#how anyone in the fucking world could be comfortable supporting it after what he was arrested for is beyond me

[ryxkenkxgami]

you know if i see one more person posting about fucking rurouni kenshin i might genuinely flip the fuck out on someone

[risuola]

III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

taglist: @yihona-san06 @tiredscavengerskeleton @son4aras @vixorell @cecesharktales @isleqt @thickmacandcheese @captainchrisstan @bbylime @sad-darksoul @shartnart1 @kiki17483 @grimreaqueer @phoenix-eclipses @fan-of-encouragement @valleydoll @aleeeeeeees-stuff @marifujioka @going-to-californiaxx @just-pure-trash @edenofeve @impulsivethoughtsat2am @thigh-o-saur @heyohalie @matchat3a @bubblearts @littlemisspropaganda @aconstructofamind @lawislife18 @rzcnlb @sunukissed

[grapejuicebrat]

carry you home

PAIRING: rafe cameron x reader

SUMMARY: where rafe finally found someone who loves him. and where finally rafe falls in love.

my masterlist

The best love is unexpected. You don't just pick someone and cross your fingers it'll work out. You meet them by fate and it's an instant connection, and the chemistry share is way above your head. You just talk and notice the way their lips curve when they smile or the colour of their eyes and all at once you know you're either lucky or screwed.

That’s what Rafe loves about you. Well, actually, he just loves you. He loves the way you smile, the way you walk, the way you talk. The way you hug him wherever he is sad. The way you talk him through hard times. The way you immediately know when something is off. The way you taught him how to trust people and not be afraid to express feelings.

You were his light in the darkness.

When he first met you he thought that you were disgustingly cute and sweet and shit. You didn’t care about Rafe being a total dick to you. You just wished him a nice day and offered a free ice cream just because you were in a good mood to make people happy.

And guess what? In the evening, the same day, Rafe felt guilty. You were so nice to him and he did everything to ruin your good impression of him. Like you weren’t like this pogues who just see him and are ready to throw all shit at him. You were literally smiling and offered a fucking ice cream. When he told you to fuck off and stop smiling.

Guess again? The next day Rafe bought you an ice cream in your own shop. And he apologised for being a dick. And of course you forgave him.

“Sure thing! Everybody has a bad day, it’s okay!”

And your sweet voice wasn’t that disgusting anymore.

You showed him one important thing that no one has ever been able to show him before. Not that he’s beautiful, not that he’s smart, not that he’s sweet. None of that. You showed him something more important than any of those things. You showed him that he was important, that there's a reason he’s here. You made him feel like the world was lucky to have him.

And Rafe doesn’t know if anyone will ever make him feel that way again.

Waking up next to you was Rafe’s favourite thing after coming home to you after a long day at work. Honestly, it is so nice - knowing that here is someone who is actually waiting for you. You were always there for him. Supporting in every decision, giving advices when he needs them, just being silent because comfortable silence is so underrated.

And when you said you loved him? Rafe thought that he was about to pass out. It was the best fucking thing that ever happened to him. Knowing that someone loves him. Just because he exists. Maybe he is toxic, manipulative. But she loves him. The way he is.

“I love you. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever. If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If I were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one.”

And then Rafe cried. And no, he wasn’t embarrassed of this. Because you taught him that it’s not a disgusting thing to express your feelings. It’s okay to cry. Just because you’re a man it doesn’t change anything. You’re still allowed to cry and to laugh and to be silent. Rafe is a human too after all.

“You know what i’ve learned from your stupid romcoms?” Rafe asks you and kisses your cheek.

“They are not stupid!” you roll your eyes and laugh. “But anyway, what you’ve learned?”

“The world was made so that we could find each other in it.”

And he was finally happy, having the love of his life in his arms.

this one is so special to me and no i won’t stop writing about rafe being a softie lmao

if you would like to be added to my taglist leave a comment or let me know by sending me in my ask!

tag list: @ivy-34

[biancadoes1]

I have a very long theory about the timeline and also L’s friends and family and what they know/knew while it was happening, and why things may have played out they way they did. (Not anything that violates their privacy, just some speculation about how things could have gone down that I think explains some things.)

I have been thinking most of this for a while, but that anon you had a while back claiming to work with a member of L’s family and what they were saying about N&L got me thinking. They may have just been a random person trolling, but I went back and read their previous post, and it seemed to imply the following:

L was in love with N, and wanted to date post filming, but N didn’t want to

L then got with A instead, and she became integrated into his friends and family group and they all liked her

All of this actually lines up with some fandom theories about what happened post-season 3, that they caught feelings and lines were blurred (L’s worlds about the blurring of lines, plus we’ve all seen the bts) and N wanted to take some time to separate from characters and make sure things were real. We’ve also speculated that L was hurt by whatever happened with N post-filming, and if that is the case could have caused his friends and family to be upset with N for the pain that he was experiencing. (My theory is that he was a fucking wreck if this is what happened because his feelings for N are anything but casual, and his friends and family had to deal with that/put him back together.) Don’t forget that L was also dealing with the end of a long term relationship almost simultaneously to “losing” Nic who I also think he had feelings for from day one, and I think everyone probably knew that his feelings for N had likely impacted/ended his relationship with J, and now N was stepping back from a relationship with him at that time, leaving him a mess.

So let’s say all of this has happened, and L went off the rails and swore off N, had his HBS and jumped into something with A (maybe with R’s help) and she made him feel better/boosted his confidence and he integrated her quickly into his life and his friends and family were all happy that he seemed happy and stable, and then… reshoots/press/tour happened.

I think N&L realized very quickly after reuniting that they still had feelings for each other and decided to move forward with a serious relationship because they knew they were it for each other, but they kept it a big secret even from people very close to them, and especially from anyone L knew wouldn’t be supportive or would try to talk him out of it after all that had gone on. He didn’t bring them into the circle, so they didn’t know what was going on. All they saw was what we saw, which is the interviews and press they were doing, which could be played off as PR, but they were also probably concerned about how close they were getting again. This could be why his sister/family seemed to be involved with A coming to the premiere to interfere what seemed to be happening, because everyone was concerned about him getting personally involved with N again and the impact that could have on him. The interaction with N was orchestrated to remind her that A was still there and mark her territory/intimidate her. L was reportedly upset/had an altercation with A at that event, and I think that after party N&L hug was her comforting him. However was also see him being very territorial about N at the same event, maybe because was worried about losing her again/it felt precarious/he is a person who needs a lot of reassurance, especially after the last time, and I think because N might have withdrawn from him or acted different because A was there and that made him feel insecure.

By this point I think N&L had already decided to get married and L had proposed (Australia Truther/down on the knee part one.) Ring was ordered and a backstory created for it to hide the truth until they were ready to share. They were engaged when N jokingly proposed in Italy. She starts posting the “boyfriend” pics. Press tour continues and so does the charade. In Ireland, L meets/asks permission from N’s family and the offical proposal happens (Down on the knee part two). Everyone’s emotional when L meets her mom but N’s bro in law is still a little skeptical/protective about the situation and the fact they L still had this situationship on the side/his family doesn’t know yet. They are both emotional about the tour ending and L tears up when N mentions that they (C&P??) will be married when they return to set.

They plan to separate for the summer so that L can handle business on his end. By the London radio interviews, N is starting to get emotional and withdraw a bit because the tour is ending and she knows what’s coming. He tried to comfort/reassure her but the situation sucks all around. Since their relationship is a secret, their communication will be limited, but as long as she is wearing the ring, he know she is still in and waiting for him (song lyrics), which he needs after what happened last time. She plans to hint at a relationship with JD to help conceal the truth, a friend but someone L will not feel worried/jealous about but will help provide some cover.

By the London premiere, everyone on L’s side is super concerned at where this is going, and someone or maybe multiple people close to L conspire for the pap walk to occur. I think some members of L’s professional team might have been in the group if people who were not supportive of a N&L relationship and/or didn’t know about it and participated thinking it would be a good move for his image to be seen as dating A or separate professionally from N.

L still has professional/personal commitments with A and his friend group, which he carried out, but he was anxious and miserable the whole time. I think the Spain trip was part of this/before Sorrento. I hope at some point he told A and his friends the truth, but an NDA may have needed to be involved to keep her and the friend group from going scorched earth and spilling all of the tea. At some point, maybe Italy, L susses out who has been violating his privacy and severs some ties/comes clean/runs home to Nic.

I assume at some point he told his family but that it is still very under wraps and only a small circle knows the truth. Going back to that anon, some people (extended family) may still not know the truth and be very confused and judgemental about what they are seeing in the media (N&JD relationship speculation, N appearing to run around with a younger man after rejecting L).

August: Chaos week, bless the telephone, Drink Your Milk pic. I think they reunited and L was staying with N while A found other housing arrangements (she was either living with L previously or staying there was he was on tour and he had to deal with that.

Talk Talk while flashing the ring…

Sometime this fall, I believe they got married and it was very small and intimate. Rings changed hands, she put one on his finger too, and they’ve been quietly staying out of the public eye. He’s been supporting her from behind the scenes and being her Ken while deciding what is next for him professionally (musical theatre?). They’ve started filming for season 3 as Polin and are emotional about all that has transpired since the end of S3 filming (tears in their eyes in the S4 Polin pic) or perhaps about what they are filming or what is next for them and taking some time to enjoy their marriage privately before sharing it with the rest of the world.

That’s my version of this friends to lovers story based on the crumbs we’ve received, and as Luke would say “it seems appropriate.”

No notes.

What do you guys think?

Edit: after re-reading this anon really has me 👀

Edit after the edit: there is mention of family in this post - I don’t want to see anything negative about them in the discussion. Negative comments will be deleted and I will not accept asks speaking specifically about them.

Their families are not part of this ship.

