and demands. Boycotts grew, with masses of people refusing to pay the bus and railway fares on the government-run transportation system. Industrial workers joined the movement and practiced encirclement of factories and mills. An escalation of government repression followed, including more killings. 

As the campaign expanded from urban to rural parts of Pakistan, the movement’s songs and political theater thrived. Khan responded with more violence, which intensified the determination among a critical mass of Pakistanis that it was time for him to go.

After months of growing direct action met by repressive violence, the army decided its own reputation was being degraded by their orders from the president, and they demanded his resignation. He complied and an election was scheduled for 1970 — the first since Pakistan’s independence in 1947.

Why use nonviolent struggle?

The campaigns in East Germany and Pakistan are typical of all 40 cases in their lack of a pacifist ideology, although some individuals active in the movements had that foundation. What the cases do seem to have in common is that the organizers saw the strategic value of nonviolent action, since they were up against an opponent likely to use violent repression. Their commitment to nonviolence would then rally the masses to their side. 

That encourages me. There’s hardly time in the U.S. during Trump’s regime to convert enough people to an ideological commitment to nonviolence, but there is time to persuade people of the strategic value of a nonviolent discipline. 

It’s striking that in many of the cases I looked at, the movement avoided merely symbolic marches and rallies and instead focused on tactics that impose a cost on the regime. As Donald Trump wrestles to bring the armed forces under his control, for example, I can imagine picketing army recruiting offices with signs, “Don’t join a dictator’s army.”  

Another important takeaway: Occasional actions that simply protest a particular policy or egregious action aren’t enough. They may relieve an individual’s conscience for a moment, but, ultimately, episodic actions, even large ones, don’t assert enough power. Over and over, the Global Nonviolent Action Database shows that positive results come from a series of escalating, connected actions called a campaign — the importance of which is also outlined in my book “How We Win.”  

As research seminar students at Swarthmore continue to wade through history finding new cases, they are digging up details on struggles that go beyond democracy. The 1,400 already-published cases include campaigns for furthering environmental justice, racial and economic justice, and more. They are a resource for tactical ideas and strategy considerations, encouraging us to remember that even long-established dictators have been stopped by the power of nonviolent campaigns.

-via Waging Nonviolence, January 8, 2025.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

[myladysapphire]

His Sapphire Princess (XI)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees. The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,875

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, incest, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f reciving), not proofread!

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part l next part

( smut after dividers by @zaldritzosrose )

It was the day of the wedding, and Visenya’s stomach was full of nerves.

Though she felt happy to be wedding Aemond, the past week being full of blissful memories as they both strived to reignite the friendship they once had.

But she was still a nervous wreck.

It was bad enough she was awoken at dawn, after spending the night with Aemond once again, her mouth wrapped around his cock.

Her maids had rubbed her skin raw, cleaning dirt that did not exist.

Her hair chopped and trimmed, brushed and brushed and placed in a updo, filled with thousands of pins, she knew she would spend far too long pulling out.

Looking in the mirror she only saw stranger, wearing a dress her mother had designed for her, her hair placed up in an intricate braid, and face painted, eyes smeared and lined with Kaol and lips painted red.

Her dress was beautiful though not entirely what she would have picked. It was white, with gold peaking though on the sleeves and through the skirt of her dress. With puffed sleeves and an empire waist.

It made both Alicent and her mother happy, it was the one thing they agreed on. So no matter how many changes she wished to make to the dress, she decided to keep her mouth shut and please the two feuding woman.

Heleana had been the one to wake her, rousing her softly as the maids pulled open the curtains. She had readied you and othered her own words of wisdom, though it was painfully obvious how different heir weddings would be.

Were Helan had cried though her ceremony, whilst Aegon has drank. Neither were happy in their union except when it came to their children.

Her mother and Alicent joined after she was ready, bursting thought the doors, seemingly in a race with one another to get her first.

"Oh Senya! You look beautiful!" her mother gasped, caressing her cheek "you are such a beauty”

“you are the very image of beauty, Visneya” Alicent agreed, speaking kindly to her.

She had always had a soft spot for her, Visneya noticed Alicent was always kind to her where she was cruel to her brothers, and even more so this past week.

She hoped her grandsires desire for the family to be united though this wedding would prove true.

With the waring woman finally seeming to agree, and both now approving of the match, Visneya could only hope that the building conflict would now cease.

“as black ties with green, blue is formed.” Heleana whispered in a dreamy tone, as she approached Visenya, headpiece in hand.

Thought they would marry in the sept, she had insisted on wearing the Valyrian headpiece worn In her family since before the doom.

“what was that ‘Leana” Visneya asked softly.

“blue is such a lovely colour” Heleana said, adjusting the headpiece on Visneya head, her voice still dreamy.

“yes it is” Alicent said, nodding her head. Her face having the usual perplexed expression she had around Heleana.

“we should get going” Rhaenrya interrupted, pulling Visneya with her.

There was two carriages awaiting them, one for her mother, Alicent and Helana and the other for her and Daemon.

“tala” he greeted her, “ao jurnegon gevie” he smiled.

Daughter….You look beautiful.

“kirimvose, kepa”

Thank you, father.

the carriage ride continued on in silence, though she had grown to have some what of a relationship with Daemon, she knew he was biting his tongue at the fact she was to marry that “Hightower cunt” as he to call Aemond.

The sept seemed to be packed to the brim, a vast contrast from hat her mother had told her of her own wedding day,

her wedding was a grand and public affair. Seeing as she would be queen after her mother, and Aemond her prince consort. A marriage many now hoped would appease the tensions.

All house of Westeros were to be in attendance. And behind them, separated by city guards, the people of king's landing. One would almost think it to be a coronation with how grand the ceremony was. An aisle was made, line with both flowers and guards, their swords raised high, as she and Daemon walked down the aisle.

The ceremony felt impersonal to both Aemond and Visneya, being such a public affair. Both having little belief in the seven. But their second ceremony, done just before the feast, was where they truly felt their souls bind to one, their hearts becoming one. Done in the way of old Valyria, their blood was shared and bound them to one another.

They were finally husband and wife.

There was a feast held after the ceremonies, the throne hall was again filled to the brim with lords and ladies from across Westeros. This time the two branches were separate, leaving no chance for violence.

Though with Aemond’s attention never waning from Visenya as they dined and danced throughout the night, Visneya was sure violence was the last thing on his mind.

The feast was over before they knew it, a bedding ceremony was called, and they were both delivered to their now shared chambers, naked as the day they were born.

As the doors closed behind them, Aemond pounced. Kissing Visneya possessively, his hands trailing her waist, gripping her neck to his. He had thought so often of this day, the night especially.

The days of teasing, of tasing her cunt, of fucking her face, had left him only wanting for more.

He had dreamt of where he would fuck her, how he would fuck her, and where he would make love to her.

He was glad they were naked, for her knew if she wasn’t, her dress would have been torn from her, mayhaps he wouldn’t of taken it off, instead ushing it up as he licked her sweet cunt.

Aemond kissed her, his mouth demanding. His teeth nipping at her lips, demeaning access to her sweet, sweet mouth.

He moved her towards the bed as he kissed her, his hands on the back of her neck, keeping her close to him, as if he feared she would break the kiss.

Reaching the bed, there breath heavy, tension thick as he leaned over her, dragging his hand tauntingly down her front, as she laid back on the bed.

Nipping his lip, she reached her hand down to grab his cock, only for him to firmly grip her hands and move to hold them above her head.  

"No" he ticked "keep your hands there”.

He moved down her body, leaving soft kisses as he went, before finally kneeling, his face perfectly level to her wet, glistening cunt. With his hands on her thighs, he moved forwards, blowing a teasing breath to her cunt.

She bit her lip at the feeling, a moan already begging to escape her.

He moved forward, slowly licking her slit, moaning at the taste he had learnt to love so much.  

He wanted to be slow, taunting. To take his time. But he had waited long enough, days of tasting her knowing that’s as far as he could go.

He buried his head between her thighs, his mouth moved forwards, his nose pressed against her clit, rubbing at her clit as his tongue plunged in and out of her. Moans spilled from them both, Visenya begging to move from his tight grip to reach for his hair.

Feeling her tug, Aemond stopped. Pulled back.

"No" he demanded, moving them back above her head, his head then returning. But as she tried to move her hands once more, Aemond moved back, his hand reaching for his eye patch, "give me your hands" he demanded, his voice dripping in lust, his mouth glistening with arousal.

"What" she was in a haze of pleasure.

"Give me your hands" he spoke again, calmly.

Her eyes finally took notice to the eyepatch in his hand and she understood exactly what he meant to do.

She placed her hands in front of her, a shy smile grazing her lips.

He worked quickly, her hands tied and moved above her head.

He once again kneeled, his face returning to her sweet cunt.

Sucking on her clit, his finger moving towards her hole.

Slowly entering her he, he moaned at just how tight her cunt was, her cunt wrapping tightly around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of her, in slow deliberate movements.

His tongue played with her clit, licking and flicking it just as slowly as he pumped his fingers in and out of he.

"Please" she begged, her back arching from his movements,

His face never left her cunt, he gave her a slow lick before asking "please what?".

"Please, make me cum" she begged.

He clicked his tongue, before giving her another slow, taunting lick. Before finally moving faster.

His fingers was pumping in and out of her in hard but slow movements.

Her moans increased, getting higher and higher pitched as he continued his ministrations. He was no longer taunting her but moved in fast but deliberate motions.

His fingers moved faster, finding a sweet, untouched spot inside her. The mere touch of it sending her over the edge.

He gave her a minute to recover, his fingers moving slowly to work her through her orgasm. His he moved to cover her body with his.

“can I, my love?” he asked, positioning his cock at her entrance.

“my hands” she begged, moving them to down from above her head, begging him to untie her.  

He cocked his head, giving her a menacing smile, before moving her hands above her head once more, “no” he said, voice stern.

He moved his face down. Taking her lips with his once again.

“now…can I fuck you or not?” he said, his grip firm.

"Yes" at this he plunged into her.

They both gasped at the feeling. They both had never felt such pleasure, the mere feel of each other giving them so much pleasure they felt they could come from it alone.

At first, Aemond did not move, allowing Visenya to adjust to his cock. before finally thrusting his hips in slow movements.

His cock was big, she was sure he was bigger than most men, and as he moved slowly to give the time to adjust, the stinging sensation slowly fading as his cock filled her, and pleasure quickly took over.

Though he kept his movements slow, Visneya was quick to demand more. His hips started to thrust in harder and faster movements, his free hand moving to play with her clit as he pounded into her.

As they were both quick to reach their peaks, his seed filling her as her cunt pulsed around his cock.

He rested his heads on hers, his cock never leaving her cunt, as he pumped her full of his seed. The image of her pregnant and sweeling with his child making his cock hard once more.

And as he flipped her over, pounding into her from behind, their moans filling the halls of the keep. Echoing even in the throne room, where the feast carried on and all hope for sleep lost on both the couple and guests.

taglist

@cathy1514 @iiamthehybrid @melllinaa @aleemendoza2425-blog @cassandra1995-blog @deltamoon666 @aelora-a a @ryiana @isa-beenme @adriennepoison @idontknow123465 @violet-potter @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar @leavesmealobe @deeeeexx @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @melllinaa

@ka1afbr @issshhh @soymilksmess @amanda08319 @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @haezarisworld @Yesterdayfeelings @censor3dbr @knyam @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @justbelljust @issshhh @av989436751 @eddieslut69 @girlwithluv0613 @elvishoe69 @beebeechaos @unapprovedtrash @rosedurin @adriennepoison @berightback1409 @barnes70stark

to be added to Taglist

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode III

Calm After the Storm

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, rut cycle, heat cycle, extreme knotting, marking, scenting, territorial/possessive behaviour, breeding kink, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, belly bulge, actual breeding, let me know if I forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Happy halloween guys! I know I literally fell off the face of the earth and I will make another post to address that. But I know I haven’t participated for @pandoraslxna ‘s kinktober event (I��m so sorry bby) but if I could only participate for one of the days it would be today for sure. So I definitely wanted to get this out before midnight. It’s not purely a/b/o but honestly entails all the aspects of it. I think we can all definitely tell who’s the alpha and omega here (Ralak is alpha material hands down, ofc). I hope you guys enjoy this one, and I apologize for such a wait <3 Also I feel like I’m a bit rusty, so apologies for any typos, errors, or just plain suckish writing.

ALSO a big happy birthday to my babe @neteyamsoare <3 love you and hope it was a good one!!

Synopsis: Your heat starts to subside, but Ralak’s rut is only getting stronger. What could possibly go wrong?

<- Previous -> Next

——

Only an hour has passed before you feel your not-so-gentle giant stirring behind you, waking you from your sleep. You’d both been on your sides for too long now and everywhere seems to ache. You whine when you feel his hips shift against you, tugging at the immense pressure between your hips. The bulge protruding from your lower abdomen has barely gone down and you feel almost as full as you did when he initially emptied his load inside you.

Silken strands of his hair fall onto your prickled skin as he props himself up on his elbow from behind you, perching his chin on your throbbing shoulder. He inhales deeply – longingly. His hot breath gently blows against your neck just as you feel his arm snake under your leg and yank it back in one rough tug.

“Ralak.” His name falls from your lips through a nearly inaudible croak. “‘m so full.” You barely mumble out, rolling your head to the side. Yet, the flame within you is without a doubt reigniting with a vengeance.

And he can sense it.

Simply by the way you push back into him, making that bulge in your belly protrude a little more. His large hand resting on your stomach can indubitably feel it. And the smile that it puts on his face is almost baleful, bearing his lengthy canines that yearn to sink deep into you once more. “Sorry, tìyawn [love].”

He just can’t help it.

No matter how hard he tried. The desire—no, the need—to fuck into you and claim you as his time and time again is… irrepressible. In this moment, nothing else felt better than your little, used cunt hugging his cock so tightly that it almost hurts. He yearns to fill you over and over. Again and again until your womb is overflowing with his seed. The mere thought has his balls pulling tight to his body, firming up by the second all just to flood your womb again.

“Muntxate [wife].” Ralak growls into your neck, sliding his hand down to your inner thigh. “I will try to be–” He groans slowly, his pointer finger now burrowing itself between your tied pelvises, “–flrr [gentle].”

The final accented word comes out roughly, and if it weren’t for his finger slipping past his knot and into your cunt, you would’ve probably heard it clearly. You yelp out when he traces his finger around his knot, stretching your already taut skin, attempting to work a little space to allow his bulge to slip out.

It's all consuming and you’re simply too overwhelmed with his size that you fail to realise how your body is synced with his and bearing down to push him out. All whilst he’s struggling to fight the snap of hips to avoid hurting you. But the tugging is nothing like you’ve felt before adn you can finally understand why he was so insistent in the first place.

ut there was no getting out of this now, not that you even wanted to.

“It–it’s…” You brace yourself by grabbing onto his forearm, “...t-too big.”

“Ngaytxoa [sorry]” He huffs out his fourth apology, losing himself once again as his hips finally jerk back out of his control.

Pop.

His knot slips out of you with such force that the squelch it makes is as loud as your whimper. It’s so wet and slippery that his cock follows behind his knot, sliding out of you effortlessly. He’s more than half-hard yet so heavy and hung it rests close to your knee. Then you feel it. His cum dribbling down your thigh, still warm and sticky as if he just filled you up seconds ago.