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Chapter Four: [Like Father, Like Daughter]

Summary: You receive news from your case worker about a family member, its sends you into a spiral. Bob is awol from the Hard Deck and Jake is constantly up to his old tricks.

Warnings: Death, mentions of witness protection. Jake Seresin x F!reader

Word Count: 3k

Author Note: Been trucking along at this series. Really trying to spend a little time each day writing a few paragraphs for some projects. And I really do LOVE these two.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Throughout history, there has always been a superstition that expands across many belief systems. Mirrors can be seen as a portal to another dimension; the reflection staring back at you is another version of yourself. Another version of you from another timeline or realm. 

If that were true, you’d give anything to trade places with the reflection staring back at you as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the small hallway mirror that hung for aesthetics. 

“What do you mean?” Your voice shook with confusion, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. “Roger, what the fuck do you mean my dad died?” 

Roger Spague was your case agent. He had been assigned your case right after the funerals of your husband and son. Soon after everything occurred, you were encouraged to enter witness protection to safeguard your testimony. As the only witness who could help bring the men who murdered your family and organised a multilevel drug syndicate to justice, your word was more valuable than gold itself. 

“We couldn’t tell you,” Roger has always been a rather hard nut to crack. He took no bullshit and smiled very rarely. He saw the world for black and white more than he ever did grey. Morals were good or bad, nothing could be in between. “He, unfortunately, passed away a month ago, we’ve been informed of the burial site, Hollow Hills. However, we really advise against you visiting anytime soon,” Rogers’s monotone voice echoed in your head as you struggled to hold your composure. 

“Why? Why would I not run out this door right now to visit my father’s fucking grave you asshole!” You hissed into the phone. Surely this was all some sick joke or a nightmare that never ended. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe properly. You were almost certain your heart was breaking apart yet again. The shattering pieces would surely slice into your arteries, causing you the bleed out and be at peace with the pain you’d carried for over three years. 

“Because they could be monitoring the site, do you really want to risk everything you’ve worked so hard to protect?” Roger reminded you through the phone. At this stage, you were sure that all the tears you’d cried over the years had permanently stained your cheeks. Maybe one day you’d wake up with no more tears left to cry. 

“Roger–” You sobbed as you made your way into your bedroom. You slumped onto the side and crumpled in on yourself. The only support system keeping you up was your elbows digging into your knees “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“You don’t have a choice to quit this,” Roger, with his little sympathise and tunnel vision, reminded you. “You don’t get to leave this until those bastards are behind bars, and we’ve put too much work into this to have you throw it all away now.” 

“But he’s my dad,” You never got to say goodbye. You never got to tell him how much you loved him, how much you still and always will. You never got to hold your mother or comfort your sister. Everything you’d missed, everything you’d sacrificed was starting to outway the idea, the pipe dream of justice. You were, at the very basic explanation, tired of this life. “I need to visit his grave.” 

“Not until we know for certain that there isn’t anyone monitoring his grave just waiting for you to show up.” The reality was hard to accept, you didn’t want to accept it. But the fact of the matter was, that you have just lost another member of your family, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to help yourself forgive that loss. 

“Fuck you,” You spat as tears spilled over your lower lash line. “Fuck you and fuck all of this do you hear me?” 

“No skin off my nose there, just remember why you’re doing this, who you’re doing this for, Y/n.” Just hearing your real name, and hearing those syllables leave someone’s mouth made you feel real. That you were still a real person with real emotions and valid feelings. “Remember what’s a stake here, they get the chance to kill you now? Then what’s all this been for?” 

“I hate you–” Was all you were able to get out before you broke down completely, deciding that the floor was the best place to be. You hung up the phone and made sure to throw it as far away as you possibly could. 

The carpet soaked up as many tears as possible before you fell asleep crying, sobbing until your eyes could no longer remain open and a steady rhythm took over in your chest. Sleep….it never came easy, but you needed it. 

By the time you slowly opened your eyes again, the sun had risen higher in the sky and the ice cream you’d brought in your weekly shop was melted into a puddle of liquid. You knew as you slowly peeled yourself off the carpet that you had to get yourself together before you lost the plot. So you trailed out into the hallway and made your way back to the kitchen to put away your groceries. The bags still sat where you and Jake had left them on the island bench. 

“You’re okay,” It was two simple words, but the lies that read between the lines were big enough to make them seem like a whole novel of untruthful affirmations. “You’re okay,” Again you repeated the same two words as you unpacked your groceries. “You’re okay.” Hoping that if you said them enough……

You’d hopefully start to believe them. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Cutting lemons was one of those mundane tasks you actually enjoyed. It gave you something to do while zoning out. You’d only been at work for roughly an hour before the patrons started to pile in after work. Naval men and women from all walks of life all heading to the local watering hole. It wasn't too long after you started on your fourth lemon that Jake made his appearance in your peripheral vision. There was no doubt that his proximity to you was the cause behind your palpitations. 

Jake stood on the other side of the bar, smiling his signature shit-eating grin at you while he watched your knife skills. 

“What's a guy gotta do to get you to handle him like that lemon?” Trust Jake to lead with the unorthodox hello. When you looked up and met your gaze, you knew you were in deep water. The smile that smeared itself across your face was as genuine as it could ever be. 

“I didn’t know you were into knife play Seresin?” You saw the way Jake's eyes slightly widened with promiscuous enlightenment at your reply. “You just after the usual?” You asked as you placed the knife you’d been using into the sink. 

“Yes ma’am, and to see the pretty barkeep,” Jake replied as he sat down on one of the empty barstools. He looked far too handsome in his flight suit, but you’d never tell him that. His ego was already inflated enough. 

“Penny! Hangman here to see you!” You called out as you washed your hands from all the lemon juice. Jake wouldn’t deny it if you asked that his eyes had dropped from looking at your hair to your ass as you turned around briefly to dry them on the rag that sat nearby. 

“I was talking about you–” He smiled as you turned back around to face him. His elbows were resting against the top of the bar, casually, like he was truly at home. 

“Bet you say that to all the ladies–”  You added as you picked up a glass, going about making Jake his usual order. 

“Nope, just you.” It was quiet, a little more serious with an underlying sense of admiration. Jake meant it, he thought you were gorgeous. From the moment he first met you, he saw all the beauty and grace that seamlessly radiated from your aura. “I think you’re beautiful, Brewer.” 

Jake's complement knocked the wind from your lungs as you held the glass at an angle and watched the amber liquid pool at the bottom. Slowly but surely filling the glass to the top with a perfect head of froth. 

“What did I tell you about flattery?” You sighed as you placed the beer down in front of the aviator who was slowly capturing your whole heart in the palm of his hands. Completely unaware that he was falling in love with a complete stranger. 

“That it won’t get me anywhere–” Jake grinned, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “But if I remember correctly, it did.” The sensation of having Jake’s lips pressed against yours came flooding back as the heat in your cheeks rose. “Let me take you out to dinner?” 

“Jake,” You had to sigh. “Not this again?” Playing a little hard to get wouldn’t hurt the man, would it? 

“Or come over to mine then?” Jake proposed with a cheeky Serein grin you assumed he got from his mother. 

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled as you let your hands rest on your bar, leaning in a little closer to Jake. “So I can contract whatever deceases you’re harbouring in that petri dish of a bachelor pad?” Jake pretended to be wounded as he placed a hand over his chest at your remark. You shook your head as you let out a small laugh. “I don’t think so, Seresin, but I’ll give you points for trying.” 

Jake sat there momentarily, just drinking in the sight of the woman who had slowly become his favourite person to be around. This was his favourite part of the entire day. Getting to come to the Hard Deck, sit on his stool by the bar and talk to you. He thought about you all day long. About all the ways you did our hair and those mom jeans that hugged your waist just right. He’d catch himself thinking about the way you humbly count your tips at the end of each night, or the way you laugh with Fanboy over the most insane things. He would often daydream about your smile, your eyes, and your ability to captivate the entire bar. 

“Fine,” Jake knocked his knuckles on the wood of the bar as he rose to his feet once again. “Suit yourself, but just for the record, I like my bachelor pad very much.” For as much as Jake truly did love his quick, tidy and rather put-together home, he sure wouldn’t have minded the slightest bit if you lived there too. 

“I think the local community of gonorrhoea would say the same.” You took the card Jake was handing over. “Starting a tab?” 

“Depends, what’s Bradshaws looking like?” Jake was always the first to add an extra beer or three onto Bradley’s outstanding tab. You were always the first person to turn a blind eye then doing so. As you looked up Roosters name in the system the number was much higher than you originally expected. It seemed as though the boys had well and truly been taking advantage of Rooster’s current love-hate relationship with the Hard Deck barkeep. 

“Eh, he owes me a couple hundred.” You smiled softly back at Jake as you placed his card in the draw. 

“Yeah, start a table angel, gives me more of an excuse to linger,” Jake replied with a genuine smile, his eyes were soft and swirling with ease. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. You gentled him to a point where if you asked him tomorrow to run away with you, he’d follow you to the end of the world.

“I’m sure that’s called stalking–” You sighed as you turned around momentarily to pick up your knife and head back to cutting your lemon slices. 

“Consider me your biggest fan then, Brewer.” Jake grinned ear to ear as he took a sip of his beer, heading off toward the pool table where you knew he’d be for the next few hours.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The Hard Deck was rather busy for a Monday afternoon. The bar was in high spirits as you manoeuvred yourself around the floor collecting empty glasses and cans. You could feel Jake’s eyes burning into you as you spoke to patrons and cleaned up tables. But there was one person you hadn’t seen yet that you needed to talk to desperately. Bob. 

“Where’s our resident underage drinker this evening gentlemen?” You cooed as you made your way over to your favourite group of aviators. “And Nix.” You added as you gave Phoenix a side hug. 

“Haven’t seen him actually?” Fanboy replied, his answer wasn’t one you wanted to hear. Usually, if someone wasn’t here by this time of the night then they weren’t coming at all. You really needed to speak to Bob. 

“Do you think he'll be in?” You questioned as you let go of Phoenix and went about collecting empty glasses. You knew Bob had annual leave coming up, he'd been talking about it for weeks now. 

“Why the sudden obsession with Bob, Brewer?” Rooster chimed in. “You guys on the down low or something?” That very question had Jake's blood boiling. You could see the jealousy clear as day smeared across his face from across the pool table.

“I’m uh—” It came out before you knew what you were saying. “I'm seeing someone, casually, it's really new.” Your eyes very quickly glanced over at Jake who now wore that same smug grin that he normally wore. Only this time his eyes were swirling with administration. “It's not Bob, but I appreciate your interest in my love life, Bradshaw.” 

“Lord help the man who ends up under your control,” Bradley rolled his eyes with a deep resentment you couldn't quite understand. The feud between the pain of you was something that formed from a mere misunderstanding. Surely the two of you could let bygones be bygones and move on. 

“An apology will wipe that ever-mounting tab clear Bradshaw, you know that.” You teased as you made your way back to the bar. You could feel the back of your throat growing tighter, and the sting of holding back tears that had become an all too familiar sensation began to grow. You couldn’t keep yourself busy enough to forget your dad was dead and no one, not a single soul had told you of his passing until he was six feet under. No amount of work could keep your mind from trailing to all the memories that played aloud in your mind, drowning out the mundane chatter from patrons. 

“Can I get another beer sweetheart?” You hear one of the men say as he held his head up with the palm of his hand. He was using his elbow as an anchor, keeping him from slumping over onto the bar. 

“Sure, what are you drinking?” You facked a smile so easily readable that Jake saw right through it from across the Hard Deck. He could sense that you were off, something wasn’t right. One minute you were happy, the next he didn't recognise the look in your eyes. 

“Whatever you don’t mind tasting after you finish your shift.” The man said with the confidence of a much taller man. It made the damn burst inside you. Fuck this and fuck everything. 

“Careful, the succulent reminder of your own inadequacies walking this way might cause a scene real quick if you don’t back off.” The problem was simple, you’re doing it all on your own. Choosing to stay all closeted in your own little bubble, longing for love, friends and family. Scared of death, scared of life, taking it out on those who tried to get close. But as Jake walked towards the bar, you felt like you could rely on him. He made you feel safe even if being around you put him in unimaginable danger. “That’s what I thought too.” You chuckled to yourself as the man nodded and sighed. 

“You good?” Jake asked as he decided against following the first of many of Penny’s rules for the residence group of aviators. Mavericks rag-tag team of adopted children. The first and most important being no aviators behind the bar. Jake, however, didn’t care. 

“I feel like I’m rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic here,” You growled as you poured the man his beer. The last one you were going to pour him for the night. “My life is falling apart around me and here I fucking am pouring beers for America’s best and brightest tax-guzzling fighter pilots.” 

Jake could very much sense that something was wrong, this wasn’t like you. He thought, however, since your shared moment in your apartment yesterday, that he had some sort of upper hand here over all the others. 

“You need to take a break, just pause for a second.” Jake placed his hand softly on your shoulder as he stood behind you. Whatever was going on inside your head was bleeding out into reality. 

The feeling broke you. Jake’s touch, it wasn’t your husband’s. The man you got killed. It was Jake’s touch that broke you from whatever restraints you had tangled yourself in. The barbed wire that cut you right to your bones. 

“No, you can’t just pause, because in real life the trauma doesn’t just stop,” You broke as you spun around into Jake’s chest. He was quick to look around as people from all walks of life looked around to bear witness to your impending mental breakdown. He caught Bradley’s gaze before anyone else's. Even the man who had unintentionally started a war with the new Hard Deck manager was worried about you. 

“Penny–” Jake sighed as he looked over at the woman who still ran the show from behind the scenes. She nodded in agreement, a silent one. One where it was now Jake’s responsibility to get you out of the Hard Deck before you could draw any more attention to yourself. 

“Let's go outside alright? Get some air–?” Jake tried to reason with you as you shook your head and balled your fist into his white cotton T. Your eyes swirled with a pain he’d never be able to process. A pain so unfathomable it sounded fictional. 

“God doesn’t work that way or whoever the fucks in charge of this godforsaken hell I’m living!! You can do absolutely everything right and still…. Good, people, die.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

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[goingmerryfics]

Hello!! I recently found your blog and I love it!! ❤️

I was wondering if I could request something!

Kid, Mihawk and Law with a partner who’s into gothic clothing. uwu

Gothic style S/O w/ Kid, Mihawk & Law

Content: Gender Neutral reader, SFW!

Notes* Glad to have you! Thanks for the request :) Out of anyone, I think these three would be the most accepting/understanding of someone with this style and even indulge in it a bit themselves so I tried to make this a little more personal to each character. That being said, I feel like they turned out a little shorter than normal, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Kid

He wouldn’t even bat an eye if this was a regular thing to be dressed in gothic style. It’s pretty common around the crew, and even if it wasn’t, Kid appreciates the aesthetic of the style

He also just doesn’t give a shit what you wear as long as you can do your job

Looking good while doing it is also a plus

For that reason, he would help you out with your makeup for sure. Not that he has much experience with it in the first place, but he just likes any excuse to look at your lips

On the other hand, if your weren’t introduced to him in black and chains, he wouldn’t recognize you if you just up and changed your wardrobe

You walk out of your room in your new style, the one you’ve been wanting to try for years and never had the bravery to out of fear of judgement

But after joining the Kid Pirates, it didn’t feel so scary to go outside of the world’s expectations

“Who the fuck are you!? How’d you get on my ship!?”

After managing to convince him not to just throw you overboard, he does the unthinkable

“Oh. You look good. Better than that boring shit you used to wear.”

He compliments you

Kid will pick at your outfits and give unsolicited advice on how to coordinate or style your clothing

He isn’t one for making jewelry, but he might try if you can’t find anything that would match your clothes

Mihawk

No comment from him. You’d have to outright ask him what he thought, and even then it would be a short answer

“Yes, it’s a good look on you.”

He isn’t actually looking at you when he answers, but it’s genuine

You’d find him staring at you quite often, though

He enjoys the style on you, especially since his style is very close/similar to gothic

He respects your backbone for sticking to what makes you happy, and he’ll encourage you to stick up for yourself if anyone has anything to say about your look

Honestly, he’s seen people look and dress a lot worse, so he doesn’t see why anyone should be making unnecessary comments

Despite being a man of few words, he would still compliment your outfits every time

He, having a eye for the fashion, would also help you coordinate and mix up your clothing items and accessories to freshen up the looks

“That won’t do. We need to get you some earrings that will match this.”

It’s such a sweet way to spend the time that you two have together

Law

Law gets whiplash at first

His emo phase is coming back to him all at once and he’s cringing internally

But despite his own emotional setbacks, he is happy if you feel comfortable dressing this way

He’s very level-headed, so there’s not going to be a very big reaction out of him right away

His perception of you hasn’t changed, and it won’t anytime soon

“Express yourself however you like, just make sure you don’t alter the uniform too much.”

He’ll warn you that the crew might ask some dumbass questions or make rude comments

He also will ask you some questions, very carefully, not wanting to sound ignorant

He would come to your aid if you needed support, especially within his own crew

If you’re the type to wear a lot of make-up, he’ll be on your ass about cleaning your face every night 

He’d even help you do a skin care routine to make sure you were taking care of yourself!

If you bother him enough, he’ll start to do it with you, too

Gets you stuff that remind him of you, things he believes may align with your style

All in all, he’s pretty indifferent to the style, and may even be open to dipping back into it a little bit

He looks great in eyeliner, but damn it he keeps smudging it

[bamfaholic]

A Letter from Kurt... Dated November 6th, 2024

Summary: letter written to the reader by Kurt Wagner after the 2024 election results. Hurt/comfort fic

A/N: I think we could all use comfort here. This idea came to me this morning. If you voted Trump or support Trump fucking block me this goddamn instant I do not tolerate your vile hatred here.

How insane is this concept at all, nightcrawler and Trump shouldn't really mix

A letter is delivered to your quarters within the mansion, addressed with your full name. The script is neat, flowy, and beautiful. You recognize the handwriting to be none other than Kurt Wagner. There is no return address. The X-Men have been on a mission in Ukraine for months now, including Kurt. You had been so anxiously awaiting his return. You hastily tear into the envelope, devouring it's contents.

Mein liebling,

I have heard the news. My hand shakes as I write this, unsure of what to say. I cannot believe Americans, our fellow people, voted for such vile hatred. I knew they hated our kind, but I never knew the sheer wrath they had for one another. Do they know what they've done? Do the mutants who backed that man know what they've done?

I've only known for the past two hours. It is late here. The sun sleeps, but I cannot. I lie awake thinking about you, the children, anyone this will gravely endanger. It is not new for us to be hunted, to be cast out, but now there are millions more who must walk the same path as we.

Charles has already requested some of us return, including me. It is spreading us thin. Too much is happening in the world for us to defeat at once. However, a mutant sanctuary is necessary. What fight is there if mutant-kind vanishes?

This is why... I urge you. I urge you to fight. You must keep fighting.

I am trying not to lament or drown you in my sorrows, but I feel lost. I feel as if God has abandoned me in utter darkness. Such darkness that even I, Nightcrawler, cannot see through.

History often repeats itself, and I think me of all people should know what is coming. I am afraid.

It appears as if the ink has been smeared. The paper is warped, like it had been wet.

I am afraid, liebling. Our future is uncertain. I know that is not new for us, but now they can be vocal in their disdain. Logan says the writing is on the wall. The entire military can be weaponized now. Our right to live, to breathe, to contest these wicked views, is in danger.