It’s such a conflicting feeling — a mixture of relief and pent up frustration. Your heat is still in full bloom, despite it being so quenched until you’re almost nauseated. It’s as if you were two pieces perfectly linked together, allowing nature to run its course with no second thought. He grunts when he feels the crisp night air against his groin, his cock now springing up to its full length in just a few seconds.

He, too, feels some sort of feverish way now. Itching to be back inside your warmth, enveloped by your gummy, slimy walls. He opts to pepper wet kisses along your neck, and then up to your jaw, lingering there as he tries to distract himself from the ache to shove it back inside you.

Until it becomes too much.

“Tanhì.” He moans into your ear, heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open as his tongue trails the skin on the back of your neck. “Need you.” It’s his way of begging for permission. Permission to slam his cock back inside you and hammer into you until the annoying itch deep in his core goes away again. You were the only one to make it go away. To stop the hurt. “Please.” He whines out a plea of desperation, now gritting his teeth from the way his stomach is tensing. “Now.”

But that last plea wasn’t much of a question, no. It was more of a demand. A way of saying, ‘give it to me, or I’ll take you on my own terms’.

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath, sliding your free hand down your side to hook it under your leg. You pull it back and reposition your hips to give him access to your cunt. “P-Put it in, ‘Lak.”

Ralak’s hips begin to stutter — the leaking, mushroomy tip of his cock now repeatedly prodding between your puffed up folds. His breath turns raggedy as he tries to guide himself back inside you handsfree. Your slick is overflowing, making it even more difficult for him to align himself with your entrance. The frustration brewing within him bubbles over when his cockhead glides past your swollen clit instead of sinking in your cunt. So he pulls back in one swift move and —

Thrust.

Your body jolts from how quickly he slams every inch of his cock inside you, forcing you split-open. Ralak huffs a shaky sigh of relief, his breathing growing a little steadier now that he’s deep inside his mate. Meanwhile, your mouth hangs agape yet no sound falls from your lips. Your eyes well up with tears and your ears lay flat against your skull. Your body is in complete submission to the beast dominating it and there’s nothing else you can do but give in to the pleasure.

“Your scent.” He whispers open-mouthed, tips of his canines grazing the nape of your neck. “It is driving me crazy.” You release the breath that you didn’t even realise you were holding. You didn’t even know what to say. Not like you could really say much right now anyways. You’re too lost in the fog of your own heat. For once, Ralak is doing most of the talking. “It makes me…” He snaps his hips back, only leaving half of his length inside you. “...lose myself completely.”

A deep roll of his hips.

A lewd moan dripping off your lips. 

“How do you do that?” He huffs, pressing his teeth against your neck. You don’t answer yet again. You just can’t find the words. Not right now. Not when he’s so deep inside you. “Hm?” A deep growl vibrates up his throat, his teeth just barely piercing the first layer of your silken skin.

“I—” You’re cut off by your own squeal when you feel the sting of his bite. Your breath catches in your throat and he immediately unlatches, lapping at the nicked skin to soothe it. “Sorry.” He whispers breathlessly, planting a quick kiss on each of your marks. “Sorry. Sorry.” A few more apologies flow from his mouth, as if he were drunk off of too much fermented fruit. Somewhat lucid but still so spaced. “I cannot —ngh— help myself.”

Thrust.

“‘M sorry.”

He knows he went a little too deep just now. But you feel so fucking good around his cock.

Chomp.

Another mark. Right on the bend of your shoulder, next to your first.

“Ngaytxoa [I’m sorry]”

A small cry from your quivering lips.

“S-Stop. No more apologies. I am yours to do what you p-please with.” You finally get out in one, weary breath.

Ralak’s languid, deep thrusts are laced with desperation. And with each stroke they become harsher and harsher. Faster and faster. Now he’s got your full permission he lets go once more, falling into the thick fog of his rut.

Within seconds his cock is pumping in and out of you, his half-deflated knot continuously prodding and poking at your entrance. The tip of his cock drags against your walls, putting an immense pressure right on your sweet spot. Yet still, sounds barely fall from your flushed lips. You’re too out of it. Too focused on the raw sensations rippling through you all at once. His overwhelming pheromones. His marking. His relentless pounding.

Rather, hot tears well over your eyes and stream down your face.

He can’t stop slamming himself inside you. He doesn’t want it to stop. It’s absolute rapture and he’s unapologetically drowning in it.

“Tanhì. Tanhì.” He groans needily. “y/n.”

He only says your name when he’s serious about something.

And hearing it drip from his tongue onto the nape of your neck has your hairs standing high and your clit throbbing.

“Eywa. Yes, ‘lak? T-Tell me what you need.” You blubber out, tightening your grip on his forearm.

“Haa — spread yourself.” He demands, prompting you to tuck your leg back as far as you can. His pace quickens, hips striking you with a sinful vengeance. But no matter how hard he fucks you, or how deep he buries himself inside you — its just not enough. He needs to be closer. To be deeper. To really be inside you. To knot you.

“More.” He grunts, slowing his thrusts into rocking, grinding himself inside your slippery, tight cunt.

You go to tug at your leg and meet nothing but resistance. “I-I’m trying.” You can feel it now. Perhaps it’s the bond or maybe it’s the way his knot is working you open but he’s growing more and more frustrated by the thrust.

“Mmmh. Wider.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” You’re quick to answer, feeling nothing but pressure from the way he’s trying to shove more of himself inside you.

“Agh.” He growls in frustration, pulling out of you and grabbing you by the ankle to flip you onto your back.

Ralak situates himself between your legs without hesitation and pushes them so far back your knees graze against the tips of your ears. You can barely breathe in this position and are having a hard time seeing anything else but his raging cock at your entrance. You can feel the burn in your thighs from how far back he’s shoving your knees but that sting is masked by the pleasure of him plunging himself back into your pussy.

The moan that rips from your lips is obscene and like no other. The crown of his cock is drilling itself directly into your sweet spot, causing it to swell with unadulterated pleasure. And each time he pulls out just to sink it back inside you he winds you in the process – making you sputter out absolute nonsense. Even he knows you're close, despite being in the thick of his rut.

But frankly, he doesn't care.

All he’s concerned about is satisfying his own urges.

“Not enough.” He grits through his teeth as his eyes shift to an even deeper shade of mauve. “‘ts not enough.” He pants, voice laced with something of worry. Panic that this feeling won’t go away. It makes you panic too, wondering if you’re doing enough for him. If he’s going to take even more from you. If you can manage it.

“You’re okay. Do what you need.” You try to reassure him, grasping your feet and holding them back–opening yourself up even more. But fuck, that only made things worst for you.

And by worst, you mean better. It feels like you’ll burst any second now, especially with how much pressure is on your bladder. “Fu-ck me. God, fuck–ahaa-fuck me.”

His brows bunch together as he peers down at you, beads of sweat rolling off his face to drip onto your chest. His jaw is so tense it looks as if it may fracture. He’s grunting with every push and huffing with every pull.

“Right there! Fuck. I’m close. I’m so fucking close. I-I need you to cum i-inside me. Oh—please ‘lak. Please!” Your cries are choked and muffled, breaths short and raggedy. The heat pooling in your core is unbearable. It needs out. Now.

Ralak swallows. Hard. Through his own haze he can see that you’re in need too. He shuffles closer to you, tucking his feet under him to assume a squatting position. Now he’s all but on top of you, folding you into a merciless mating press. This one shift in position has you coming undone on his cock, coating it in your thick slick as you sob from the white hot pleasure. The force of your climax has you pushing him out and only has him drilling himself further inside you. If it’s not for the way your pussy walls tighten around him surely his knot would have popped inside you by now.

He’s still fucking into you, right through your orgasm and towards his.

“Say what you need.” He panics through a tightened jaw, grinding himself inside you – pushing his knot against the resistance.

You know what he’s actually asking from you. To say something. Anything to tip him over the edge. To rid him of this maddening itch.

“Breed me.” You whisper, locking eyes with him. You watch as his pupils blow into thin rings and then constrict into nothing but dots. You try to swallow what spit you could, attempting to clear your throat. “Breed me. Please.”

“Then take it.” He lets loose a sinister growl, putting all his weight into his final push. For the first time, you feel his knot pop inside you, veiny and as thick as can be. You let out a high-pitched whimper, and feel your teeth begin to chatter. That doesn’t make him ease up, though. He continues to grind himself inside you until you feel the familiar, warm sensation of his sticky seed spraying inside you – filling your womb to the brim. His cock throbs wildly, in perfect synchrony with his own heartbeat, and soon yours too as the bond equilibrates your souls once more.

Strangely, you thought you’d be sore and overstimulated by now, but your body has never felt better. You’re full and content and more than satiated. Ralak heaves a sigh — one of pure relief. It’s glued to his face. All panic washes away and he’s feeling more at peace the longer he remains inside you. He’s rigid, firmly holding his position on top of you — ensuring he empties every single drop inside you. Yet, his heavy lidded eyes begin to close.

“I can’t breathe.” You mumble, snapping him out of his tranquil trance. His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth pulls into a little smirk. He exhales a breathy chuckle and carefully manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position. He settles himself on his back and supports your body whilst positioning you on top of him.

“Better?” Ralak husks, drawing circles into your back with the tip of his finger.

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs to full capacity and then slowly release it. “Much.”

“Nga yawne lu oer [I love you]” His accented words slur together as he dozes off.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Ralak [I love you].”

——

Ralak woke repeatedly throughout the night for his fill. If it wasn’t him, it was you. Waking up in a clammy state, shaking and nuzzling into his chest from your heat. You honestly thought that the more time passed — the more rounds you went — the more he would calm down.

But, you thought wrong.

He’d start by leaving tender kisses wherever he could, whispering he’d do his best to be as gentle as he can be. Then, he’d slip a finger inside you, stretching you out in attempts to pull his knot out without hurting you. But it would always sting, even just a little bit. After that he’d beg. Pleading with you to let him back in, and apologize right after plunging inside you regardless of your answer—which was always yes.

At this point your own foggy haze would take over. Perhaps it was your body’s way of coping with the overstimulation, but you pined for every single second of it. Sometimes it would last for a few minutes. Where he’d be quick to fold you in two and growl in the shell of your ear, ‘you’re mine, haah — fuck, take me’. 

Sometimes it was closer to an hour. Where you’d both be so tired you’d take breaks, lazily taking turns fucking each other, telling him to ‘put it back in’ whenever he’d slip out. But one thing remained the same every time. You’d sob when you’d cum and then beg him to breed you. And he would, without a doubt, breed you.

Mercilessly.

And with each breeding, he’d lose himself a little deeper. Knotting you over and over. Marking you repeatedly until your body’s littered with bites. Until you were so fucked out you’d lost the feeling in your legs. Until your throat was so dry you could barely speak. Until you needed a break.

——

“Wait.” You crawl towards the bedside table with wobbly knees. “Just need some water, Lak.”

Ralak pounces on you, knocking you onto your stomach and pressing himself against you. You extend an arm out, fingers splayed out and shaking from you trying to reach the cup of water Ka’ani left there more than a day ago. Ralak grabs your hips and hoists you up onto your knees and elbows, and mounts you from behind.

“Water. Water, Lak.” You beg with a hoarse cry, only for him to line the crown of his cock up with your sopping cunt. He growls next to your ear as he stretches over you and reaches for the cup of water, filling his cheeks and putting it back down within a couple seconds. With a quick grip of your jaw, he turns your head and meets his lips with yours.

Before you can process what’s going on you’re gulping down water as fast as you can. And when he pulls away, you’re yet again met with the hazy eyes of his rut. That’s when it dawns on you that whilst your heat is coming to an end, his rut is only getting stronger.

Rather than looking away, he locks his gaze onto you, just so he can watch your face screw as he slams his cock inside of you in one, hard thrust. It works a sudden, breathy moan from your mouth, eyebrows pinching together from the stretch. He holds his position, basking in the warmth and tightness of your cunt as his breath goes shaky.

“Wait.” You mumble weakly, shoving a hand behind you to push against his lower stomach. “Please.”

For the first time, you were telling him to stop.

His jawbone flutters as his eyes search yours. Restraint plasters to his face, and the only audible thing is his heavy breathing. He nods. Just once. A firm and intentional nod. He swallows the residual water left in his mouth and tenderly pulls out of you. You hear the thud of his footsteps quiet down as he nears the marui door, and then the splash of the water when he dives into the rough sea.

It’s pouring outside.

Storming, actually. Thundering and lightning. Yet he feels this is the only way he’d be able to resist the urge to storm back in and fuck you. But the instinct to protect his mate, even if it’s from himself, is more than enough to give him the willpower to walk away.

You take this moment to just breathe, turning your head to face the plush bed beneath you as you gather your thoughts. Did he just show that much restraint? Enough to walk away from a female na’vi during her heat cycle… all whilst in the height of his own rut cycle?

“Lekye’ung [insane]” You mutter, using your trembling hand to grab and bring the cup to your lips. They, too, are sore and chapped. Having gone so many hours without any food or water, you knock it back, shaking the cup to get out every drop. Finished already? You think to yourself, looking inside the cup with hazed vision, confirming it’s indeed empty.

After setting it back down onto the table, you slump back into the bedhead, relaxing your body. You’re sore. Actually, sore is an understatement. Every single muscle and fiber in your body burns—and that isn’t entirely due to your heat either now that it’s finally subsiding. Perhaps you should be taking this time to have a look at your… condition, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

So you give in, sinking further and further into the bed as you doze off.

—

A few hours go by and Ralak returns with a net of fish thrown over his shoulder and a bucket of fresh water perched on his hip. He carefully sets down the bucket and rests the net next to the fire pit. He’s cautious not to wake you, nor come too close to you. Ralak ignites the fire and fans the flame. As quietly as possible, he prepares and cooks the fish, setting them aside to wrap in the leaves of a spartan tree.

Since coming to Awa’atltu, one of your biggest adjustments—despite the obvious—has been your change in diet. Fish weren’t uncommon back home, but they certainly weren’t the main source of food. You prefer the other foods here, your favourite being what you call ‘inland boar’, which is an animal that resembles what your father calls a ‘pig’ from his star.

But not even that, (boar) could smell better than this (fish).

The aroma alone rouses you from your sleep.

Your eyes open to a dark room and a glowing fire pit. The fire is out but the wood remains hot, shifting among different shades of orange and red. Ralak sits beside it, with his back leaning against the support beam of the pod. His arms are crossed over his chest and his knees are slightly bent. It’s hard to see more than just his silhouette with the lack of moonlight.

“That smells good.” You rasp. Ralak’s eyes fly open to reveal a familiar shade of deep blue. Like the sea. They glow and flicker before you, examining you now that you’re sitting up out of bed.

Crack.

A bolt of lightning strikes in the distance, illuminating the room. For a moment, you were able to see every single bike mark, scratch and bruise you’ve given him. It also reveals that he’s shaking. Trembling from being wet and cold, or possibly from the strain he was putting himself through from just being in the same room as you.

Ralak moves quickly, shuffling to his feet and going right for the leaf that holds a few sloppily rolled fish. He brings it to you, setting it slowly on your lap, being overly cautious not to touch you. Grabbing your cup on the table, he dunks it in the bucket and sets it beside you.

“Eat.” He whispers, backing away to sit next to the pit. You watch as he slides down the beam and into a sitting position, and then glance down at your food. Saliva pools in your mouth from the aroma wafting up your nose.

You’re hungry.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, hastily stuffing an entire roll into your mouth.

You moan as you chew, nodding your head from how good it tastes. It’s hard to swallow, given that you bit off more than you could chew—literally—but when it finally goesdown you feel your stomach grumble for more. Ralak watches you intently. A wince screwing his face with every swallow he witnesses. And when you finish, you chug down your water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Another crack of lightning strikes, and then a low, lengthy rumble of thunder follows.

“That was… one of the best you’ve made, lak.” You say with a wobbly smile, slowly getting on your feet to wash your hands. The bucket is nearby your mate, who is still fixed in position. Although he remains unmoving, his eyes follow your every move. You shake your hands to dry them and shuffle over to Ralak and sit next to him.

“so… how do you feel?” You ask quietly, raising your hand to check if he’s feverish. He turns his head before your hand can make contact with his skin and his gaze locks onto the charred wood in the fire pit. 

“Fine.” Ralak mutters.

Eyebrows pinching in confusion, you tilt your head to try and look him in the eye. Your brows relax when you come to the realisation that he’s already taken care of himself. And only Eywa knows how many times.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would have—”

“Ma’ muntxate [my wife]”He croaks, swiftly turning his head to look directly into your eyes. “Oeru txoa livu [please forgive me].”

“Txoa? [forgive?] What for, ma’ muntxatan? [husband]”

“I have… neglected you.” He’s struggling to speak. You can hear it in the strain of his voice.

Regardless, none of his words are really making any sense to you right now. How has he been neglectful? Despite the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s been trying his hardest to be good to you. Somehow, even conjuring up the strength to pull out of you and walk away.

“Ralak. You have not. Please, I—”

“Look at yourself.” He snaps, taking a quick glance at your body before dropping his head in his hands.

Crack.

Conveniently, another strike of lightning and boom of thunder, revealing exactly what he’s talking about. For a few seconds, you’re met with the sight of your battered body—scabbed and bruised. You lift your head, staring at his shameful demeanour. But the more you stare, the more you see your own reflection.

“And have you looked at yourself?” Your words bounce as you shuffle closer to him. “I bet you can’t even feel all that damage I’ve done to you.” You coo, using your thumb to gently graze past an easy six-inch scratch mark on his bicep. “I haven’t been so gentle with you either.”

Ralak shakes his head, allowing it to sink further into his hands. “You were starved.” He mumbles into the palms of his hands.

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin in the dip between them. Your eyes wander over to the fire pit, catching sight of the outline of a few fish rolls.

Has he really punished himself by not eating?

“Have you eaten?” You ask, resting a gentle hand on his back.

“No need.”

“You should, you know. Don’t want you starving on me, lak.” You say lightheartedly, allowing your hand to slide up his spine and to the base of his skull.

He lets loose a quiet groan, fighting the twitch of his ears. Your fingers smooth over the base of his kuru, playing with the braid encasing that covers it. “If you do that—”

“Do what?” You whisper coyly, quickly running your hand down the length of his kuru.

His spine immediately straightens, his head lifting from his hands. The tips of your fingers gently make their way to his tendrils, carefully teasing them as they try to wrap around your digits. He sucks in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, allowing a shiver to run through him. It feels like your fingers were inside his skull, tickling his brain in the best way possible. 

Reaching for your kuru with your free hand, you bring it up and over your shoulder. You lean into Ralak, your lips only inches away from his. You pull away your fingers to grip and pull his queue forth. The loss of contact has him sitting up straight, opening his eyes to look at you.

“I will not let you suffer alone.” You whisper, lessening the distance between the two of you, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly. He stills himself, even limiting his own breath so as not to make any sudden moves. “Okay?”

You wait for just a moment. For him to say something. To move away. But he remains stock-still, waiting for you to initiate this. You smile, your top teeth briefly rubbing against this lower lip, and lock your lips with his. He exhales through his nose, coming to life from your kiss and returning it full force. You take this as a good sign. A sign that you’ve broken through that wall once again, and bring your kurus together — making tsaheylu [the bond].

Both your eyes fly open, blown pupils staring into one another as your spirits unify. You both pull back, shoulders and chests heaving from your quick, unsteady breaths. You feel all that he feels – the frustration, the panic, the tension. It’s all fading, now finally nearing the end. He feels your subsiding heat, your soreness, your overpowering urge to care for him.

Before another second could pass, your lips crash into each other again—tongues intertwining as they explore one another’s mouth. Using his hand to support your upper back, he slowly lowers you onto the woven floor, parting your legs with his free hand. He situates himself between them, pressing his crotch firmly against yours. He’s warm, just like the toasty fire pit next to you.

I will try to be gentle. Ralak thinks to you, just like he’s been promising to be night after night.

I know you will. You smile, moving your kisses down his jawline as he slides his hands between your sticky pelvises.

——

It hasn’t even been two full weeks since the synchronous heat that had you and your mate locked away in your marui pod for a little over two days. Your back and thighs–and honestly everywhere else– still ache but outside of that, you feel like a brand new person. You weren’t able to confidently say that Ralak feels the same way, however.

Of course, he was adamant on limiting intimacy until you were ‘healed and recovered’. But, he had a bounce in his step. As if he were physically lighter. As if the weight of six years of pent up sexual frustration and self neglect melted off his back when you satiated the ‘insatiable’.

The constant aftercare was almost sickening. Even after most of your marks had faded he remained adamant on treating them with your own omaticayan herbs from back home. He praised them at every use, thanking your people for making such exceptional ’umtsa [medicine].

But as you entered the second week, after tons of reassurance, things dissipated and went back to normal. Ralak went back to his usual routine—fishing, hunting, responding to a few calls to Tonowari and your father. Ralak, without a doubt, made a vow to you and himself not to initiate anything until you were more than healed. But nonetheless clung to you in the nights.

He even, in fact, added a new step into your usual nighttime regimen. As usual, it began with the snuggles and tucking you under his arm just right, providing you with enough warmth to endure the cool night air. Then, he would release the perfect amount of pheromones to get you drowsy enough for bed.

But recently, he’s spent the past seven nights delaying the nightly routine until he’s had his fill of your scent. He’d lay himself down on your chest, nuzzling his face into your bosom and just breathe. You allowed it, thinking it was his own newfound way to wind down for bed.

Yet, the real reason was much different.

——

Right on the two week mark, Tsireya had roped you in with helping her with some of her Tsakrem duties. You were always happy to help her though, as it meant getting away from the marui pod for a little even if it meant being poked and prodded at.

And it certainly didn’t take long for that to happen.

Tsireya lets out a frustrated sigh and plops the medicinal pouch she’s weaving in her lap.  “I can no longer ignore it, y/n. You smell different.”

You lift your head, tearing your focus from your task of weaving and look at her with a puzzled expression on your face. You bring the end of your tail to your nose and sniff, but smell… nothing. “Like what?” Her brows lower and her eyes glisten with concern. She purses her lips and unsheathes the lengthy pin from its casing and grabs your hand. “Here we go.” You mutter to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the sting.

Prick.

“Sss—ah! You need to be careful with how deep you go with that, you know. You could really—” The tsahik in training puts the wooden stick to her tongue and stares at you wide eyed, mouth agape. It’s as if she wants to speak but the words are lodged in her throat. “What? What is it?”

“You—perhaps I am wrong.” She stutters, quickly sheathing the tool back into its casing. “You should see my mother, y/n.”

“What? Why? Just tell me.” The words come out in a haste, and your voice is laced with panic. Do you have some sort of disease of the sea? Is there a cure? 

“You — you are with child.” Her lips tremble as she says the words in an uncertain tone of voice.

“What?” You stare at her dumbfounded, a little caught off guard by her choice of words.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant. But I am likely mistaken. I am only in training. Which is why I said you should see my moth—”

“Oh. No. You’re… you’re probably right, Tsireya.” You swallow the spit pooling in your cheeks, avoiding eye contact.

“H-How? I mean. I know how. But how? Surely Ralak knows not to do such a thing during your heat. He can control himself. R-Right?”

“Right. If I were the only one… in heat.” You say the last few words under your breath, fixing your shawl before picking back up your task.

“What do you mean?” Tsireya leans in with a tilted head, looking a little closer at your covered shoulder. “Did you help him with his rut?” Tsireya asks bluntly. “He’s been unmated for six years, y/n. Did you reall—”

“I am his mate. Of course I did.” You nearly snap, baffled by the tone she’s having with you.

“H-How did that even work?” Tsireya shakes her head, slowly raising her hand towards you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You finally lift your head to shoot her a puzzled, yet offended stare. “It worked like it would for any other Na’vi.”

“Y/n…” Tsireya quickly grabs your shawl, pulling it off your shoulder to reveal a large, deep and scabbed up bite mark. It looks almost infected because of the strange omaticayan herbal concoction smeared over it. “You should have just let him ease you into it. Look at you, you’re all bruised and—”

“Tsireya.” You interject, “thank you for the concern, but—” you aggressively pull up your shawl, “I feel just fine. Besides, being in heat was the best way to ‘ease me into it’…He was as gentle as he could be.” You mutter, twiddling with the twine as you think back to the way he tried to handle you with care.

“By the looks of it, he was anything but gentle with you.” Tsireya seethes, angry that the man she grew up looking at like a brother would do something like this to you.

You wince at her words. They’re like a knife to the heart.

A long, awkward silence fills the space between you and Tsireya. She reflects on everything she’s said, realising that perhaps she was a little more harsh than needed. She softens her gaze, “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

“I get it. I know you’re just looking out for me. It’s alright, ‘reya.”

You exchange lighthearted smiles.

“You are definitely pregnant then. After six years, he must have really filled you—”

“Tsireya!” You laugh, giving her shoulder a light shove.

Tsireya’s grin morphs into a more serious expression. “See mother to make sure. Okay?”

Your smile also fades into something softer as you nod your head in agreement. “Okay.”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. They had a fight and just sort of made each other laugh when they were talking. Which is why they married each other in the first place. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

The slam of a door echoes through the house, not loud enough to be angry, but firm enough to leave no room for ambiguity. You exhale sharply, your arms crossed as you stand in the kitchen, staring at the countertop. The argument wasn’t supposed to spiral like this—not over something so trivial. It was about the schedule for the weekend, who was supposed to handle what, and somehow, it had escalated into a full-blown disagreement.

Toto had walked out to the living room, his long strides carrying him away from your raised voice. That alone had been enough to irritate you further. You can hear him now, somewhere in the house, moving things around, his presence as large and impossible to ignore as ever. You don’t have the energy to follow after him or continue the argument. Instead, you open a cabinet and begin tidying up the already-organized shelves, trying to distract yourself from the simmering frustration.

Minutes pass. It’s quiet, except for the soft clinking of plates as you rearrange them. You wonder if he’s sitting on the couch, brooding, or maybe pacing around as he tends to do when his emotions get the better of him. The thought of his long legs covering endless ground in the small space almost makes you smile—almost.

The sound of footsteps pulls you out of your thoughts. You don’t turn around, though. You’re not ready to engage again.

“Are you seriously reorganizing the dishes?” his voice comes from the doorway, a mixture of incredulity and amusement. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the argument ended in stalemate.

You set down a plate with a bit more force than necessary and glance over your shoulder. “Yes. It’s productive. Unlike—” You cut yourself off, not wanting to reignite the tension. “It’s fine.”

Toto leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his head tilted as he studies you. “You always do this,” he says, and there’s a warmth creeping into his voice that you don’t want to acknowledge just yet. “You get annoyed and suddenly everything in the house has to be spotless.”

“It’s better than stomping away dramatically like someone I know,” you retort, turning back to your dishes.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he chuckles—a low, rich sound that breaks through the lingering anger like sunlight cutting through clouds. “Dramatic? Me? Darling, you slammed the cupboard doors like they owed you money.”

You freeze for a moment, your hands on a glass, and then you laugh despite yourself. It’s a small, involuntary sound that you quickly smother, but he hears it. Of course he does. Toto has a way of catching even the things you try to hide.

When you finally turn to face him, he’s grinning—crooked, boyish, and entirely disarming. It’s the grin that had charmed you all those years ago, back when he was just the ambitious team principal trying to win your heart. You sigh, leaning back against the counter, your earlier frustration melting away.

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And yet,” he replies, stepping closer, “you married me.”

“Regretting it now,” you quip, but your smile betrays you.

Toto closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist. He bends slightly to meet your eyes, his gaze soft and sincere. “No, you’re not,” he murmurs. “Because you know no one else would put up with either of us.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing again. He’s right, of course. That’s always been the thing about the two of you—you clash, you bicker, but at the end of the day, you understand each other in a way that no one else could. It’s infuriating and comforting all at once.

“I hate that you’re right,” you admit, resting your hands on his chest.

“Not all the time,” he says with mock solemnity. “Just most of the time.”

“You’re still sleeping on the couch tonight,” you tease, though your tone is far too soft to be threatening.

“Am I?” he challenges, his brow arching. “We’ll see about that.”

The playfulness in his voice is enough to send a flutter through your chest. It’s moments like these—when the tension dissolves into laughter, when you’re reminded of why you fell in love in the first place—that make everything else worth it. You lean into him, your forehead resting against his, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“Truce?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

“Truce,” you agree. “But only if you help me finish organizing the dishes.”

He groans theatrically, but there’s no real protest in it. “Fine. But if I break something, it’s your fault for making me do this.”

“You’re a grown man,” you reply, grinning. “Figure it out.”

He laughs again, and the sound fills the room, warm and familiar. As the two of you work side by side, bickering playfully over the proper placement of bowls and glasses, it strikes you how ridiculous the whole fight had been. But maybe that’s the secret to your marriage—knowing how to find each other again, even after the most ridiculous of arguments.

And as Toto leans over to kiss your temple, murmuring something about you being “far too stubborn for your own good,” you can’t help but think that, yes, this is exactly why you married him.

[rileyslibrary]

Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE

Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?

Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️

The Log Cabin: Pack Light

A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)

———————————————————————

You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.

How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.

But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.

Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…

You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.

As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.

“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”

Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.

“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.

“Liar.”

Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.

You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”

“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”

You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.

“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Lt.”

“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”

You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”

“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”

“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”

“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”

‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.

He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.

“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.

“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.

“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.

You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.

He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.

“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”

“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”

You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”

“With Soap?”

“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”

Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.

“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.

He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.

“Wanna come with me?” He asks.

Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.

“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.

Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”

“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”

“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”

You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.

“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”

“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”

“That’s not what I mean-”

“How long?” He repeats.

“Simon..”

He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispers.

“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.

“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”

You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.

“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”

He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.

“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.

“Ghost! “

“Pack light!”

———————————————————————

Part 2 this way ->

[ihatedtoadmit]

One-way ticket

pairing: vampire! Bang Chan x gn! reader

genre: ...suggestive, again

warnings: nothing actually happens, so none besides teasing

word count: ~1.3k

summary: Your relationship with your otherworldly boyfriend has reached a point of no return, something you embrace with open arms.

a/n: I blame @writingforstraykids for this, again, as she made me watch Railway and reignite my love for vampire AUs, even though I'm still deeply buried in my werewolf brainrot. So take this thing I wrote at 2 am in a delirious haze, that song blasted into my ears directly with such force I now have the lyrics engraved into my brain.