We will be under the "guidance" of a hateful monster. I do not use the term lightly, but I fear that he may truly be a demon from Hell. He is everything wicked with the world. This cheater, bigot, Godless man deserves none of this. None of this rejoicing, praise, power. I swear to you I will not rest in making this right, or I will die trying. You will be safe.

We are not the only ones, not any longer.

I sense the mansion may soon take in thousands, if not more. We'll have to expand and protect our brethren. I have faith we will make it through; that we will make this right. I am certain of it.

If God has drenched us in darkness, then I know that He will also lead us into the light. For they are one and the same: without light there cannot be darkness, and without darkness there cannot be light.

I anxiously await our reunion. Mien schatz, please wait for me.

Signed forever yours,

Kurt Wagner.

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from the one where Clark is trans and Kon isn't, but no one actually knows this:

Cadmus didn't know Superman was a trans man before they stole his dead body, but considering how many total assholes were on staff at the time they were surprisingly respectful of his gender identity. Not so much his bodily autonomy or his DNA or his potential feelings about being cloned against his will, but like, they used his preferred pronouns and whatever. 

So like . . . diversity win, Kon guesses? Or . . . whatever that'd be? 

So when they made . . . him . . . 

Kon got educated and socialized as male, when they made him. They called him "he" and "him", at least when they weren't calling him "it". They couldn't figure out how to synthesize effective hormone treatments for half-Kryptonian genes, but they had plans for surgeries they were gonna do when he was physically mature enough. Like–before the yellow sunlight could really kick in, effects-wise. Apparently they tried just tweaking the sex on a few earlier models, but by the time they got to Experiment Thirteen, they'd figured out that they couldn't work out what an actual AMAB Kryptonian's genes should look like and had just planned for the surgeries. 

Kon's not really sure how to take that. Like . . . is it good that they wanted him to be comfortable in his body? That they cared about what the fuck he'd want to look like? 

Or is it bad that they didn't ask him if he'd even want any of that? 

Kon wears a binder and a packer and acts like he thinks boys are supposed to act, tries to take charge and be tough and be confident and hit on pretty girls and not look at pretty guys, and Kal tells him he doesn't have to try so hard. Tells him to just act natural. Kon doesn't know how to do that, though. 

Acting "natural" would be . . . 

Acting natural would be a problem. 

Cissie has really long hair. Sometimes Kon watches how it moves and pretends to be checking her out when she catches him. Like the same way he pretends that he's perving on her ass when he's actually looking at the swish of her skirt, or that he's making eyes at her tits when he's really just wondering what his own would look like without the binder that he wears . . . more than he's supposed to, to be honest. 

Serling gets on his ass about it when he forgets to take it off every eight hours. She's working on synthesizing actual hybrid hormones for him, she says, but it's technically a backburner project right now because everything is always on fire and the world keeps trying to end in increasingly ludicrous ways. 

Which, well–he appreciates it, really, but that'd all be more helpful if he was actually "forgetting" to take the binder off, and if he wasn't terrified that she's actually gonna manage those hormones someday. Serling's, like, a crazy genius, after all. She might be able to pull that off. 

But Kon doesn't want the hormones. Doesn't want the surgeries he's been told Cadmus will give him as soon as he's physically mature enough. Doesn't want . . . 

Kon doesn't actually hate his body, is the thing. He doesn't feel bad or weird in it. He kind of just . . . he likes it the way it is. He doesn't even want to wear the binder or the packer, honestly. 

Literally every single fucking person who knows he’s trans has been respectful about it and has given him everything he could ever need to present as male and never, ever said anything to belittle or question his gender or his right to consider himself a man or even slipped up with his pronouns or anything. Even fucking Westfield never said anything shitty to him about it, for fuck's sake. Fucking Westfield, of all people! 

Which would all be great and good and very fucking validating, if Kon weren't fucking cis. 

There is something extremely, extremely bullshit about the fact that Kon is getting all the acceptance and support and medical care that every actual trans person deserves without even asking for or needing it. But she has no idea how to tell anyone that she's not what they think she is. Or who. Or . . .

Seriously, who else's life has ever been weird enough that they'd need to come out as cisgender? Like, who else ever?

Young Justice thinks Kon's a cis guy. The public thinks she's a cis guy. The superhero and supervillain communities both think she's a cis guy, except for the handful of people that know about Kal not being one, and even most of Cadmus does, depending on clearance levels and whatever. Tana and Roxy and fucking Knockout all thought she was a cis guy, even. Robin might "know" she's actually a trans one, being a Bat and all, but he's never said anything that's made her think he might.

Hell, the fucking Agenda doesn't even "misgender" her.

So everyone who knows has been absolutely fucking great and respectful about it and otherwise Kon passes fucking perfectly, and no one's ever once looked at her as anything but a guy. Anything but Superboy.

Except all Kon wants is for someone to look at her and see a girl. To see Supergirl.

So she doesn't really like to talk to Kara when she doesn't have to.

Or . . . ever, really.

Unfortunately, right now they kinda do have to talk.

"Well, your evil twin remains evil, no surprise," Kara says with a sigh, eyeing the walls of the containment cell that the Agenda has stuffed them into and is for some inexplicable bullshit reason slowly filling with water, who even fucking knows why. There's gotta be faster ways to kill them, especially considering Kon isn't even sure how much Kara needs to breathe at all. Like, she definitely does? But as for Kara, who knows. "Match is the worst possible version of a Superboy, I swear to Rao."

Kon has the weird urge to snap about how maybe Match isn't a boy and has anyone even asked?

No one ever asked her, for fucking sure. She didn't even know she wasn't a boy for way too long. Everybody'd always told her that she was, after all, and she'd just thought it'd felt weird to get called a boy because she wasn't a fucking little kid, she was Superman, or because she was trans and like, felt fake about her gender because she'd somehow accidentally internalized some stupid bullshit, or because of any number of other reasons that would've all made perfect sense and had all turned out to be perfectly wrong.

So yeah. Kon does kinda identify with the trans experience, ironically enough.

"Yeah, Match is usually a pain in the ass," she says instead of telling Kara how much she fucking hates her for getting to be what she can't, then starts looking for a way out of the stupid containment cell. It's not Kara's fault Kon hates her, for one thing, and also she doesn't wanna die here. Like, she definitely doesn't.

She wonders if Match might have reacted to her differently, if when they'd first met she'd known enough to ask if they were sisters.

Probably not, whether they're sisters or not. Match still seems pretty married to "I don't have free will" as a coping mechanism for all the psychological damage that being cloned and force-grown and told your only value and entire reason for existence lies in replacing someone who doesn't actually need to be replaced, it seems like.

Not that Kon would know anything about that, obviously.

Like, why would she?

She feels along the walls with her TTK and finds a frustrating lack of structural vulnerabilities to exploit. Kara punches them a few times, though they've already tried that. Kon doesn't blame her, at this point. The water keeps steadily pouring in and makes its way up to their thighs.

It is not reassuring. Like, at all.

Kon is gonna be so annoyed if she dies and gets buried as Superboy.

Though she was always going to do that, wasn't she. Best case scenario might've gotten her to Superman, maybe, but . . . yeah.

What else was she ever gonna do?

Cadmus made her to be Superman. Kal told her she could be Superboy, and named her after a boy, and named her like a Kryptonian boy would've been.

Although she guesses to have a femme-style Kryptonian name, she'd have needed to have a father.

She wonders if Kal would've named her at all, if he would've had to give her a name with a father's name attached to it. Maybe he would've just gone with Jor-El's, since technically Jor-El is the paternal donor of her Kryptonian DNA.

Or maybe he would've gone with . . .

Kon stops thinking about stupid shit she knows better than to be thinking about and feels out with her TTK again.

[sonarspace]

Hi, I loved your Sukuna works ❤️‍🩹 Maybe you will take my request, what about Sukuna fluff when he is trying to comfort and support you while you’re sick? 🥺 And not like having a flu, but some serious disease? The image of him all harsh and cruel but having a soft spot for reader is doing something to me 😩

WHIPPED LOVERBOY

wc: 1.9k warnings: slight nsfw (f!receiving). blood (reader gets injured). nicknames? not proofread. idk what else to put here 😭 a/n: i think i've read something like this before on a different blog but i can't remember which so i changed it up a bit so as not to cause any problems. i hope you like it and i hope you don’t mind anon :3 a/n pt. 2: italics is for past events.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

sukuna's known to be vicious. the ruthless king. he had no family, one or two friends. he didn't like the idea of forming attachments to anyone. but you. you were different.

he first saw you at a ball the neighboring kingdom held. you were sat by the piano in a light mint green dress that accentuated your curves. in your own world. you played gracefully. he couldn't take his eyes off of you. nobody could. when you stood up to bow, the crowd erupted in claps and cheers. you walked past him leaving him mesmerized. and when he first heard you speak his heart skipped a beat.

it still does. when you're laying beside him calling out his name softly trying to get his attention. "suki. helloooo. sukuna are you listening??" you sigh annoyedly. "yes woman. go on." he smiles at you.

"what are you smiling about?" you look at him confused. "it's not funny 'kuna. it was a really big lizard." he laughs. "you're cute. like a deer. wanna eat you" he grabs your face and starts kissing you all over. bites playfully at your cheek. you chuckle out his name. he pulls back from you slightly and holding eye contact with you he says "you're really pretty." he makes you blush and you try to turn away but he grabs your chin before you can. "and to think you hate being around people," you say to him laughing. "now now, i still do. you're the only one i don't mind." he says stroking your cheek. you hum contentedly.

there's a knock on the door. "master sukuna" a muffled voice calls him out. "be right back," he tells you as he puts on his robe and steps outside of the room.

he comes back after a few minutes with a scowl on his face “i have to leave”. you sit up in bed and look at him with a pout “how long are you going to be gone for?” you ask. he walks over to where you are and sits down “i’m not sure,” he murmurs. it was normal for sukuna to leave for a day or two to handle matters. the longest he’s stayed away from you was five days. but that was only because he had a bet with uruame.