↳ Main Masterlist

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

Fascination had always driven me as I lived my life, surroundings endlessly housing something interesting enough for me to poke at, to unravel it and see how it ticked. Never once did I harm something in the process though, tenderly handling each animal as I observed them, always told I look like a child on Christmas night with the nebula of stars that had crawled into my eyes.

He’d said the same thing the first time we had met, truly met, real identity revealed for me to know. It had been a huge step in the connection we had shared, and it had only deepened this endless love I harboured for the man.

His smile alone was enough to lighten my day, sharp canines glinting in the light and yet I only found them all the more endearing, a fact he’d never failed to point out with the most love-sick expression I had ever seen.

It was a casual night when he’d beckoned me over to the couch where he sat, pulling my taller form down into his lap easily. With one hand on one of my knees and the other on the small of my back, he stared up into my surprised eyes, only chuckling at my reaction with that stupidly attractive dimpled smile of his.

“Did you know, love, that those silly stories about vampires aren’t all wrong?” - he started, immediately gaining my full attention. His smile only grew as he knew what buttons to push to earn it this fast, knowing me more than I knew myself at this point.

Being together for a few years granted that advantage to a person.

“What did you guys call it? Soulmates, I think? We do have that, or something similar at least. It’s a pull towards the one person we are connected to for eternity, unable to ignore or ever get rid of it. They’re the other halves of our souls we had lost in the afterlife, carved apart for having chosen immortality.”

His gaze never once wandered from me and I relished in it, drinking it all in like a starved animal. Every word was etched into my brain and I leaned closer, one hand carefully reaching up to cup Chan’s face. He leaned into my touch as my thumb caressed the skin residing underneath those bright, wine red and hauntingly white orbs, their shine temporarily hidden as he closed them in bliss.

“You’re my other half, my love. Knew it the moment our eyes met, the moment you didn’t run away when I revealed my true nature and instead looked at me with more love.”

His whispered words clearly rang inside my head despite the intense focus I had over his features, getting lost in his stare. It was as if he was worshipping me, memorising every little feature of my face, of my presence itself.

I didn’t move away when he leaned in, our lips sealed together, a rare act from someone as reserved as me. The hold he had on me only tightened and it told me everything I needed to know, his appreciation for this unique moment shared with me through our fleeting kiss.

“I want to share eternity with you, baby. Want to have you by my side forever, watch every sunset together until the universe itself ends.”

His words, albeit as cheesy as they could be, only spurred this burning feeling inside my chest that sparked from nothing. No, not nothing. It was created by that loving look in his eyes, the one that craved me in every possible way; both in body and in mind.

My limbs moved before I could even think about a coherent reply, weight shifting as our legs were now pressed close together, bodies facing each other. His face, the one that never once turned away from me, was framed by both my hands and he acted as if he wanted nothing less than that.

It was as if he wanted his entire body to be framed by my presence itself, so enamoured with me it hurt to witness.

A thumb gently pushed at his lips until his jaw opened slightly, sharp canine revealed and glinting in the vermillion liquid I coated it with. The wound on my finger stung and yet I could care less, much too focused on the man in front of me, the one my heart beat for with all its stubborn might.

His pupils widened the moment my blood hit his tongue, the only answer he needed before he spurred into action.

The inferno inside me only burned brighter when he picked me up, not strained by my weight at all. And as he carried me away, tenderly placing me onto our shared bed, I understood what he meant by that pulling feeling. It laid beneath that raging fire, overshadowed by its sudden and unusual appearance.

Despite that, it remained firmly in its place, so tied to Chan’s presence that living without the man caused my heart to nearly stop beating.

As if he’d heard my heart skipping a beat he moved, so close I could feel the chill from every inch of his skin that covered his dead body. His lips ghosted over my heated skin as he trapped me beneath himself, trailing along the veins pulsing just beneath my skin, hidden to us, mere humans, yet oh so obvious to his kind. It had always fascinated me how he could see them so well, so easily, yet I had only gotten a chuckle and a teasing answer whenever I’d asked, hiding his secrets away from me.

This time that same question couldn’t even leave my lips as he devoted every little touch to me and only me, his reverence so strong I could hear their words even without a single sound.

Fangs grazed my neck and goosebumps covered my skin, a little kiss my comfort the moment he noticed it. Despite that he continued, gazing up at me one final time, allowing me to see those irresistible depths turn brighter; vermillion mixed with burgundy while the whites shifted, painting my sight with endless mismatched roses swaying in the wind.

The pull inside me strengthened and the flower fields were disturbed, gentle swaying now turning violent, yet never once harming me with a single thorn.

His lips kissed the side of my neck and the muscles hidden beneath jumped at the sudden contact, the gentle action broken by sharp pain and the feeling of loss. My hands encircled him and travelled into his divine bangs, only turning them messier with each audible gulp he took.

Never once did fear take root inside my chest, my lover’s actions so gentle they felt nothing less than a ritual of worship, of devotion, only meant for me to bear witness to.

And as the world started growing dark, vision wavering and hold turning weak, those lips I knew oh so well left my neck, leaving a tiny lick and a kiss before familiar eyes met mine. He hovered above me like that, hand going up to cup my cheek as I stared at him, at those wonderful rose fields, and his expression only turned more loving in return, if possible at all.

Those endlessly starving orbs were the last thing I saw before my eyes fluttered closed, unable to keep myself awake with the sudden wave of exhaustion that swept over me. I didn’t realise how much he’d drank, just how much he had truly taken in such a short amount of time, and yet I trusted him completely even on death’s door.

The taste of iron lingered on my tongue as something dripped into my mouth, fingers careful as they pushed my lips open forcefully. It dripped down my throat and my body automatically took it in, as if embracing a missing piece I didn’t even know was needed.

Chilled air hit the shell of my ear as Chan leaned closer, the liquid fusing with my soul itself and stirring awake something I had long lost.

“Wake up, love, the night’s only just begun.”

[verdantwyrm]

Do tell about those Mouthwashing headcanons of yours. I'd like to read them.

You have no idea how long i've been waiting for this [rubs my little hands together] this is going to be EXTREMELY LONG and definitely traces of my own little AU which i've dubbed thee... Afterwashing. Its a bit of everyone dies but everyone also lives. sorta. Curly doesn't end up as fucked as he is, Swansea actually manages to hit Jimmy and sliced directly into his shoulder. Swansea actually got the Cryopods working, and just before everything went to shit he was able to convince Anya to take the others into the cryopods. Still ends up dying but his sacrifice will be known forever:

Pre Crash Curly

- 35 Years old, born December 22nd. Full name is Grant Kirk Curly. Australian British.

- Absolutely a gymrat, bit over the top but he has genuinely the best intentions. He's really big on the aftercare of exercising, hydrating, massages, stretches, it's a fine art to him. A ritual, almost.

- Loves cooking but can only make an assortment of five dishes. Spaghetti, Meatloaf, Risotto, Lasagna and he makes a real mean Stir Fry. It's all very simple food, he doesn't need it to be extravagant. Food is a big love language for him, so when he was forced to go on packet diet for space travel, he cried for six hours.

- Even though he's british, he has roots from Australia. You can still kind of hear it sometimes when he uses his Captain Voice. Daisuke and Anya teased him a little about it.

- He was actually promoted against his will. Originally he was an just apart of the maintenance crew on a larger ship called Sleipnir, it was the second largest delivery freighter right behind Arion which had a crew of three hundred and eighty five people. It was an absolute marvel of machinery, built to deliver other machinery and high tech equipment. When that ship was retired, he was forced into a promotion of Captain, since no one wanted to take the Tulpar and he happened to be around at the time and couldn't bring himself to say no.

- He doesn't have a very distinct taste in music. He will just listen to whatever sounds good. When Anya and Swansea found out they immediately forced him to listen to "real" music and then soon they all made a collaborative playlist which now haunts the Tulpar.

- Curly grew up with a very large family, a middle child of sisters and brothers, he often found himself being told he was lucky to come from such a big, warm family. But the truth is, he found himself ignored alot. His older siblings were well out of school and his younger siblings were too little to stand on their own, so he rarely got any attention and he eventually moved out of home at seventeen to move in with Jimmy, who he became friends with because of their shared loneliness.

- Curly actually had a mullet once, but Swansea forced him to cut it. He said it made him look like a "Hippie" and he couldn't stop laughing. Anya says she liked it, and he regrets cutting it because of that.

- He has met Anya previously on a past delivery years ago, they used to sneak away together to smoke or to complain a little about work. Anya was an intern nurse under the head doctor, Maddie, who was very uptight and constantly cranky. When they met on the Tulpar again, that flame was reignited and it soon developed into a hallway crush that never left the hallway.

- Curly actually knew Swansea for the longest, he was one of the other head mechanics on Slepnir, and they got along really well. Curly is glad to have a familiar face on the ship (Besides Jimmy and Anya) that actually greatly impacted his life and helped him steer towards the topic of his career and his future. He never got to do what he wanted thanks to the sudden promotion, but he's grateful for his teachings nonetheless. Curly wanted to repair and build aircraft for a living, back on earth. He still dreams about it, sometimes.

- Loves Snowboarding, hates Skiing. He also really likes surfing but the hot weather doesn't agree with him.

- To me, he's bisexual but genuinely has no clue. If the circumstances are right he'll sleep with a guy and try really hard to not think too hard about it. It's embarrassing to him especially since he hasn't had much experience sexually or romantically, but he won't say no to a cute guy.

- His relationship with Jimmy has been up and down. When they were teens, Jimmy was just angry and lashed out at people. He had alot of paranoia and used it to fuel his own rage, but he always went on about how guilty he felt and how he hated being angry and how it used to tear him up inside about being exactly like his father. Their relationship was very briefly romantic and then sexual, but that ended quickly after Curly got accepted into pilot academy and started seeing Jimmy less and less. Jimmy resents him for this, Curly isn't even aware of it.

Post Crash Curly

- 39 Years old

- He was rescued from the crypod by a passing ship called Embarr, a small crew of fourty people. It was a medical emergency ship sent out to actually retrieve the dead bodies of another ship, and they happened upon ths Tulpar on a detour due to significant asteroid interference. Jimmy, Anya and Daisuke all miraculously survived, Swansea's body was never found.

- Managed to come out of it pretty unscathed with only the left side of his body being the most damage. He still needed amputations, but only on one arm.

- He was in a coma for three months as his body was slowly defrosted and pumped with all the necessary fluids. An autopsy was performed on him originally thinking he was dead. He was not. And they thankfully realized the mistake before it became life threatening and took them all back to earth to receive the best medical care possible.

- Vegetarian. After being forced to eat his own flesh, he can't stomach meat now. It's too upsetting.

- Still enjoys working out, even if its extremely limited. The moment he was allowed to do any physiotherapy or even walking again, he would push himself constantly, even if it hurt. He had subconsciously made exercise as a way to distract himself from the depression and psychological issues he had, so that being no longer an option really worn him down.

- Curly took up a permanent residence in the hospital after waking up. The doctors have urged him to go and live his life, but he struggles to understand why he would even want to. Developed a serious bout of agoraphobia that prevents him from leaving.

- As soon as he was able, he immediately told Anya and Daisuke the truth, about who crashed the ship and what had happened. Anya is still struggling to accept and understand the truth, but she's coming around slowly.

- He has denied skin grafting and facial reconstruction surgery multiple times now, mainly because he's worried about whats going to happen if he doesn't look like himself anymore or even like what he sees in the mirror. That he won't be able to recognise who he is anymore. He's slowly warming up to it, but very slowly.

- Has a guide dog named Laika, it helps him see and also helps him go outside and overcome his agoraphobia.

- He's learning how to cook again, after the crash. alot of his tastebuds were destroyed from mouthwash and starvation, so he's had to teach his body how food tastes again. He's developed a new love for custard.

- Still thinks about Anya, hopes to rekindle something with her in the future when she's ready.

Pre Crash Anya

- 34 Years old, born April 4th. Full name is Anya Musume, Czech Romanian.

- Her favourite movie is Bambi, she cries everytime it's on. Curly laughs at that but he bursts into tears while watching Brother Bear.

- She likes to knit, kind of sucks at it but she needs something therapeutic.

- She goes through alot of different hobbies and finds it difficult to stay in one place. She also has an infinite knowledge of completely useless facts she likes to bring up randomly, loves learning new things and is very hard to pry away from a good book.

- Also a gymrat, definitely not as much as Curly is but she enjoys jogging alot. Sometimes when she's getting mad cabin (ship?) fever, she will do some laps around the lounge room or hallway outside of utility. She likes to keep active and its become a way for her to think or concentrate, suffers the most from sitting still for too long. She sometimes does stretches with Curly, and he helps her find new ways to exercise or keep active in such a small place.

- Her favourite food of all time is cheeseburgers. Its her number one guilty pleasure and absolutely orders those ridiculously huge ones with seven different layers of fillings. She has a huge appetite and it lowkey scares people simply because of how much she eats in one sitting. She also enjoys a really good french onion soup from time to time, but the onions make her cry uncontrollably.

- Actually wanted to be a paediatrician once. After being denied a consecutive six times, she decided to just do whatever she would qualify to. Became a little depressed with it all, but still applied a two more times just in case. Shortly after being denied an eighth time, Pony Express approached her and it all went from there.

- Bisexual and knows it, probably has something funky going on with all that gender stuff too but she doesn't care too much. Has absolutely slept with girls before, liked it alot. Her first time was with a butch lesbian on the back of her car. She is very confident sexually and physically, she just enjoys wearing sweaters and jackets.

- Doesn't have a very big family. Her parents are divorced and she was forced to raise herself and her little sister. When her little sister turned 18, she got married immediately and left home to be a housewife. This put Anya in a bit of a spin and made her dive into some questionable relationships with some very lazy people.

- She also had a huge crush on Curly, but she would just bury herself in work to avoid thinking about it. She tried to somehow mix the two and get him to open up and try to get him to relax around her, but it never worked. He was always weirdly tense and rigid, despite being happy and smiling, there was something very deep beneath the surface.

Post Crash Anya

- 38 Years old

- Sort of gave up on her dream to be a nurse. She would absolutely love to, but her mental health has declined too drastically to study or even apply again and she has no money to even continue studying. Right now she's working as a librarian, she enjoys the quiet.

- Being put inside the cryopod basically froze her unborn baby, you're not supposed to operate the pods if you're pregnant and because of that she miscarried. She has alot of very mixed thoughts about it all, but is glad nonetheless. Would love to have children of her own someday.

- Still yearns for Curly, doesn't know how to move on, she's not even sure if she wants to move on.

- Her suicidal tendencies are still very present, and she can no longer be trusted around medication. She has to go to the hospital to take it and says hello to Curly everytime she does.

- Sometimes has sleepovers with Daisuke or Curly just to have someone nearby. She misses the constant, constant noise of the ship, and she knows they do as well. Its hard adjusting to silence.

- Wears her glasses more often now, never realized how badly she needed them until now.

- Has alot of self harm tendencies, scratches and peels at her skin as a nervous tic.

- Has a pet cat named Rosa, its a therapy animal to help her relax and calm down, she has really bad OCD and constantly triple checks everything is locked, turned off or on. She gets really ahead of herself and it can be exhausting.

- Still watches movies, brings over brother bear and has a real good cry with Curly sometimes. She's developed a passion for romance movies, it fills a little part of her soul each time. Her favourite is The Notebook. Definitely into some real cheesy stuff but it makes her happy.

Pre Crash Jimmy

- 37 Years old, born January 18th. Full name is James "Jimmy" Zare. American Australian.

- He's a chronic self harmer, littered in burns, cuts, bruises and scars. If smoking or alcohol doesn't take the edge off, he has a tendency to mutilate himself or he drifts endlessly. Before joining PE, he used to dissociate alot and it would never end well. After joining PE he got put on some serious stabilisers and anti-psychotics it switched his hazy, passively suicidal behaviour for a very angry and bitter one. Curly isn't sure if it was for the best.

- He didn't come from the greatest family. His parents were devout Christians. He had two younger sisters, and his mother was pregnant with another. After miscarrying, his parents got divorced because his father believed it was a sign of infidelity or shame, and his mother basically turned into a husk. Unable to speak, unable to take care of herself, completely and utterly empty. So with the added stress of his father dissapearing and then also having to raise himself and his sisters, he's developed a very nasty opinion of women and believes them to be weak and a nuisance. Jimmy was always extremely jealous of Curly's family, and never believed him wheb he said it was also really hard growing up.

- He wanted to be an engineer growing up. He actually bonded with Curly over their shared interests in machinery, and soon it branched from there. They met in highschool but got separated when Curly moved. Years later in a drunken stupor, he found himself miraculously at the doorstep of Curly's new life, and ever since then he's never been able to get rid of Curly.

- Jimmy's favourite animal is Hyena

- Has multiple tattoos that are equally trashy as they are shitty, he almost convinced Curly to get a matching one. Plenty of piercings have been ripped out of his body.

- Jimmy only got into weightlifting because Curly said he would pay for his membership. Jimmy isn't as strong as Curly is, its more the adrenaline that kicks in that keeps him ontop.

- Cut his hair to mimic Curly's but it lacks any real volume so it doesn't look like it.

- Closeted homosexual, open homophobe to himself. Alot of his feelings towards Curly are sexual in a way, but because of his upbringing and relationship examples he thinks this is normal and indulges in them quite often. Would never admit it.

Post Crash Jimmy

- 41 Years old

- Got sentenced to life in prison shortly after Curly regained his ability to speak coherently. Even though alot of the details for the legal case were skewered, Anya and Daisuke both showed up with their own cases to prove Curly's argument and they won.

- Before heading to jail, Jimmy actually got arrested three different times for breaking and entering. He was found trying to steal from his old place, which had new tenants and didn't even have his stuff anymore.

- When he killed himself, he managed to just barely miss all of his very important brain functions. He needs a cane to walk but refuses to use one so he limps a bit. He also has seizures and his schizophrenia has gotten significantly worse. He has a large scar on the side of his face now.

- No longer cuts his hair. It's grown past his shoulders now.

- Curly was able to finally sever ties and no longer speaks to Jimmy. He actually has an automated monthly card come in for Jimmy specifically because he knows it pisses him off. Jimmy's youngest sister visits sometimes.

- Goes by just "James" now.

- Sobered up against his will, got put on new medication that no longer makes him as angry, he's just bitter and cold.

- The blow from Swansea into his shoulder was brutal and it almost completely destroyed his arm, he's been learning how to use it again but struggles to commit.

Pre Crash Daisuke

- 25 Years old, born June 5th. Full name is Junpei Daisuke, Filipino Japanese.

- A bit of a perv but an extremely respectable way. He won't harass girls or make them uncomfortable but if you give him verbal consent that he's allowed to stare he isn't gonna hold back.

- Massive mama's boy. Never wants to admit it because he thinks others will tease him for it.

- He actually really dislikes chocolate, and prefers his sugary treats to be that of candy or gummies. Chocolate makes him sick too quickly. He has a bit of a sensitive stomach to coco.

- Has a belly button piercing, he says he was dared to do it but thats not true. He also has a tattoo that he cannot show anyone. (Its a trampstamp)

- Actually had a huge massive crush on Curly when he first met him. It was really embarrassing, but it mostly comes from jealousy. Curly is so much bigger abd stronger and Daisuke hopes to be like that one day. Extremely sexy and handsome.

- His favourite board game is monopoly because Anya always wins that one. He likes seeing her happy.

- Wanted to be an artist but after hearing about his parents financial troubles he gave up and decided to settle for a blue collar job thar had decent pay. Even though it was his idea, she had to push him to take the job.

- Got expelled from college, half way through he got really depressed and burnt out and kept on skipping classes and not putting any effort in. He also got fired from hos part time job and was forced to move back in with his parents.

- He's an only child and his parents absolutely love each other but there some strain and Daisuke can see it clearly, and it seriously depresses him but he tries to not let it get to his head.

- Pansexual, absolutely is trans in some way but he has a job so he dgaf rn.

- When he first arrived on the Tulpar, he noticed just how utterly depressing it was. So he decided to be the exact opposite of that, putting on a brave smile and attitude to ease himself into the crew. He gets along with Anya and Curly the most.

- Has two cats back at home. Pepper and Donatello, named after his favourite TMNT character.

- He's also a bit of a gym freak but he has no idea what he's doing, very new to real equipment found in gyms as he would always just use whatever was closest or available to him. Curly is teaching him proper techniques.

- Major insomniac but doesn't tell anybody this. Anya has to (metaphorically) choke it out of him so she can help, and he's been slowly adjusting to the medication.

- Has a bunch of really bad habits, drinking especially.

Post Crash Daisuke

- 29 Years old

- He's not allowed to leave the house anymore without running it by his mom. Ever since he returned from the Tulpar she's been dreading the worst happening again, keeps him on a really tight leash out of fear.

- Donatello passed away while he was in space, so in his grieving he got another cat and named it Biggie.

- His parents got divorced finally, the news of what happened had drove his father to the edge and it became too stressful. Daisuke doesn't resent him, and they keep in contact.

- Finally decided to let himself pursue art, Anya is his biggest supporter and she buys all of his paintings. He loves drawing animals the most, finds their complexities to be beautiful.

- let his haie grow out longer, often puts it in a ponytail now.

- He doesn't know what Swansea's sacrifice was, he only knows that somehow he ended up in the Cryopod and that his body was nowhere to be found. and nobody else knows what happened. He misses him a ton, so he paints swans alot. Sometimes Swansea's wife, Meredith, buys them, she comes around to talk to Daisuke and make sure he's doing well.

- He has a part time job now as a dog walker. He walks Swansea's dog almost every day now.

- Also a vegetarian, he's actually why Curly decided to become one. They still work out together but now its mostly him teaching Curly new things.

- Still really depressed and aimless, but he's been put on real medication to help him cope and he's doing much better.

Pre Crash Swansea

- 56 Years old, Born August 10th. Full name is Swansea Manning Heartford, Welsh.

- He actually doesn't like sweets all that much, but its much better than his other options. Coffee makes him sick as well, so sugar is his only vice.

- Has four kids, they're well into their adult years now. Swansea used to be able to call them when they were closer to earth, but that eventually stopped. He also has a brother, but they haven't talked in decades.

- A similar situation as Curly, Swansea got promoted to head engineer of the Tulpar because no one else would take it and he just so happened to be around. He was actually planning on retiring early.

- His wife used to always exclaim how jealous she was of him, to see the stars and everything beyond sounds like a dream. He didn't have the heart to tell her it sucks.

- Daisuke reminded him of not only his kids, but himself in a way. Back when he was younger and didn't have much of a care.

- Cannot punish his kids for the life of him, he's always been too soft and could never bring himself to actually be hard on them. He would get angry again them but then immediately do something to make it up to them because he felt guilty. He started to do this subconsciously with Daisuke and didn't notice until Curly pointed it out.

- Also a really big foodie, sort of cried a little with Curly when they were told about the strict food packet diet. Promises when this shipment is over he'll make the biggest gumbo ever and invite everyone around for it.

- Needs glasses but refuses to wear them.

- Gets along pretty well with Anya, they're not best friends but she's definitely more tolerable than Daisuke is. Neither of them talk that much so they both understand how good silence is, sometimes he'll let her complain and rant about absolutely nothing (Although it usually about Jimmy) because he understands how frustrating it can be. He doesn't provide her with anything or gives pep talks, he just lets her complain in circles.

- Girl dad, he has only daughters so to finally have a son in a way has been a new experience. He struggles to admit it but he is proud of Daisuke, he's just never been very open about his feelings or emotions, especially in his older age

- On the brink of a midlife crisis. Wanted to go mountain climbing.

- Probably gay, bisexual? he doesn't know. Doesn't care. College was weird.

- When it finally came down to it, Swansea was able to just barely convince Anya to go into the cryopods. After finding out what Jimmy had done he decided to put his foot down, his gut was telling him something bad was about to happen, and being able to barge the door to medical down his fears were proven. Right before she was about to OD, he convinced her to take Curly and Daisuke to utility and that it would all be taken care of.

- He was able to really hurt Jimmy, but unfortunately his old age and slight inebriation caught up and he failed to overpower him. Being shot in the eye and then the head, Jimmy thought he was dead. But after being rescued, Swansea's body was never found. Theres multiple theories by others of what happened, but nobody knows the truth.

[pulsingvoid]

the s1 mistynat dynamic is SOOO. Big Jacket doesnt want you to remember this but adult natalie was insane about misty FIRST. everything starts after natalie gets a shady postcard and decides misty quigley has something to do with it. her cringe ex classmate misty quigley that loves violence and murder and musical theatre and drugging people and is overall a walking red flag and really annoying to boot. it simply has to be from her. nat doesn't even stop to think it over she just gets out of rehab and drives all the way to jersey and stalks misty at her job and breaks into her house with a gun just to accuse misty of being the one messing with her (she isn't). then after they clear that up (and after misty's obsession with nat is successfully reignited - who could have predicted this?!) nat is like well i ought to let her stick around because she can help me find my ex. then they find her ex (dead) and nat is like well now i need to let misty stick around because she can help me solve his murder (there was no murder). then nat is like well if i promise to kms later i guess i can indulge in dressing up all nice and being misty's date for our high school reunion since she buried a body for me insisted. mind you natalie was once the most charismatic leather jacket-wearing bisexual in town that somehow managed to be so full of self-loathing and destructiveness that she alienated every single person that tried to love her. but not misty! misty is immune to nat's toxicity she's too busy being worse both solving and covering up murders for natalie and snorting natalie's coke to prevent her from relapsing and messing with natalie's car so they have to go on a roadtrip together and texting a man on nat's behalf and installing a camera in nat's room to keep an eye on her (and watch her have sex with said man) and you can tell they've both been painfully lonely and they're having the time of their lives making up reasons to be insane together. and season 2 said NEVERMIND ALL THAT YOU'RE NEVER GETTING IT AGAIN. HERE'S FRODO. NOW HERE'S NATALIE IN BEACHY WAVES AND BIRKENSTOCKS. OOPS! NOW SHE'S DIED. and now i have to sit and watch them torch teen mistynat too probably. sad! oh well good thing ive already stolen them and im putting them in a story where they can orbit each other forever and ever like lewis and ricci intended

[koalaflower]

Ecstasy

pair. kamo choso x fem!reader

genre. smut & fluff bc he’s so soft

warnings. explicit, bathroom sex, semi-exhibitionism, public sex, cunnilingus, slight manhandling, creampie, vaginal sex, service dom, CHOSO WITH HIS HAIR DOWN

synopsis. you’re a worn out sorceress looking for excitement in a crowded bar, and choso has never been more enchanted.

a/n. this is the first full smut i’ve ever written. i love this man sm i could go on for days writing about him <3

word count. 2.9k

A gush of wind caresses your exposed skin as you enter the club, a familiar feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins as music blares through the speakers adorning the walls. A ghost of a smile graces your face, the atmosphere as welcoming as ever. The sight of bodies on bodies reminds you that life stops for no one, no matter where you are.

You inhale the scent of intoxication and nicotine, making your way to the bar. Your hips sway elegantly, black dress accentuating your curves as you lift one leg over the other, sitting on a barstool. You notice the eyes surveying your body, but you disregard it, placing your order. The bartender gives you a flustered look, starting to twist and turn to make his concoction a perfect one.

You are bored. Completely and utterly bored with your life and the lack of socialization your job subjected you to. Being a sorceress is time-consuming, and it saved little to no space for personal endeavors since the number of cursed spirits rose. Today was your day off from such a mind-numbing reality, and you decided to reignite the spark of excitement you once held for life.

The bartender slid you your glass; the whiskey swirling and glimmering under the dim lights. You thanked him and lifted the glass to your lips, relishing in the burn left behind as it slid down your throat. It’s been too long, your eyes closed to savor the taste through the singe.

A man sits beside you, his posture hunched and lips curled into a nasty smile as he scans you with his eyes. His breath reeks of alcohol when he leans closer, hand snaking around your shoulder. You tilt your head back up at the disturbance, eyes taking him in before letting out a slow exhale.

“Not interested.” You grimace, disturbed by his ability to touch you so casually and his inability to even sit straight.

“Leave with me. I promise it’ll be worth it,” he slurs, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin.

You could’ve easily knocked him out, but this was the most amusement you’ve had in a while. A mere human talking to you like you were desperate enough to accept his invitation.

You laughed, fingers tipping his head up to regard him closer, eyes boring through his. “Maybe you misheard me the first time. I’m not interested,” you said, emphasizing each word and watching as his eyes widened with both fear and lust.

He retracts his arm and stands on wobbly legs, apologizing to you before walking away, as fast as his spiraling vision lets him. You returned to the drink in front of you, leisurely leaning against your palm as you took another long sip.

The bartender gives you a wary glance, perplexed at the drunken man’s reaction but remaining silent.

Again, you pay no mind, uninterested as your eyes scan the club. No one stood out to you in the vast sea of people dancing and stumbling around. You smiled a little at their carelessness, wondering if they knew about the existence of curses and if they’d carry on despite it all.

Your gaze hooks onto a slender silhouette in the corner, a tall man leaning against the wall and staring at nothing in particular. He was nursing a half-empty cup, looking as if he didn’t want to be here at all.

You leave behind your glass and squeeze past the crowd, interest piqued as you confidently stride toward him. You stand in front of him now, the chatter significantly dying down in this little corner of his. He glances at you temporarily, raising a brow.

“What do you want?” he asks, bored as he swirls his cup around, the ice clinking against the glass. He’s attractive, muscles flexing in his arm with each minuscule movement and a thick black mark running across his nose bridge. A curse? Or a human? You can’t decide.

“Entertainment,” you reply, leaning onto the wall beside him as the loud music pounded against your back, reverberating throughout your body.

He scoffs, gazing at you with more interest now. “And you think you’ll get that from me?” His voice is clear, Adam’s apple bobbing as he talks.

“Something about you is refreshing,” you admit, letting out a curt laugh at your honesty, a telltale effect of the liquor. “And I’m dying for a vacation.”