“you’re whipped. guess you can’t stay away from her for longer than two days, huh.” uruame challenges him. “of course i can” sukuna replies with a scoff. “yeah? i bet you 5k, you can’t stay away from her for more than a week.” uruame laughs. “ahh that’s easy money,” he says and they shake hands on it. uruame was right. by the fifth day sukuna felt like he was going insane. he was standing outside of your room contemplating whether or not he should break the bet. he thinks fuck the bet, he needs to see his girl more than he wants to win a bet.

he comes into your room and the way you smile at him and run over to him has his heart melting. why did he even agree to that stupid bet he thinks. he picks you up and leaves kisses all over your face. you sigh as he kisses down your jaw. you stay like that a while. just kissing. looking at each other and smiling stupidly. "can i eat you out?" he blurts out and catches you off guard "damn 'kuna. straight to the point?" you laugh. "please sweetie. it's been a week." he whines almost. "five days, actually" you correct him and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"uruame told me. they bet me that you won't be able to stay away from me for longer than a week. honestly thought you'd be able to do it, but i guess i was wrong. didn't know my boy's crazy about me like this". you say your hand stroking his cheek. "that fucker probably thinks they're so funny going around making bets, huh. going to have to start getting serious again. you've made me soft, woman" he says jokingly. he doesn't mind it at all though.

he kisses you once more. groaning into your mouth. he gets down on his knees. pulling your panties along. leaves kisses up your ankle moving along your inner thigh until he reaches where you need him the most. your pussy glistening. calls his name. he gives it a soft kiss and your hips buck into his mouth. "guess she missed me just as much," he says from under you. he sucks on your clit and you whimper. your hands pulling at his hair. he hums in satisfaction when your hole clenches around his tongue slightly. as uruame suggested, he's whipped and he's completely okay with it.

he sighs as he holds your hand into his. his thumb stroking the back off your hand. “i thought if i stayed put and minded my business, they won’t do anything. but they’ve killed about 20 of my men. it won’t be long before they come here and try to wipe out the entire kingdom. so, i have to leave. i’ll be back as soon i can.”

“let me come with you,” you try. “oh baby, you know i can’t let you do that.” he smiles at you. your eyes move down to look at his hands clasping yours and you bring them up to place a kiss on the back of both his hands. “promise me, you’ll come back to me.” you look at him with tears lining your eyes. “baby i-” he tries to talk but you cut him off. “no sukuna. just promise me please,” you beg him. “okay. okay. i promise.” he gives you a forehead kiss and parts.

it's been two weeks since he sent a letter promising he will be back soon. over three weeks since he’s been gone. you missed him so much. you felt like you were going crazy waiting for him. a knock on your door has your heart beating faster. 'is he back?' you think to yourself. you unlock the door to see uruame. "uruame" you say cheerfully pulling them into a hug as you let out a breath of relief. sukuna must be close you think. “hi honey sukuna sent me. he wanted to let you know he'll be home in two weeks." you don't notice you're crying until uruame wipes your tears. "hey hey now. he'll kill me if he knows i made you cry," uruame holds you close. "he said soon. it’s going to be two months since he left. that isn't soon uruame," you mumble into their chest. "I know babe, he's just helping out the people who live near the border. most of their houses are destroyed, so he decided to stay behind to help them." your heart warms at that. you’ve been asking him to get more involved with his people so they could respect him more than they fear him.

two days till sukuna gets back.

you're laying in bed wearing his undershirt. his four week old letter in your hand. thinking of him. his touch. his lips on yours. his sweet words. his voice. as you go to blow out the candle by your bed, you hear a loud crash from outside. you go over to your window to see where the sound came from. as you open the window, the bells of the palace start ringing. to alarm everyone that there's a threat. uruame comes into your room to take you to the bunker. but it's too late. a cannon ball is coming your way in full speed.

your vision goes black. your ears are ringing as your eyes flutter open. you try standing up and through your bleary vision you can see uruame trying to make their way over to you. the ringing clears and you can hear uruame yelling your name. you try to take step forward until you notice the blood on the floor around you. your hand moves to your stomach. a piece of wood from the broken furniture poking into your abdomen. you look up to uruame who grabs you as you fall down to your knees in pure agony. "stay with me honey," they panic. they rip out a piece of cloth and wrap it tightly around your wound. "uruame, 'kuna," you try to speak but end up coughing instead. "shh honey. you're okay. i've got you. just keep your eyes open for me okay?" they ask you softly. and you nod. "tell sukuna i-" you're about to say but they cut you off "nuh uh. we're not doing all that honey. you're going tell him yourself. you're going to be okay, i promise."

sukuna's pacing beside your unconscious body as the doctor cleans the area around the wound. there was so much blood covering you. sukuna was on his way back tonight to surprise you. he reached the gates of the palace and saw a cannon ball launched towards his wing. your window specifically. his heart dropped to his stomach and he dropped off of his horse and ran like a mad man to get to you. he comes into see uruame carrying your body to the infirmary. "uruame!" he yells running over and taking your unconscious body from their hands. "fuck sukuna. i don't fucking know what happened. one minute everything was fine and then the next minute the room’s blown up and she’s on the ground,” uruame speaks hysterically.

sukuna hisses as the doctor finally pulls out the sharp wood from your abdomen. she doesn't know i love her, he thinks. she can't leave me. fuck. the doctor stitches you up quickly. and pulls down your (his) undershirt. "is she going to be okay doctor," his voice is gruff. "yes master sukuna. she's lost a lot of blood though. so it may take a while for her to wake up."

one day. two days. six days. it's almost been a week and you haven't woken up. he sits by your side the entire time. holding your hand. uruame comes into the room. "master sukuna. we found them." heavy bags under his eyes. "stay here. and call me as soon as she wakes up," he commands uruame and gets up to deal with the people who hurt you.

your eyes open. trying to adjust to the light you blink a few times. looking around. you see uruame's mouth dropped in a slight smile. "honey?" they call out to you. and you hum. their hands wraps around your frame hugging you tightly. “uruame,” you chuckle. “how do you feel?” they ask you leaving a kiss on your forehead. “thirsty,” you rasp. you quickly chug the glass of water they give you and ask “how long have i been asleep for?”

before uruame can answer the door bursts open and sukuna comes rushing in. blood splattered across his top. you didn’t need to ask him who’s blood was splattered across his top you already knew as he makes his way over to you. “sukuna,” you gasp happily. he sits down next you and grabs your hands into his. “my sweet girl. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry you got hurt because of me,” he apologizes profusely, looking into your eyes. “it’s not your fault ‘kuna. you didn’t know this was going to happen.” you try to reassure him. holding his face in your hands. you kiss his nose. and then his lips. “i’m glad you’re back and in one piece,” you smile against his lips. “never leaving you alone again for that long,” he promises quietly.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

a/n pt. 3: hands still fucked up but i wanted to get this out as soon as possible, so im sorry if it’s not up to your expectations 💔. you can always leave some suggestions or any questions you have in my ask box titled “talk to me” on my blog page :).

© SONARSPACE 2023 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[an-angel2u]

hiii i literally love how our taste is the same lmaoooo !!

could i get reader comforting a whiny sub!jesse pinkman after he gets into another fight with walter in the lab and needs to be told how much he's worth to us <333

thank you!! 🫶🫶

beneath the weight

all jesse wanted to do was support you. the both of you. if that meant that he had to make blue meth in a laboratory with his former chemistry teacher who was dying of cancer… then that’s what he was going to do.

the job was tough, not only illegal and tedious, but he had to deal with said former chemistry teacher. he nitpicked everything that jesse did.

when he came home in the wee hours of the night, not only would he be tired, he’d feel like he was unimportant and a burden to everyone in the world.

tonight was different, it was worse than before. you couldn’t even imagine what walter could’ve said to jesse to make him this upset.

he slammed the front door, and you heard him kicking off his shoes and throwing the keys in the bowl.

you had prepared for him to come in like this, today was already an off day for him. the night wasn’t going to be any different.

you sat up in bed, waiting for jesse to come into your shared bedroom. his eyes were red and so was his nose. he had been crying.

“jesse…” you got up out of the bed and walked over to him, lifting his head up by his chin. his body immediately tensed as you touched him. your eyes took in his entire expression. “what happened, baby… talk to me.”

“i don’t know why i keep letting that fucker get to me. every damn time!” jesse raised his voice, he raised his hands, intertwining his fingers and placing them on the back of his ear.

you let him calm down for a second before you pulled at his wrists allowing you more access to wrap your arms around his neck.

“listen to me,” you spoke into his neck. “white doesn’t know shit, okay? he doesn’t see you, the way i do.”

“fuck, you don’t get it.” he pulled away from you, and you noticed the tears welling up in his eyes. “he says shit like ‘i don’t need you’ or ‘you’d be nothing without me.’ he calls me pathetic every god damn day.”

that made you feel a way, walter white of all people, giving jesse shit. “that old fuck doesn’t know anything. you are not pathetic. not to me, not to anyone who truly knows you.”

he wiped his eyes, trying to rid himself of the tears he shed. “come here.” you tilted your head over to the bed before laying down and resting your head on the headboard.

“come on…” you spoke again, this time with a softer tone. he huffed out a sigh before walking to your side of the bed, laying on your chest with his legs between yours.

“you know everybody makes mistakes, even white. you know what i love about you…?”

“what?” his doe eyes looked up, inspecting every bit of you.

“that you never let that shit get in your way. you still get up every morning and go to the lab. do i like the line of work you’ve decided to go for… not necessarily. nonetheless, you take care of both of us. i’m so thankful to have you in my life. regardless of what walter has to say to you.”

you brought your hand up to his face, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. his eyes softly closed immediately after you did that.