His face contorts into one of surprise, not expecting this interaction to be a friendly one. He nods, sympathetic as a silence ensues, giving you time to take him in. His hair is bunched up into two messy buns, the ends spiked. Deep eye bags are apparent, the skin surrounding his eyes tinted a darker pink. The combination worked, giving him an air of mystery.

It was beginning to unnerve you how quiet he is, how still and unmoving. You remind yourself many men would kill for a dance with you, so many others that could give you the relief you needed if not him. You were about to make your leave when he stopped you, fingers tight around your wrist. He downs his glass in one, craning his head up as he drinks to reveal the dark tattoos cascading down his muscular form.

He sets his cup down, giving you his full attention, and says, “It’s loud here. We should go somewhere else.”

You nod, heart racing as you allow him to pull you through the masses of bodies, your heels clinking on hardwood. This man could be a murderer, a wanted curse user even, but your blood was finally rushing, exhilaration thrumming through your fingers. This was the excitement you had been yearning for, chasing for what seemed like a millennium in your field of work.

He led you into the club’s restroom, which was empty and clean. The music is distant now, faintly pouring through the overhead speakers. He lets go of your wrist; the warmth seeping into your skin. He doesn’t make any further moves, plucking a cigarette from his pocket and igniting it, the fire illuminating his eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asks, placing the roll between his lips and dragging a slow inhale.

You gaze at yourself in the mirror, watching him through the reflection as you swipe at a phantom lipstick stain.

His eyes swept over you, wondering what you looked like beneath your dress, as stunning as you already were. He wanted to kiss along your skin, leave marks on your supple flesh, and have his name pour from your lips. This connection felt surreal, his heart yearning for your soul, a bold woman he met in a bar.

“Y/n,” you reply, your voice smooth as you situate yourself on the counter, facing him. From this angle, he could see the rim of your dress rise around your mid-thigh, revealing delicate skin. “You?”

“Choso,” he says, holding the cigarette between his fingers and moving closer to close the gap between your bodies. His eyes traversed your entire length as if it were his first time, landing on your soft lips.

You swallowed thickly, his arms caging you in on either side of your body. He wanted to memorize every part of you, thumb trailing along the contours of your face. The tension was thick, a game to see who would break first.

“I almost thought you weren’t interested,” you tease, a hand against his chest.

He shakes his head at you with a small smile, leaning close enough that your lips almost touch.

“I was watching you the entire night.” He extinguishes the butt of the cigarette against the polished sink before discarding it.

A shudder runs along your spine at his words, electricity shooting throughout your body and pooling between your legs. You let out a shaky breath as he captures your lips with his, pulling him in with your arms around his neck.

He tasted bitter with the remnants of smoke, an addictive tingling on your tongue.

“You made that man tremble in fear,” he says, smirking. “You’re a powerful woman, Y/n.” His praise makes your legs rub closer together, smashing his lips back onto yours with a hum of approval.

“Then consider yourself a lucky man.” Lust overrides your ability to think straight when he pulls back and tugs the bands of his hair free. Thick black tresses flow around his shoulders, giving him an air of majesty as you run your fingers through them in awe.

He slips the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his eyes half-lidded as he exposes your breasts, which appear plush and supple under his hungry gaze. He presses his mouth against your neck, delighting in your whimpers and pleas as he toys with your tits.

“Choso,” you call, testing his name on your tongue. He plants kisses on your jawline, eyes closed as he savors the way you tremble.

“Hm?” he hums, trailing lower and taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling with his tongue. You arch your back, biting the back of your hand to stifle any lewd sounds that escape your mouth.

He shakes his head, detaching his lips from your nipple with a pop as he tugs your hand away from your mouth, massaging the teeth marks on your reddened skin.

“Don’t. Let me hear you.” He gazes up at you with a tender expression.

“But the door,” you whisper, paranoid.

He doesn’t answer. You’re positive he didn’t even hear you when he returns to your breast, pulling at the other to compensate.

The anxiety subsides when his fingers travel lower, caressing your curves beneath your sparkly dress and resting upon your thighs. You subconsciously spread your legs further apart, breathing heavily as he pulls away and kneels on the floor.

His teeth graze the inside of your thigh, placing sloppy kisses on your soft skin closer and closer to your heat. His finger teases the outside of your underwear, circling your clit before tugging the fabric away and down your legs. You watch with bated breath as he unbuttons his shirt, discarding it behind him and gripping both of your thighs tight, delving in.

Your head hits the wall when you arch your back, moans tumbling from your lips.

Choso eats you out like you’re fine dining, nose pressed against your clit and two fingers pumping in and out of you. The squelching sounds make you writhe in embarrassment, your body burning with desire.

You chant his name like a bitch in heat, feeling his smile against your pussy as he catches your clit between his teeth, your legs shaking. You push against his head, trying to escape the building pressure in your stomach when his mouth detaches from your core completely.

“Fuck! No, please,” you whine, clenching around nothing as you try to chase the euphoria.

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see him unbuckling his belt.

“That wouldn’t be fun now, would it?” He wraps his hand around the length of his cock, stroking it. Your mouth salivates, watching as pre cum leaks from his long and thick shaft. You can feel yourself getting wetter, his saliva still dripping from your sopping pussy. You wanted him to fuck you rough and hard. To hell with it if the entire building hears.

“I need you inside of me,” you plead, cheeks flushed and mascara smeared beneath your eyes. You looked divine with your legs spread open and hickeys adorning your neck, a delightful twist to his night of solitude.

He grins devilishly, rubbing himself against your folds and watching as your slick enveloped him, almost sucking him in. Before he fucks you until you’re an incoherent mess, he takes his time to admire you, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Y/n, are you sure? I don’t have protection,” he says, stroking your cheek.

Your mind was too hazy to process his words, the whiskey warping them. You could tell his restraint was weakening, but he wanted to ensure your comfort above all else. You laugh when you realize his question, heart fluttering at the consideration.

“I’m on birth control.” You smile when he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god,” he says, hooking your leg onto his shoulder. “I would’ve just eaten you out until you came.”

Your mouth falls open when he thrusts his entire length into you, biting down onto his shoulder to stifle your scream. His hand rubs your back soothingly, holding you against him as he lets you adjust.

“Shh, it’s okay. Tell me when I can move,” he whispers into your ear, kissing away the tears. You weren’t a virgin by any means, but the penetration was so sudden, making you bite the inside of your cheek until a metallic taste ran along your tongue. You cling to him, waiting for the pain to subside.

You nod when it becomes bearable, clenching around him with fervor and need as you plead for him to continue. He starts to move in and out, slowly, then quickly, rubbing against every spot inside of you.

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, thrusting harshly, your tits bouncing as he takes one into his mouth. The added stimulation makes you choke out a moan, your walls burning and sucking him in further.

“Choso! Choso, fuck! Harder!” you cry out as he hooks your other leg around his neck, laying you down on the cold counter and pounding into you harder. All the sensations were driving you crazy, and your body started to spasm.

“Not yet, baby.” His thumb rubs against your clit to add more tension. You couldn’t breathe, needing release as he pumped deeper inside.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he says, focused on your glazed-over eyes and blissed-out expression, saliva seeping from your mouth.

You grip his hair, his arm, the edge of the counter, any physical surface you could cling onto as your eyes roll back, vision becoming white at the corners.

Before you can finish, you hear footsteps approaching; the sound echoing through the bathroom. Your eyes snap open, legs tight around his torso as he carries you off the counter and into a stall, pressing his hand over your lips to suppress your moans. Your legs are trembling, his dick still inside you, pressing you up against the wall.

He kisses you to stop you from making any noise; the chatter growing distant as your bodies ease from the false alarm. He keeps you against the stall, pounding into you again with his hand beside your head.

You can feel your stomach tighten when his cock thrusts deeper in this new position, hitting your G-spot over and over. It’s outrageous how quickly he can make you orgasm, your mouth falling open as you near your limit.

“Cum for me,” he says, closing his eyes and succumbing to his own orgasm as you climax, screaming. He kisses you again, panting on your lips. You feel thick ropes of cum pump deep inside you, lifting your head slightly to see it seep out. You notice he’s doing the same, sweat dripping from the sides of his face.

“Shit. That was amazing.” You take a moment to catch your breath, feeling lightheaded from the orgasm. Choso nodded, pulling out as his dick begins to soften, hair sticking to his face. He smiled down at you fondly, fingers tracing the love bites he left on your skin. If you weren’t already spent, you’d beg him to fuck you again looking like that.

He helps you stand, chuckling at the mix of fluids dripping from your legs and the edge of the counter as he begins to clean the messes you left behind, much to your embarrassed protests. He spins you around, his fingers grazing your neck as he zips up your dress, his warm breath caressing your sensitive skin. Wordlessly, he showers your shoulder with affectionate kisses before dressing himself.

Your heels were the worst part, wobbling as you struggled to keep your aching body upright. He smiles and strings an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close into his chest with his other hand supporting your weight.

“Watch your step.” He holds you still when your ankle threatens to buckle.

You remain close to his side as he guides you through and out of the club, ignoring the smug glances from passing dancers. The air is frigid, your body clinging to the remnants of warm whiskey sliding down your throat and the night shared with Choso.

“So… is this it?” you ask, pulling away from him to talk, your shadows surrounded by empty cars and a bustling street. You start to shiver, surprised when a heavy weight settles on your shoulders, his coat draped around you. Your cheeks are dusted a lighter pink when you hug it tighter, your breath appearing as clouds of smoke in frosted air.

“I’m not the type to kiss someone and leave.”

Your lips curl at his response, electricity sparkling through your body again when he takes your hand into his, giving you his phone unlocked. You understand his gesture, entering your contact information and sliding the phone back into his fingers. “Don’t be a stranger.

Choso nods and you turn away, thoughts flooding through you with his coat still hanging around your body. You give him one last glance, noticing him still staring at you from a distance, eyes holding yours in an unspoken promise.

You laugh to yourself, his touches phantom on your skin as you unlock your car.

The taste of excitement lingered on your lips as you drove home, the road stretching past the starry horizon.

[agent-grey-fics]

Scarred Survivors | Part 1 | Finnick Odair x reader

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Wordcount: 1k

Summary: The Capitol announces a twist in the Quarter Quell: victors will be reaped, again. Y/N Green, the "Huntress" and winner of the 69th Hunger Games, is forced back into the arena. Furious and betrayed, she faces Finnick Odair, who volunteers to participate in the games once again, reigniting old tensions.

AN: Hi guys, it's been a while. My life has been turned upside down after the death of my mom. I am trying to make the best of it and find distraction by starting to write again. It was hard to start again, I am trying my best to fall in love with writing again. Be kind. Love always, Lexi

It was two hours before the reaping when the capitol announced an emergency broadcast. You were sitting in front of the TV when they announced a change in the Quarter Quell: the two tributes were going to be selected from the existing victors group. ‘No!’ you threw your glass at the television as the realization set in. They screwed you over. Again. After you won your games you were promised a lifetime full of peace and prosperity. You didn't invest too much thought into it and simply allowed events to unfold. Trying to forget the trauma from the arena and the blood on your hands. During your games, Caesar Flickerman named you ‘The Huntress’. Instead of waiting the others out you actively hunted them down from day one, you were all going to die one way or another so you could at least try to survive. To your disbelief, you did. You became the winner of the 69 Hunger Games, being seventeen years old at the time.

Life after the games was never the same. There was a y/n before the games and a y/n after the games. The first weeks back home were a blur, between panic attacks and depressive episodes you drank your problems away. A little trick Haymitch taught you when you met him during your victor’s tour. When you settled in Victor’s village it was strange at first but you found your place among the others. Mags guided you as much as she could, just like she did in the games. It was nice being around people who understood what you had been through, and what you did to survive.

Tears were welling up in your eyes, Snow already took everyone you loved away from you. He no longer had any leverage to use you as one of his puppets, except to send you back into the arena. You ran your hands through your hair, you were not going to give him the pleasure of seeing you cry. You were going to look flawless and emotionless. He won't get you down, not this time.

Two hours later you were standing next to Mags. She held your hand tightly in hers while you were waiting for the reaping. They had placed all the previous winners of the games in front of the audience. One group consisted of the female winners and a second group where the male winners stood. ‘The time has come to select one courageous young man and woman for the honour of representing District Four in the 75th annual Hunger Games. As usual ladies first!’  Not me, not me, not me was all that you could think. There was a one in three chance that you would be chosen for this Quarter Quell, and you hoped to hear Annie's or Mags’ name, not caring for their well-being at the moment. It was selfish but you were sure that you wouldn’t survive a second time in the arena. The Capitol escort dug into the glazed jar until a single piece of paper remained between her fingers. She tiptoed to the microphone in her ridiculously high heels and cleared her throat uncomfortably. Everyone held their breath, waiting to hear which victor had to re-enter the arena. Not me, not me, not me.  ‘Y/N Green.’ 

All eyes turned to you and you could see your face on the big screen that was hanging above the makeshift stage. You were dumbfounded and stood rooted to the ground. Mags squeezed your hand in an attempt to reassure you a little. Not again. ‘Fuck.’ you breathed out as the peacekeepers walked towards you and reached for your frame. ‘I can walk on my own, don’t fucking touch me.’ You slammed their hands away and gave them a poisoned look. You were furious. Several sighs left the audience, some of relief the others of disbelief. Annie and Mags started crying, they were relieved that they wouldn’t have to re-enter the arena. On the other hand, their hearts broke for you because they knew what hell awaited.

‘And now for the boys.’ You zoned out, not caring about what was going on. Flashes of your first games raced by. You never trained as a career, well not fully but you were pretty skilled in hand-to-hand combat both on the ground and in the water. During your games you hunted the other tributes down, Taking advantage of your skills in hand-to-hand combat. ‘Thomas Henderson.’ You were startled out of your train of thoughts when you heard his name. Unconsciously, you held your breath and let out a relieved sigh when you saw him walking towards the stage. That was the other thing, during your years in the victor's village and the Capitol you- ‘I volunteer as tribute.’ The public gasped in union when the words echoed through the air. His voice was laced with confidence, a weird sound in this kind of situation. Your jaw almost dropped. Thomas stopped in his tracks as the other was guided towards the stage. ‘What are you doing?’ You hissed as the bronze-haired man took place next to you. He gave you one of his famous smirks as you turned your head towards him. ‘Keeping you alive Green.’ His voice was as raspy as you remembered. ‘Since when do we take care of each other? Last time I checked you made yourself perfectly clear when you said you wanted nothing to do with me. Now I just have to go the extra mile to kill you too.’ He shook his head as he heard the threat. He and Mags were your mentors during the games while he was only a year older than you. He had the reputation of being a lady's man, charming everyone with his boyish grin. ‘I forgot how fierce you were, huntress.’ His cocky grin hadn’t changed over the last couple of years. It was a grin you loved at one point but now only despised, you wish you could smack it from his face. ‘Well, wait another week and you will be able to find out for yourself.’ He tilted his head a bit to the side, ‘Is that a promise y/n?’. Before you could say anything, the voice of the Capitol escort echoed across the square: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes from District Four: Y/N Green and Finnick Odair.’

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Peter Rekindling His Crush On You

Peter Quill X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive themes, spoilers, mentions of an abusive relationship, fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) Okay I have seen GOTG Vol. 3 twice now and I freaking LOVE this movie! It has reignited my love of Peter. I had this idea and I had to write it! I’m even staying up late to get it done as I want to get it posted ASAP! I hope my fellow Peter fangirls enjoy it as it has a little bit of angst and fluff. I had so much fun writing this and I hope I can get more ideas to write for Peter! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

SPOILERS FOR GOTG VOL. 3 BELOW!!!!! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE!!!

A week had gone by since Peter had returned to Earth and it had been pretty calm so far. Catching up with his grandfather had been easier than expected and his last remaining Terran relative welcomed him back like the prodigal son. But now Peter was wanting to find more people he had known all those years ago. It didn’t take long until his thoughts had begun to dwell on you. He remembered the crush he had harbored for you, even after Yondu had taken him away his thoughts had gone back to you if he was in need of something good to remember. He asked his grandpa about you, but for some reason the older man was keeping quiet about you. It aggravated Peter but he didn’t ask much, not wanting to push his grandpa’s buttons too much. Though he couldn’t shake the feeling that the older man was up to something.

It shocked Peter that one fateful day that you turned up to his grandpa’s front door, like it was the most normal thing in the world. You waltzed in easily, hands full with vegetables.

“Mr. Quill I brought you...,” you paused almost dropping your bundle of goods. You fumbled around, regaining control but still staring at Peter who sat on the couch. Normally he would have laughed at someone giving him such a look but he knew he had to have the same expression on his face. While he still loved Gamora so much, it was a blessing to see you once again. You aged, just as he had but he couldn’t help but see how much of a beautiful woman you had become.

“Peter,” you asked as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“Hi (Y/N),” Peter spoke while rising from the couch. He took the vegetables from you and laid them on the kitchen counter. You followed close behind, still unbelieving that Peter was standing right in front of you. Grown and more handsome than you could have ever imagined. You swallowed loudly, stepping closer to him. He leaned backwards, suddenly uncomfortable with how close you were. You suddenly hugged him, shocking him more.

“It really is you!”

Peter chuckled finally hugging you back, “Yeah. I had some loose ends to fix.”

You punched his shoulder roughly.

“Ow! What was that for,” he squalled.

“For leaving without saying goodbye,” you glared.

“I had no choice!”

You continued to glare before relenting. It wasn’t Peter’s fault, you knew that. But it had hurt that day that he had disappeared. You were sure he was as good as dead until you had saw Thanos’ defeat and Peter had stood amongst the heroes that had saved the Earth. But now with him standing in front of you in person, the relief was becoming so overwhelming. You had thought about him a lot since then and you were afraid that you would never get to see him again. Or that if you did get to see him, he wouldn’t remember you at all. But now you were so relieved that that wasn’t the case. You hugged him again, but this time he was scared you would punch him again. Peter held you away from him about to say something else when you looked down. A little boy that hid behind you, tugged on the hem of your shirt. Looking up at Peter with large bright eyes. Of course, you were married. Any guy would be stupid to pass you up, he just hated he was too late. You looked down at your son, rubbing the mop of his hair affectionately.

“Peter this is my son,” you pushed the little boy forward who pushed back too shy to stand before Peter. 

Peter’s eyes went from the young boy to your left hand. He didn’t spy a ring on your finger, but that didn’t mean you weren’t taken. He looked back to the boy who still was trying to escape. He squatted down getting eye level with him before smiling warmly.

“I’m a good friend of your mom’s,” he said holding out a hand. “We knew each other when we were kids.”

“Hi,” he answered timidly before looking back up towards you. Satisfied with him braving a new stranger you let him dart back behind you. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“He’s a little shy sorry about that,” you said.

Peter waved it off, though his heart hurt he was glad you found some happiness in life. You sent your son off to go play as Peter invited you to go outside to sit while you watched your son play. While you enjoyed the sunshine warming your face, Peter couldn’t help but look at your ring finger, the lack of ring bothering him. He didn’t have a right to be jealous of someone who had been there for you, but his heart was betraying him.

You were enjoying the silence, just glad to see Peter once again when he interrupted the silence.

“Who’s the lucky man,” he finally asked. His curiosity and jealousy too much to bear. You stiffened, refusing to look at Peter. You were really hoping he wouldn’t ask but of course he would once he saw your son. You sighed, deflating back into the chair.

“He’s not in our lives anymore,” you replied vaguely. Peter just continued to stare and you sighed again. “He left me a little after I gave birth. He was verbally abusive and he didn’t really love me. He just lied to get to me. I married him like an idiot and I suffered since.”

Peter felt his rage starting to choke him, especially when he saw a stray tear make it’s way down your cheek. He couldn’t imagine someone being so cruel to you and leaving  you alone to raise a child alone. His hands clenched into fists as he trembled in rage.

“He didn’t deserve you,” Peter snarled.

You jumped in your chair, surprised at the anger in Peter’s voice. Every emotion began to swirl inside your mind as you saw how much he actually cared about you.

“Any man that is dumb enough to marry you and knock you up just to belittle you and abandon you is not worth anything in any universe.”

Peter thought about his father who had killed his mother and left Peter alone in the world. If it hadn’t been for Yondu, in his own twisted way, rescuing him he wouldn’t be here talking with you. Peter suddenly took your hand giving it a gentle but firm squeeze.

“You deserve better,” Peter continued.

You laughed nervously a blush darkening your cheeks. “Laying that Quill charm on thick aren’t we?”

“I’m serious,” Peter replied. “He deserves better too.” He gestured to the little boy racing around the yard, giggling gleefully. You touched your cheek, surprised to find tears streaking your skin.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered. Sure you had been so young when Peter left but it had left a void in your life you had tried to ignore. But now with him back on Earth and a grown man, you found that he had meant more to you than anything. You felt foolish for finding someone else to take his place and the one you found had been a waste of time. Your son was the only good thing that had come from that relationship and marriage. Peter tugged you back into another embrace, kissing your cheek. His beard quickly catching your tears as you clung to him tightly.

“I missed you too,” Peter said. He never wanted to let you go now that you were back in his life. While Gamora still hurt, he found that holding you and seeing you again felt right. He felt a conviction well up inside him, that he wanted to show you how much of a real man he could be.

“Can I take you and him out sometime,” he asked.

You sniffed before nodding. “I would like that very much.”

“Be prepared for the best date of your life,” he announced making you laugh.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you smiled through your tears.

“I want you too,” he replied before jumping up from his chair. He kissed you again before taking off after your son. The little boy squealed as Peter chased him around the yard, scooping him up and throwing him up in the air. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore as old feelings came back to you. Peter was back in your life and you couldn’t say it was a bad thing at all.

[cosmicfunnies]

Navigating Through The Storm - An Update On My Journey

Hello , dear friends and followers,I hope this post finds you in moments of peace and pockets of joy, despite the complexities we all navigate through in our lives. It’s been a while since I've shared a detailed update with you, and I believe it’s important to keep the lines of communication open, honest, and heartfelt.

The past few years have been a rollercoaster, to say the least. I’ve encountered personal challenges that have significantly impacted my ability to create as freely and frequently as I used to, particularly with my comics and creative projects.Depression has been a relentless companion on this journey, making everyday tasks and creative endeavors much more difficult to navigate.

The weight of it often dims the vibrant colors of life, making even the simplest steps forward feel like monumental tasks.Adding to this, the financial strain of losing my full-time job two years ago has cast a long shadow over my life. The search for stable employment has been both exhausting and disheartening, leaving me to juggle financial uncertainty alongside my other challenges.

One of the most heart-wrenching aspects of these years has been witnessing the progression of my mom’s dementia. Her condition continues to deteriorate, and the emotional toll of watching a loved one fade away cannot be overstated. It's a type of pain that words can hardly capture.

Despite the darkness, there have been slivers of light and progress. I’ve been slowly, but surely, working on new things. The journey back to creativity isn’t a straightforward path; it’s filled with starts and stops, especially with chronic fatigue making every step feel like wading through molasses.

But I am moving, nonetheless.I’m in the process of relaunching my store, which is both exciting and daunting. It’s a tangible piece of my hope for the future, a hope that creativity will once again be a full-fledged beacon in my life.Moreover,

I've taken a significant step towards a brighter future by going back to college to pursue my bachelor's degree in graphic design. This decision is not just about career opportunities; it's about reigniting my passion and opening doors to new possibilities and dreams.

Yes, things are moving slowly, but they are moving. The creation of new comics and products is underway, though the pace might not be what I used to manage. This process is teaching me patience and the importance of being kind to myself, recognizing that progress, no matter how small, is still progress.

To you, my dear readers, your support and understanding mean the world to me. Knowing that you are there, even in silence, gives me strength. I am hopeful for what the future holds, for both my creative endeavors and personal growth.

Your patience and encouragement as I navigate this phase of my life are invaluable.As doors begin to crack open, and I peer through to the possibilities beyond, I am reminded that every step forward is a victory. And I am grateful for the chance to share this journey with you.

Jackie

[gojoscalico]

Turn Back Time || f o u r

Summary: You were never sure when it started to fall apart but it did. 10 Years later and now you're facing him again. Will it reignite the feelings you both once had for one another? Or will you both end up walking away from each other once again? Word Count: 1859 A/N: WARNING!! This chapter does mention graphic violence. Also there is no flashback this story! But I promise more of the past will be revealed. Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @thefictionalcharacterssimp @picievi &lt;-Previous Next ->

In a desperate attempt to protect Shoko you had found the nearest thing you can outside of the pavilion and swapped out their position using whatever time was left to make sure that you weren’t crushed by the roof caving in. In a slight second, you saw a piece of shrapnel positioned in a way that it would pierce a vital organ. You focused your technique to protect it. A technique that you had mastered while fighting overseas. Fuck. It still hurt as it tore through your skin. You held your technique, protecting the organ and keeping the rubble from caving in all while bleeding out, keeping yourself awake. Fuck. You were slowly going unconscious but you tried your best to stay awake because as soon as you closed your eyes, your technique would be released and you were unaware of how long it was going to be before anyone was going to rescue you. Fuck. “Sa..Satoru…” You let out in desperation followed by a cough of blood. Shit. But you knew no one was able to hear you. How long has it been? You were only sure of one thing. It felt like forever. You were unable to concentrate on what was going on outside. One unfocused second and you were dead, you knew that. 

You smiled as you thought about dying. You chuckled to yourself a little, closing your eyes for a second since they were starting to feel heavy. You just wanted one thing before dying and it was seeing Satoru’s face again. You just wanted an opportunity to tell him how much you loved him. You imagined  his face until suddenly you felt the pressure of the rubble subside. You opened your eyes weakly smiling as you saw Satoru’s horrified expression,“T-Toru…I–” You coughed up some blood. You felt relief taking over your body as you released the technique that held the rubble up. “I’ve got you princess…I always got you…” You slowly close your eyes as you know that once you release the technique protecting your organ Shoko has seconds before you bleed out. You took one last breath in before closing your eyes. It’s all up to you now.

You slowly opened your eyes looking around at your surroundings. You were in a makeshift tent for ones who were injured during the attack. “Y/N! You’re awake!” You sat up wincing at the pain radiating from the right side of your abdomen. You placed your hand where the shrapnel had been. It was gone and you were no longer in critical condition but it was still slightly bleeding. “Sorry, I used up what I could to stop the bleeding but I needed to reserve more energy into healing whoever else was hurt. After I get some rest–”

“Shoko, I need to fight.” Shoko glared at you, “ABSOLUTELY NOT.” You were startled by her sudden change of tone. She had never once raised her voice at you. No matter how stupid the things you were planning, she always handled everything with a cool attitude. “Please…my students…” Shoko let out a deep sigh as her eyes teared up, “Y/N…Satoru and Suguru they got it…okay? And besides we got promising students this year…they’ll be fine. So please…don’t die.” You looked down at your fingertips as you watched tears streaming down her face. You patted her head with a gentle smile, “Okay…sorry. Why don’t I help you dress wounds until you can heal them.” Shoko sighed as she used whatever was left of her energy to heal your wound so you can help her.

Hours passed and the tent was full of students who have reached their limit in fighting the special-grade curses that had attacked the school. You sat next to one of the kids who watched as his friends were being treated. “We almost had him Sensei…and now look at Megumi and Nobara…they fought so hard and I couldn't even–” You smiled at the pink-haired kid pointing at a black-haired boy and the brown-haired girl,who had an uncanny resemblance to Shoko in her younger days, next him who was unconscious laying on their beds, currently being treated by Shoko, “You’re Yuuji right?” You interrupted as he nodded, “Listen, you’re only a kid. A new sorcerer at that…no one expects you to know the hows of being a sorcerer yet but you held out pretty well until an adult, who by the way has more experience than you, came. And your friends, they're in good hands…Shoko is the best there is.” You watched as he slowly wept. You remembered that feeling of facing a special-grade and watching as your friends nearly lose their life. You delicately placed a hand on his head, patting it, “You did well Yuuji…Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Sensei…thank you.” You giggle as he gets up with a slight blush. You watched as he sat on a chair in between his friends. He was adamant in waiting until they had woken up before he could rest. The dedication the three of them had reminded you of the bond that Suguru, Satoru and Shoko had. Suddenly you were filled with the need to protect the three of them. From anyone and anything that threatens their peace. Just as you did 10 years ago. Lost in thought you didn’t notice that Shoko had sat down next to you. “The black-haired kid is Satoru’s kid, you know?” You tilted your head in confusion, doing the math in your head that the kid was way too old to be Satoru’s kid even if he had him at fourteen. Shoko laughed as she saw the confusion on your face.

“I don’t know if you remember the Riko case…” You nodded, “The assassin that was after her… he had a kid he wanted to protect from the Zen’in clan. He told Satoru about him before he passed and he protected him…and has been like a father to him since.” You looked down playing with your hands as you fell into deep thought. Satoru had changed from the arrogant and selfish man into someone who will watch someone’s kid after he had put him through a near death experience. Especially since that someone had nearly pushed Suguru into a dark place if you hadn’t helped buy time for Satoru to heal himself and save the three of you. Sometimes you had always wondered how different life would be for all of you if Satoru hadn’t gotten there in time to save the three of you. But he did so there was no point in dwelling in the past. 

“Hello…?” Your train of thought broke as you noticed someone had been waving their hand in front of you. You looked up to see it was Satoru, your eyes meeting those beautiful cursed eyes. You felt a sudden relief to see that he was only covered in scratches and dirt, nothing life-threatening. “Woah why are you crying?”

“Huh?” You finally noticed the blurred vision as the tears dropped down your cheeks. You weren’t even aware that you had been crying since the moment you met his eyes. Embarrassed, you started to wipe them off but they continued to fall. “Th…This is weird…why am I crying suddenly?” Satoru gave you a tender look as he lifted you up from your seat and pulled you into a hug. “I’m okay princess…” You were shocked by the sudden change in his demeanor towards you but you started to cry harder as you hugged him tighter, digging your face deeper into his arms, “I guess I am just happy that you are okay…I wasn’t sure if you were going to be…and I…I” Your tiny whimpers turning into sobs as he affectionately patted your head, “Shh…It’s okay…I’m okay why don’t you just take a deep breath.” You nod as you take a step back and take three deep breaths to calm your nerves down.