“i’m not gonna go anywhere. you know that you’ll always have me. it doesn’t matter what that… thing says… okay?” jesse scoffed at hearing your name for walter.

“okay…”

“now let me get some of that stress away, alright?”

[nightwriter357]

can you write something where Damien is comforting reader because they just graduated from a school(like masters degree or something) and none of readers friends could make it to the party? I'm so fucking miserable because that's whats happening in real life right now. i legit have four friends and I'm positive the two who said maybe will not make it

anyways, she/her pronouns for reader and if it becomes smutty I'd be fine with it

Hey there!

First of all, I want to give a huge congratulations on graduating with your degree! That's an incredible achievement and you should be immensely proud of yourself. 🎓✨ I know it really sucks when your friends can't make it to celebrate significant milestones. I've been through similar situations, and it's definitely tough. But remember, this is a moment to celebrate YOU and all your hard work.

I hope you enjoy the story and that it helps brighten your day a bit. I tried to get to this as soon as I could, hope it didn't take too long. 🫣🫣

Sending you lots of love and congratulations again! 💖

Summary: In this smutty(18+) one-shot, Damien comforts you after disappointing news about your graduation party, showering you with love and affection. His support turns passionate, leading to an intimate encounter where he makes you feel cherished and desired.

You were curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. The joy of your recent graduation was completely overshadowed by the news that none of your friends could make it to your party. You felt a mix of sadness and embarrassment, convinced that nobody wanted to be around you.

You're too special to be sad for too long.

Damien came through the door, juggling bags of groceries. His cheerful expression immediately changed when he saw you. "Hey, babe. What's wrong?"

You wiped away a stray tear, trying to smile. "Nothing, just...my friends can't make it to the party. I guess it's not a big deal."

He set the bags down hurriedly and rushed over to you, gently lifting you up and onto his lap. His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you close against his chest. "Of course it's a big deal. You worked so hard for this, and you deserve to be celebrated."

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the tears start to flow. "I just feel like nobody wants to be around me. "

Damien tightened his embrace, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Hey, don't talk about yourself like that. You're amazing, y/n. You're smart, beautiful, and you've accomplished something incredible. I'm so proud of you."

His words and touch made you feel a bit better, but the sadness still lingered. "But it's still so embarrassing, Damien. It feels like...like I'm not important to them."

He leaned back slightly, cupping your face in his hands and making you look into his eyes. "Of course you're important. You're the most important person in my life and anyone who doesn't see how incredible you are is missing out. You should be feeling great in this moment, you deserve all the love and admiration in the world."

You felt a small smile tug at your lips, his sincerity warming your heart. "Thank you, Damien. I just...I feel so alone right now."

"You're never alone," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm here, and I'll always be here for you. You're my everything."

He continued to hold you close, his hands gently stroking your back and hair. "You've achieved something amazing. You've worked so hard and come so far and you did it all with such grace and determination. I'm in awe of you, baby."

You let out a small sob, touched by his words. "But it feels like it doesn't matter if nobody cares."

"Don't say that," he said firmly, his hands moving to caress your cheeks. "It matters, you matter, and I care. More than anything. I love you, I love everything about you. Your kindness, your strength, your intelligence."

His words were like a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the pain and bringing a warmth you desperately needed. "I love you too, Damien."

He smiled, his eyes shining with love and affection. "Good. Now, let's make this a celebration, just the two of us. You deserve to feel special."

You nodded, feeling a bit better. "Okay."

He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours. "I'm so proud of you."

You felt the sadness start to melt away, replaced by the warmth of his love and support. "Thank you, Damien. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," he promised, kissing you again. "I'm here, always."

His hands roamed your body, his touch both soothing and arousing. He made you feel cherished, loved, and desired. "You're so amazing" he whispered, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist. "You've worked so hard. You deserve to feel so good."

You gasped as his fingers found their way under your shirt, his touch igniting a fire within you. He gently caressed your skin, his fingers tracing the waistband of your panties, sending shivers down your spine. "See how good you're doing, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "Such a good girl."

He took his time, his fingers playing with the edge of your panties, teasing you with light, feathery touches that made you whimper and squirm. "You're amazing, baby," he praised, his eyes filled with admiration. "I love seeing you like this."

His fingers finally slipped inside your panties, moving with deliberate slowness. He traced your folds, feeling how wet you already were. "Look at you, so beautiful and ready," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "Does this feel good, baby?

"Yes," you breathed, your body arching into his touch. "So good."

"So fucking pretty like this," he murmured, his fingers exploring you, finding the spots that made you gasp and moan. "I want you to feel amazing, to forget everything else. Just focus on me, on how good I'm making you feel."

His thumb circled your clit slowly, his other fingers teasing and exploring without ever entering you. He savored every moan, every shiver that ran through your body. Damien wanted you to long for him, to forget your sadness and only think about the pleasure he was giving you.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "I love how your body responds to me. You're so perfect, baby."

"Damien," you whimpered, feeling the tension and sadness melt away under his touch. "You're not supposed to be able to make me feel like this right now."

He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll always make you feel good, no matter what. You're too special to be sad for too long."

He smiled, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want you to feel incredible,” he murmured, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration.

He coated his thumb in your juices and brought it to your clit, rubbing it lightly while his other fingers traced the contours of your entrance, teasing you just enough to drive you wild with anticipation.

“Please, Damien,” you begged, your voice a desperate whisper. “I need you.”

“I know, baby. I’m here,” he soothed, finally pushing a finger inside you. The sensation was intense, and you cried out, your body responding instantly to his touch. He moved slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to the feeling, then began to pump his finger in and out of you, his movements steady and deliberate.

"You feel incredible, y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "So tight and wet for me."

You whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand, seeking more of his touch. He added a second finger, stretching you and making you moan louder. His thumb continued its slow, torturous circles on your clit, building the pressure inside you.

“Do you feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice a soothing rumble. "I want you to feel amazing, to forget everything but this."

"Yes," you gasped, your body trembling. "I feel...so" you couldn't fully form the words.

"Look at you,” he said softly, his eyes full of adoration. "My pretty girl, being so good for me, taking my fingers so well."

He increased the pace, his fingers moving faster and harder inside you. He could feel your body tensing, your muscles clenching around his fingers. "You’re doing great, baby. Just a little more. You can do this," he whispered, his voice filled with love and encouragement.

The tension inside you built to an almost unbearable point, your body trembling with need. "Damien, please...I'm so close," you moaned, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I’m here. Let go for me. I’ve got you," he murmured, his fingers pumping into you with an intensity that made your whole body shake.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you with an overwhelming force. You screamed out his name, your body convulsing as the pleasure washed over you.

Damien held you tight, his fingers moving relentlessly, guiding you through the waves of your orgasm. "That's it, baby, look at me. Just like that, god, you have no idea what you're doing to me," he whispered, his voice filled with fascination.

He didn't stop, his fingers pumping in and out of you hard and fast, prolonging your pleasure. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world who gets to touch you like this, feeling your sweet pussy clench around my fingers," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your body trembled with the intensity of your orgasm, your mind blank except for the sensation of his fingers inside you and his loving words. He continued to hold you, his touch both firm and gentle, his eyes filled with adoration. " Wow, still so pretty," he whispered, his voice soft and tender.

As your orgasm finally subsided, he slowed his movements, gently easing you down from the heights of pleasure. He held you close, his fingers still inside you, his other hand caressing your cheek. "You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you," he murmured, Damien said still holding you tight.

You lay there in his arms, your body trembling and your mind reeling from the intensity of your orgasm. "Thank you, Damien. I love you," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

"I love you too, baby. Always," Damien replied, kissing you softly.

You put your hand against his cheek, "You know, this is the best party I've ever been to."

He chuckled, putting your hand in his, "and I haven't even unpacked the snacks yet.

[the-ace-with-spades]

this is about slow down (you're doing fine) fic but also a general headcanon I think is universally true for me

I like to think that before the whole USNA papers fiasco happened, Bradley was very much Mav's kid.

He was the best of the best in anything he put his mind to and he always seemed to do it so effortlessly (it wasn't). He had no fear of danger that looked like pure bravery but was in truth, just him trying and trying to be brave (he'd 'do it scared'). He was a painfully loyal person and friend but rarely trusted to have it reciprocated. He was known and liked but rarely close enough with anyone to be fully seen as who he really is. He was commanding attention whichever room or group he wasn't in, and he was doing it on purpose. He had this weird intensity about him (always aiming for more, always being best at whatever he wouldn't start, always so sure of what he wanted and what he didn't) that only few brave people dared to get close to and explore, that very few people wanted to have in their life.

Even appearance-wise a lot sips off from Mav (not that Bradley would ever admit it) because Mav's been recylicing four pairs of Levis 501s since the 80s and buys only solid colored t-shirts that are easy to replace and jean and leather jackets. Sure, maybe Bradley did try not to fall under the trap of this, but it was hard to find clothes that were comfortable and not baggy.

He was a skilled pilot even young, even just flying boring Cessnas and that will continue because it's like driving - a good base is everything, and his base was taught by Pete Maverick Mitchell. He's beyond people his age, when he gets his pilot licence at 17, he's beyond people twice his age, and that's because he puts his heart into anything he cares about, which he inherited from the same man and great pilot who taught him how to fly, who spend hours at home and hours in the same cockpit, putting all of himself into Bradley.

Bradley's never felt like it was necessarily bad that he was so much like Mav — the way he saw it, the right people loved and liked to be around Mav, and sure, a bit embarrassing to be like your kinda-dad, but he much prefers this over ending nothing like him. The life Mav has — a man that loves him, a job that is demanding but one he always wanted and dreamed about, a kid that slowly grows to be like him, a small but tight group of friends and family — he'd love to end up with that life, too.