You weren’t ever this emotional until after you had thought you lost Satoru. You remember seeing red until he had walked in pulling your asses out of a deep battle with Toji. “I’m sorry…” Satoru shook his head, “There is nothing to be sorry about…I’m just glad that you’re okay and you were able to save Shoko and help her with the people here.” You smiled as you looked around, “I made the right choice then…prioritizing Shoko was ideal since she would’ve been a greater help to the people than I would’ve been.” You looked up to see Satoru’s pained expression. “Stop doing that…weighing your worth with logic. If I had to choose between the both of you I would’ve chosen you. Not because you would’ve been a better help but because I…still love you and I would always choose you over everyone.”

Your heart dropped hearing those words come out of Satoru’s lips. No. “No…Satoru I…,” You hesitated unsure if you should continue this charade of denying your true feelings for him. But you were aware that if you had asked him to, he would destroy the world for you. But that wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to show the Gojo clan that you love him because he was Toru. Not because he was Gojo Satoru. “I…don’t love you anymore…,” Your heart broke as you saw the broken-hearted expression on his face, “Besides I shouldn’t be your priority…they should be,” You stated as you pointed at Yuuji, Nobara and Megumi as you walked away. Satoru watched you walk away. Your shoulder slumped as they did when you were hiding the fact that you were crying. He knew whatever it was you said, you didn’t mean it. Which meant you had still loved him too.

He followed you outside the tent to see you facing Riko. Fuck. You stared at Riko who had a bewildered look on her face. You notice her gaze move through you as she softens her gaze and runs past you into Satoru’s arms. “Babe!” You turned around to see her in Satoru’s arms. His eyes locked into yours. “Riko…what are you doing here?” You were unsure why you weren’t able to move your feet no matter how much you willed it to do so. Somehow you stood there as if whatever it is you just heard was not real. Riko couldn’t possibly be dating Satoru. Right? I mean she was just a kid when you all met her. But your heart clenched as you realized that you guys weren’t kids anymore. “I heard about the attack and I got worried so I raced towards the school as soon as I could. I’m glad you’re okay.” “I'm good, princess…see?” Gojo replied as he flailed his arms around. Princess. Somehow a nickname you once adored suddenly you hated again. You chuckled to yourself as you bit the inside of your cheek trying to stop any tears that tried to escape turning around but somehow still stuck in place. Of course he moved on. You were still frozen in place but as soon as you heard Satoru and Riko’s footsteps get farther away from you it was like you were free to move again. Fuck.

[skarsbabe]

Sol y Luna; a captain's order.

Bill skarsgård x reader!au

Summary; A rejected soldier and his love-hating woman of a surgeon meets again in a different circumstance—hoping to forget about one another what will happen if old flames reignite in amidst of sworn duties and personal feelings?

TW. Implied violence, cursing. (talk of gùns, blàdes, etc.) Read at your own discretion.

a/n: inspired by descendant's of the sun series because i'm in love with it (and bill). I also might've changed a few details in this, and gave them their own background stories & characters.

word count; 2.6k

ATTENTION: I do not consent my work to be copied, posted, or plagiarized in anyway. This is an ongoing series let me know if you liked it!!

* All rights reserved for the original series. *

"It's the demilitarized zone, so we'll resolve this in dialogue." Bill says casually as him and Wolf take their gears off. See this was a normal thursday for the big boss, atleast that's he thinks. Wolf looks at his friend with a blank face and eyes for hunger, maybe what hid behind his eyes has a double entendre since their meal was cut short by these troublemaking bastards.

The rest of the alpha team stood alert as they watch their captain and comrade approach the ruined building where two hostages are captured in. Two hands raised in a surrending manner bill spoke, "This is the operation commander, is the two hostages okay?," fuck they are really making it hard for them, he thinks.

"Let's stop this now, we'll send you home." he shouts from the outside making the hostage-taker scoff in response. "Looks like they won't go quietly," wolf whispers next to him, yeah man that's what I've been thinking, wanna hit this old style? He wants to say. "Let's go in." Bill smiles and nods before he clicks on his earpiece

"Big boss transmitting, I'm going in with wolf." Big bad soldier with a head full of ego.

"Piccolo transmitting, position secured." The two held up their hands together still, feigning in surrender in exchange for the two imprisoned victims.

"Snoopy transmitting, explosives in place." This all suddenly took all of the remaining special forces team's attention, especially harry potter. "We're using explosives?" snoopy glared at him "it's only a last resort in case the negotiation fails." The team gave their sighs of defeat and tight-lipped resignation while hoping for the best of not having any casualties for the day. Perhaps they still remember the earful they've received from the general.

"Stop this now while we still let you, it'll only get worse in the morning." Wolf's impending patience gets shorter each second these kidnappers waste.

Suddenly the doors busted open in place as the criminal's lunges at the two like dying hyenas out of the cage, all of them are armed with different blades. Classic move.

They all fought them off with ease until the the leader of the gang meet's bill's eyes. A familiar one he thought. Half of his face was being covered by the black balaclava but he knew that look all so well. One that thought him how to kill, and how to be killed, one they thought was gone, has reincarnated himself in front of him, meeting death itself.

Before he knew it a blade slashed itself into his side, waking his brain from his old dilemna of memories from the past, "sierra."

"I'm glad you recognized me, comrade." He laughs darkly as his eyes hold no remorse. "But i'm afraid I can't let a special forces man, let run free after this incident." He says before he swiftly runs his blade to his face once again, they fought time and time again before bill's blade reaches sierra's neck.

"you won't be able to kill me, we both know that a man of the country he serves cannot kill." The nerve of this man really.

"But we, the republic, are different." He smiles before bill feels the coldness of the barrel behind his head. Wolf turns to his side as he hears the sound of a glocking gun, seeing his comrade calm as he is while being in the line of meeting God.

"Seventy years since the division and yet we still have misunderstandings." Bill scoffs, before he looks at the man dead in the eyes. "If it is to protect the peace, we will shoot precisely, wherever, whenever."

sierra looks to his side to see a red dot following suit, pointing precisely on his forehead. "Let's not make any mistakes like this again. I don't interfere when an enemy makes a mistake."

"I can't come as a warrior and leave as a casualty." Sierra says as he orders his men to put the gun down. "Nice to meet you again, Captain Skargård."

"Likewise, but let's not make it an annual event, lieutenant Santos." sierra yields his weapon to the ground and orders his men to go follow him. "Big Boss transmitting, alpha team has resolved the situation."

"you must've felt proud, huh." Wolf whistles in his direction, smirking. "big bad cop."

"DID YOU SHOOT WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED? your score.."

"This barrel looks a little twisted, doesn't it?" Wolf complains in response while inspecting the toy gun in hand. "It doesn't shoot very well," while the two expresses their annoyance to the toy gun forcing and banging it in different ways the owner of the store yell's in caution "hey! Be careful with that!" He says before he snatches it from wolf's hands, "mister, your gun doesn't work." Bill snickers in response laughing in his friend's unimpressed face.

"That is because you aren't real soldiers, people in iraq uses this exact model and they work just fine," he yaps in annoyance. "This isn't the same model—"

"THIEF! THIEF! CATCH THAT THIEF!"

The sargeant sighs in place. As their attention caught on the commotion happening, "Let us borrow this for a bit." Before he snatches it away from the owner's hands, "but we're on our break, man." Bill complains before following his friend.

"It's a toy gun so we have a short range, about five meters." wolf says while they stand their ground aiming the gun at the alleged thief running on a motorcyle. "Ten meters,"

"Guys that's dangerous, move! move! You hey!" The thief screams, before the two clocks their toy gun in place. "Shoot." Baby bullets shoots through the teenagers eyes aiming it perfectly making him fall off and slide onto the fruit stand on the corner.

"Did you call the police?" Wolf asks the motorcyle owner, before he hears it's engine roar, "The motorcyle is fine, calling the police over for a coupon thrief is more bother than what it's worth. Besides his injury has nothing to do with me. Okay? Thank you." The man spoke hurriedly before he rode away. Wolf sighs in defeat before he saunters back with friend who seems to be writing something down on the thief's forearm.

"You little punk one wrong move and you could be stuck with lifelong spinal injury. Don't move." He says before he flicks the thief's forehead back to lie down.

"What are you doing now?"

"Providing first aid after an act of social injustice." He says before pulling the string from his pants, smiling mischeviously, "let me buy those two teddy bears there,"

"Ah, Those aren't for sale," the owner buts in again before he was glared by the two men in response. "Sell them to me, or I'll win them all."

The man runs back with more stuff toy than they needed.

"I think she is the one." Wolf says before patting the head of his date, a white bunny plush bear. "yours is pretty cute." wolf teases as he sees his friend choke on his drink. "This? We're just friends," he responded with unfazed sarcasm, "is that so? Rejected you, again? That's why your friends?" wolf teases more before bill's phone rang, "oh you wanna play dirty. Oh look who's calling, what a coincidence." bill smiles in victory.

"What is that the unit? Are they gonna cut our lunch short, again?"

"Not our unit, but yours." Bill laughs as he flips the phone in wolf's direction, seeing the caller id as her name, In big bright bold letters.

Lieutenant. Vann-Reid

"Don't you dare answer that." Wolf hisses as his friend, who's still having his fun by pretending to swipe his finger onto the answer button. "I'll treat you steak." He tries to plead again, only to be met with more boisterous laughter coming from him, "Steak? I sure make enough money to eat that everyday, is that your best negotiation yet?" Bill simply taunts, he really is The big boss, wolf thinks, the big boss of ego and flattery.

"I have a cousin who's a flight attendant that I can set you up a date with now, decline that call." Now he really must've hit the jackpot as bill's eyes glints in delight.

"And you've been hiding that desirable family member from me? How dare you." Bill gasps in fake offence while clutching his chest. "C'mon stop with the dramatics, do you want it or not?" He glares at his friend again, "I didn't say anything did I? Give me your phone, c'mon I have to see this flight attendant cousin of yours,"

"I think it got stolen."

"What?"

fuck, it was must've been taken by the boy thief from earlier. "What hospital did they say they we're taking him?"

"Bed eight motorcyle accident, minor lacerations on his forehead and legs, right ankle suspected to be sprained."

Emma says as she reads his chart. "Mister if you don't mind me asking what happend to your forehead?" pointing to his, seeing marble shaped circles. "Oh wait, you also dropped this earlier from your jacket sir, it's been ringing nonstop." Emma smiles as she hands the patient his phone. "Oh no, no you hold onto it first, I'll just go at the comfort room."

Oh. he'll be back, she thought. Well, that was 20 minutes ago, too long for a bathroom break from a patient who's not suffering from any stomach problems whatsoever. Emma had been running around like a lunatic mother finding for her child before she stumbles and sees you doing your rounds.

"Doc. y/n thank god you're here. The patient in bed five, I-I think he might've ran away," she babbled, while panting from running too much. Seriously, how many patients do they lose in an average day? "Look he has this teddy bears wrapped around his head, and well, he's limp."

Behind her, there exactly stood a man in his early 20's in skinny jeans, with head covered by two plush teddy's, pink and blue. Limping his way out of the exit.

What a day to be an ER doctor, you think to yourself.

"Yeah, yeah, excuse me," the man says hastily before he limply took off, taking one step and a time. You both ran towards him. "Okay sir, this has been fun and all but we seriously have to treat you."

"I'm fine, why don't you believe me, look I can walk okay? just let me go." This man was really trying to be everything but convincing, "Sir if we don't treat that leg of yours, it could to more damage than it is, so listen to me and lie down," you sternly spoke, before assisting him to his bed.

"You don't get it if I don't get out of here, my boss will put me straight in the morgue."

Morgue?

"well are you part of a gang?" You asked without hesitation, Looking at his eyes directly. "W-What, no." the fear in his eyes doubled in sized when he realizes he's been caught. Well he may be part of a gang somehow, but he didn't expect this doctor to ask such direct ones as bait.

"Well this is a hospital. Tell that boss of yours that if he ever comes here, we'll call the security right away to have him thrown in jail, got it?" You assure him, "who wrote this?" seeing a note written in a black marker inlcuding his chart.

Boy thief, must be treated in the most painful way possible.

The boy sighed again, "ah well that has been there when the paramedics brought him in—" emma replied shortly before she was interrupted by the boy, groaning in pain. "It's the punks who shot me." You and emma laughed in amusement, "shot you? with what baby bullets?" Yes dammit, with baby bullets, a toy gun brought him to this condition.

"Well whoever did this is sure an expert in the field, look at these plush teddy's very fitting for a first aid." You mock him playfully as you order emma to get his x-ray checked, "I'll be back for you, nurse emma, call me if he ever tries to escape, again." As you walk away emma hands you a phone, "what is this?" You asked in curiousity, "well that patient in bed eight told me to onto it, but it wouldn't stop ringing so I didn't know what to do."

huh. Why wouldn't a phone owner answer his own phone?

You nodded towards her as you take the phone to see it still ringing, the caller id listing as Big Boss. Oh he really is part of a gang, and a lame one at that. You thought. "Hello?"

Bill sighs in annoyance as he grew tired of running in circles again and again through the white hospital halls, the dim lighting and people swarming around waiting to get treated, makes it harder for bill to retrieve the phone before he hears it ring for the last time and hears a response. "Hello?"

Angel. That's what bill heard, a savior in his time of need. "Hello is this the patient's guardian?," the woman, angel spoke again. bill loses his terrain of thought as he hears it being too close by? He opens one of the curtains behind him as he peaked to see a white wearing coat doctor suturing a patient in hand while holding, wolf's phone.

"well, yeah hello," bill then spoke from where he stood, puffing out his chest, smirking as he observed the doctor in front of him. You turn behind you as you hear an unfamiliar voice before catching up to what's happening, "I'll be back sir," you say before standing up to remove your glove and gauzes in place. Your hair struck in different places but you had never been more heavenly to bill's eyes. "Sir hello, are you the guardian or the patient's gang boss?" what.

"No, what?" bill retracts his statement from earlier, an angel isn't this fierce to make him sweat too much, no, he's part of a super elite team for fucks sake, why is he nervous about this woman questioning him. Pull yourself together.

"Well you answered the phone, does that mean your big boss?," you asked while showing him the caller id in the phone. "Well yeah, technically I am, doc. But hey listen—" you nod in petty aknowledgement before deciding to call the cops number in the keypad. "Hello yes? This is Doctor y/l/n, from Rutherford hospital I'm calling for a—hey what," before you knew it the phone was swiped away from your ear, flying before bill catches it with ease. "Listen, Doctora, y/l/n or whatever, my job is very confidential and I would get in risk if we involve the cops, just give me the phone and we'll leave," bill now smiled, hoping his charm would work on the doctor.

"Why would your job be in risk? So your admitting to be that patient's boss who'll put him in the morgue?" You narrow your eyes at him, before you get your name called by emma again.

"Doc! He espcaped again! Oh no I lost him," emma sprints towards her. seriously? "I would like to continue this Big boss, but I'm afraid I'll have to cut our meeting short by duty calls, excuse me." You ran towards emma as your coat rushes by the wind, meeting her halfway before ordering to call the security for assistance. Meanwhile bill thought he had fallen in love in the most accidental way, in a hospital.

What are the odds of meeting his future wife and savior of an angel on an average break?

_ _

a/n: that was the first chapter, let me know if this was badly written or not, it's my first time writing TvT