So just imagine. Bradley who thinks that all that's best of him was taught to him by Mav, who thinks all that's best of him comes from Mav, having his dreams crushed and hearing as the only explanation of why, from the same Mav that made him the best he could turn out to be, that created the person he was in such a permanent, significant degree, that he's not ready.

Every single insecurity he's ever had fixed with the use of loving, supportive parenting gets reopened.

And sure, at first he's in denial of it, he's nothing but stubborn, so he pours it all into spite and makes his life powered by the thought that he's going show Mav he's fucking ready and he's going to do it alone, without help from him or anyone else. He's not denying who he is, no, he still loves with his whole heart, he's still brave, maybe to the point it's now slightly more of reckless bravado rather than lack of fear, maybe he goes overboard into anything he cares about, trying to prove something to himself

This is when the hyperindepedency sets in, when the guards set up around him, and when the trust he has in people he cares about is permanently damaged, and when he starts thinking that there's no one in this world who can love him forever the way he is (the person he thought would love and support him no matter what couldn't, after all).

It's only later, once he finally becomes a naval aviator, that he realizes he'll never 'show' Mav how good he is, that he's always going to think he wasn't ready, that he can't trust the parts of himself that were built by Mav.

This is when spite gets too bitter. This is when he promises himself (even if he doesn't know it) that he'll never again be like Mav.

(the winging ceremony from slow down is what I was thinking in this case, but it can be anything - it can be a phone call to Mav, it can be Mav not showing at the winging ceremony, it can be him or Mav reaching out and thinking it's going good until he realizes Mav will never apologize because he's not sorry and he still thinks he was right)

He is distanced to the people who are in his life and not open to having any new people in his life. He's expecting everyone to leave eventually and he acts like it (he takes in anything they give him with even bigger appreciation, but rarely gives more than he's already given, afraid it'll set things off earlier than necessary).

His flying changes drastically but in a way that people think is just him maturing. Instructors and COs thinking he's good enough and mature enough not to show off and to play by the rules when needed. Newbies still noticing how skilled and precise he can be in the air. But it goes the other way as well and soon enough, it's not just playing by the rules — it's being overly cautious, it's overthinking everything, it's constant hesitation what he can trust himself with, it's giving up while anticipating the next bad move against him that never comes. All because he never wants to fly like Mav again

The only people who notice are the people who are the closest to him. Guys from his squad, Nat.

Jake.

Jake, who's the closest person Bradley has, who always had the front seat to the shitshow that Bradley Bradshaw was as a person, can very well tell something's changed.

But that's all. He's stuck just with the feeling something is wrong and that Bradley is moving further and further away from him and doesn't want to tell him what and why it changed. And he can take a lot, because he does love him, but the minute he presses Bradley, truly presses for the first time, it's the end.

That's why Jake is so pissed. He knows something changed, he knows it's why they ended, but as days and days follow, he never figures out what caused it. And he's fucking bitter because he wasn't even given the chance to prevent or reverse it. It just happened and Bradley never even thought to let him help. And Bradley stays the same as years go on and on, and if he just told him, back then, maybe Bradley's life now would be different, would be happier.

[tokiwarcube]

General dating headcanons for Murderface please?

Absolutely! Thanks for hanging out -- it's nice to finally be out of finals! Enjoy! <3

Nathan HERE; Pickles HERE ; Toki HERE ; Skwisgaar HERE ; Charles HERE

Murderface has survived on self-hatred for years. Too-used to rejection — not just from potential partners, but from the world itself — William has built up walls so high that its almost impossible for anyone to get in… or out.

Keyword though: Almost.

When Murderface falls for you, it is arguably one of the most terrifying ordeals of his life. Finding a friend in the first place is a monumental effort. What he has with you now is good. So to put his foot in it by developing feelings? He’s ready to throw himself off a cliff.

And he’s a total wreck as he works through having a real, genuine, interest — it’s obvious to everyone, including yourself. Be patient, let him know that you’re there, that you’re interested… and things will fall into place. Eventually. He’s got a lot of self-loathing to work through, afterall. But he gets there.

He likes to pretend that he’s really cool — a total expert on dating, in his words — but he’s so easy to fluster. For a while, a lot of your flirting is met with this really thinly veiled shock. He tries to bounce back and cover it up with a roll of the eyes and a simple “Thanks, I know,” but it’s obvious how much your words affect him. His face always reddens without fail, back straightening as he looks anywhere but at you. He’s not too much better in private, either. But that’s not to say there isn’t benefits to showing your adoration away from prying eyes. Because in private you can nudge your way into his arms, feel his heart pound in his chest, coax him into looking at you… It’s sweet, knowing you have such an effect on him.

He’s quick to get lost in the sensation of you. Whenever you kiss — or hell, even just touch him — it’s like the rest of the world blurs out of existence, leaving just the two of you behind. You can tell in the way that he leans into you, how quick he is to chase after your lips when you pull away.

And while he absolutely does initiate (he can never seem to get enough of you, really,) he loves it when you take the reigns. Get in his space, tug him closer, show him you want him… he’s putty in your hands. His voice gets all husky, chuckling nervously as he tries to get some half-baked quip about how you can’t seem to get enough of him. (Which is ironic, especially with how shameless he is about staring at your mouth when your tongue darts out to wet your lips. He never seems to realize how he mimics the movement, and you’re not too keen on telling him, lest he try to stop.)

He’s always so quick to back you up, no matter what. Honestly, you could be dead-wrong in an argument with someone else, and he’ll still jump in to support you. He’s the definition of ride-or-die.

Missing a bracelet? What about a necklace? Check in with your boyfriend — There’s a 99% chance it’s been commandeered by William Murderface himself. There’s something that puts him ease, just having a part of you with him. It could be a bracelet, or a ring, or a necklace — the item itself isn’t really important, it’s just the fact that its yours.

On that same note… wearing items of his? Drives him out of his mind, in the best way possible.

I said Pickles was the most jealous member of Dethklok… I lied. It’s William, by a fucking mile. He’s quick to yell at “threats,” but don’t let the bravado fool you— he needs some reassurance. Or… maybe a lot.

When he’s really and truly comfortable with you, he loves to just… talk. You’ve spent many nights with your head pressed against his chest as he just rambles. Sometimes there’s a nice back and forth, but honestly? It’s really nice to just hear him speak about his passions.

Surprisingly, he loves having deep conversations, too. He’s a dumbass, but he’s not dumb. He can get pretty philosophical pretty quick, and it’s really fun to mull over the odd scenarios that pop into his head.

This man is so bitchy, and loves talking shit about characters in movies and TV shows. (He’d talk shit about people in public too, if it weren’t for the fact that you always glare at him when he tries.) He actually gets really into it, too

I mean, scheriously! What kind of moron—

William also runs very warm — which means he’s a delight to cuddle with in the Winter time! Summer time however… Well, there’s benefits to being a Krillionaire. Such as unlimited air conditioning.

He tries damn-hard to write songs for you. There’s quite a few forever-unreleased Planet Piss songs written in your name, although it takes many months before he works up the courage to let you listen to them yourself. The adoration in the chords is subtle, for the most part… but the discordant tune seems to take more shape when they’re written with you in mind. There’s a passion there that bleeds through, even if you don’t immediately catch onto the fact that you’re the inspiration behind it. But your approval definitely spurs him into writing more.

Likes to act very brave during horror movies, but is a total pansy. He always starts the movie with his arm around your shoulder — big, tough guy that he is — but it backfires damn quick with how hard every jumpscare seems to get him. It’s okay to tease him a little bit at the end of the night when he crawls into your arms, just so long as he gets to stay there.

[lemmetreatya]

Change and Her Consorts — Miguel x Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: 13 Minutes. 13 minutes was all it took for Miguel to (metaphorically) loose everything. Getting back onto his feet wasn’t easy, especially when life was changing and all he felt was stuck. But once you come back into his life, Witty, Hot and everything in between, Miguel wonders that maybe it was the change in others he needed to witness first before he could even consider making change for himself.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k+

CONTENT: modern au, childhood friends, afab reader, mature themes of death, grief, mental health issues, slightly angsty, hurt/comfort, is it a comedy? it’s a comedy, fluff, smut, sex, male penetration, mating press, blowjob, protected sex, nice ending i promise!!, i wouldn’t say reader is oc but she has a character for definite, also miguel is very??? difficult in this and his character can also be classed as ooc but its modern au and he’s been through it so bare with

Miguel knew he had to change. 

Ever since he lost both his wife and kid to childbirth, it’d been so hard to piece things together again. 

It’s honestly all bullshit. Finally thinking things were going good for him just for life to chew him up and spit him out like a fleshy plum seed all within the space of 13 minutes felt dehumanising to say the least. It left him fist fighting Depression, backing liquor shots of Sorrow and occasionally sharing a bed with Anxiety. That would fuck anyone up mentally and emotionally — And it did that to Miguel for a long time. He’s just grateful he had a good enough support system to crutch him through to the other side. 

He sold the house he brought with his late wife and moved back in with his parents around eight months ago. That was a whole thing in itself. Left his job and hasn’t worked full-time since. He had a whole phase where he ‘no longer had anything to work for’ and therefore just…didn’t. 

His parents were nice about it for a bit. Said he always had a home under their roof and that he could use the money he got from the insurance payout and house to cruise by while he healed. But then after about 3 months of Miguel taking the absolute piss with being unemployed, heartbroken, undriven and essentially a‘bum’ (Jessica Drew’s exact words), he found work in the local dairy produce factory as the ‘Payroll Guy’. 

Despite none of this being his ideal picture of how life was supposed to look at this point of time, Miguel knew he had to change in order to survive. Having being so wrapped up within his own world, he knew that moving on in some capacity was his next step. Getting comfortable with the shell of a life he had now and the things he once knew were true would help with that.

The only issue is that Miguel forgot that others changed too. 

An oof leaves Miguel’s mouth as his stomach is suddenly burdened with a paper sack to it. He looks down at his mother, more than a foot shorter than him, who’s passing him a bag of coals. 

“I need this done.” She vaguely says. 

“For the grill?”

Miguel asks it as an inquisitive question but he’s implying it more as disbelief that he’s been asked. His mother catches on and therefore explains her reasoning.

“I wouldn’t usually (‘ask you’, she implies but doesn’t say) but your fathers quickly gone to the shop and we need to start putting things on the grill. People will be arriving any minute now.” She dusts her hands before already moving elsewhere within the garden. 

Miguel jogs the bag of coal in his arms and stagnantly turns his body in his mother’s direction; like a sunflower to the sun. 

“Then I don’t have to do it?” He tried. 

His mother gives him a quick look. It was sharp but she didn’t follow the intention through. 

“I would like to start grilling things soon.” She  stresses. 

Miguel doesn’t reply right away since he’s been told he needs to think before he speaks. And so he thinks, hard, about what his mother was asking him and then answers accordingly to how he thinks he should. 

“So I don’t have to put the coal in now?” He slowly enunciates.

“Ay, coño— Si! Si, Miguel! You have to put them in now, I’m telling you to put the charcoal in now! Vamos!” 

Miguel lets out a haggard sigh. 

He doesn’t like how he always get in trouble for these sort of things. He was bordering thirty and still had trouble depicting what his mother actually meant when she made implicit remarks. 

The doorbell rings and so Miguel’s mother is shooting off back inside to open up for the guests, all not before giving Miguel certain The Nike Slogan eyes and a jabbing finger point towards the barbecue.  

Begrudgingly, he gets a start on filling the bottom of the grill with sooty rocks. 

As he’s detaching the rack, Miguel can hear high pitched welcoming and multiple voices towards the front of the house. He faintly hears someone ask for him, followed by his mother directing them towards the backyard where he was. At that, Miguel groans. 

It’s not like he hated gatherings, but Miguel would definitely prefer a phone call or the occasional text message. Or just no communication at all. 

But to his avail, he had no way of avoiding this. His parents were adamant to host a casual cookout of some sort and they knew he had nothing better to do so by default he had to be present. There wasn’t even a reason for the function. Just Something about opening up the home and having more laughter flow through it. Sounds cliche but Miguel didn’t care much for laughter anymore. Not that he never laughed — there were some humorously dark memes either Peter or Jess would send him that were subjectively funny and occasionally earned a breathy snort out of him. But it was no question that joy was definitely void in his life. It was hard to look forward to things and the days seemed to drag on and lack meaning. 

No matter what way he looked at it, life was dull. There just wasn’t shit to be happy about. 

“Miggy!” 

Miguel perks up. 

He recognises that voice anywhere. 

He didn’t know you were coming but it definitely made sense for you to be here. His parents were making a bigger than usual deal out of this gathering so of course old faces would be present. 

Miguel hears your voice call him by that juvenile nickname over and over again as you venture throughout the house. It’d been well over a decade since he last saw you but he knows both your parents keep in touch. Because of that, he doesn’t immediately turn around to address you once you enter the garden because he’s not expecting much and he’s still trying to evenly set up the coal rocks at the bottom of the grill. 

“Miggy.” You say with perky tone. 

The man’s sighing as he brings his head up, dusting his hands and wiping the apple of his cheek with the smudge of his palm.

“Till this day, what’d I tell you about calling…me...” 

Miguel’s words are cut off short as soon as he turns to see you.  

He opens and closes his mouth several time but nothing comes out. He’s adamant he looks so stupid right now but his shock is so genuine that he doesn’t blame himself for the reaction. Honestly, awestruck didn’t even cover half of what he was. 

There you stood, in all your adulthood glory, a finer woman than he could have ever imagined you’d turn out to be. 

Nothing about you was the same to how it was over a decade ago yet it was all so classically you. Or, whatever that meant. He’s not sure. If you’d given him creative direction over what he’d envisioned mid-20s you to look like, he definitely wouldn’t have come up with this. 

Fuck, not like it matters what he thought. Why would anyone give him creative direction over anything? No, he’s not trying to say he wanted to control how you grew but he is saying whatever did, did a good job. 

Oh, Miguel hates trying to justify things to himself. He knew what he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to say it and it was pissing him off because this was all happening inside of his head and God, he probably looked crazy to you right now but he just couldn’t compute this change. 

To put it plainly: You were hot now.

A soft tinkly chuckle leaves your throat as you notice the man’s frozen reaction. 

“Hello to you too, Miguel. Everything okay out here?”

Miguel’s still freaking out mentally because man, even your laugh was the same but it was just so different and maturer and older and hot. 

You amusingly side eye him, no longer calling him Miggy and cautious of his behaviour. You take a few steps round the back of him which ultimately puts you outside of his vision and peripheral. You end up on the opposite side, hands on your hips and face curious as you inspect the barbecue. 

As soon as you’re out of his eyesight Miguel snaps out of the trance. His mind starts to catch him up to speed and he’s stuttering like crazy when he turns to you to try and explain himself. 

“I—Ee—I…yeah. I…I’m setting up some rocks. For the grill. Not…Not just any rocks, like actual— actual charcoal, coal rocks that you…that you light barbecues with and…yeah.” 

“I see.” Your tone is sarcastic, lightly teasing even, and Miguel has to curse himself for acting so lame. 

He blinks at you a few times (Hot.) before casting his eyes back to the grill (Not hot. Yet). He occupies himself with the task. 

“Of course. You know what coal is...” He mumbles the last bit to himself, a reminder that you weren’t an incompetent bristling teen anymore to whom he had to explain everything. 

Miguel spends the majority of the barbecue in your company. 

Not like he had much choice; you two were the only people around the same caliber. Everyone else was either middle aged, a couple, or a bustling child weaving between adult’s legs. 

Chatting to each other wasn’t all that bad. You both nursed several bottled drinks between you and straddled garden chairs towards the bottom of the yard as you caught up with each other’s lives. Whilst he would have preferred hulling up in his room, having someone new to talk to as opposed to the same two people was rejuvenating. 

Over the duration of your conversation, Miguel finds out that you’re a Data Analyst and it somehow makes him feel insecure about his crappy Payroll job. You however assure him that it was nothing to be ashamed of (“You’re a Finance Bro and I’m a Finance Girly. We go hand-in-hand!”). He also opens up about how he’s attending group therapy sessions — through which he met Peter and Jess. He also, speaks about Peter and Jess, but he quickly found out that apart from Peter and Jess, there wasn’t much else for him to talk about. 

But surprisingly it was enough for convo because you always had new discussions to talk through with him anyways. Some were silly, (“Come on, you’ve got to admit it! The Teletubbbies having kids is just weird.”) some were trivial (“Cats or Dogs? — And be honest!”) and others reminiscent (“Remember how we tried to build a secret hide out in this very tree?”).

Miguel also found out that you were single.

“I know you mentioned you’re doing therapy and stuff but…how are you holding up? Like, really holding up?”

An automatic groan leaves Miguel’s mouth. There it was — three hours into the conversation. The million dollar question. 

He hates gatherings and functions for this very reason. No matter how much people smiled in his general direction or pretended that they weren’t tiptoeing eggshells around him, they would always ask how he was in relation to That event in his life. 

Not like they cared. If they cared, they would go out of their way to ask him, routinely check up on him, and not just when he was conveniently in front of them. They only asked because they were aware of the situation. Aware of his misfortune. 

The guy who lost everything in 13 minutes. 

The survivor of a freak accident. 

Someone you’d pity from a far but thanked whoever that the situation never happened to you. 

For that reason alone Miguel always lied and said he was ‘fine’ or that he was ‘holding up okay’. They’d give him pitying eyes, tell him that ‘things will get better’ and then kept it pushing. Usually, when it came to these questions, Miguel’s automatic response is to lie. But there was just something about you; Changed yet The Same you, where Miguel felt that he owed the honest and naked truth to. 

“Honestly?” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m barely holding up at all. Everyday I feel like shit and if one day I surprisingly don’t, I know it’s a fluke and that I will definitely feel like shit tomorrow. It’s just a constant state of feeling off and never truly yourself.” 

There’s a slight pause. It’s comfortable. 

During that pause, you’re both privy to the music of party life. Chortling men, gossiping woman, squealing kids. It’s bittersweet because it kinda reminds Miguel of what he could have had. 

Taking a swig of your drink, you make a humming noise before you’re replying to his triad. 

“Damn. That’s rough, buddy.” 

Miguel snorts. 

Not because he likes how you’ve brushed off his miniature melancholy rant but because he gets the reference. Throughout the course of the barbecue, he thinks that’s one of his favourite things he’s noticed about you. 

You both fall into another comfortable silence, before you’re adding:

“You know, being a widow kinda suits you.” 

Maybe he spoke too soon about what his favourite thing about you was because now Miguel’s choking on his cider and wondering whether this too was a pop culture reference. 

“I— wha— you can’t just say that kinda shit!” He turns to you and exclaims.  

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. Not that I like what’s happened to you — Rest in Peace to them — but as in the reverence that’s come with the trauma? It suits you. It’s matured you.” 

You lull into another short pause but Miguel knows you weren’t finished. He also wonders if you’ve always been this harsh. 

“Not sure if you’re aware but you were a real tool growing up, Miguel. Utter pure, soft, sheltered muck. This whole thing? It’s pushed you to survive. Moulded you. Given you a bit of character building, if you like.”

Your voice is much more calmer but it doesn’t change the fact that you just landed him with the most self-dismantling piece of information he’s heard in a while. 

And yet it’s so bizarre because Miguel can’t help but find himself laughing. 

Not one of those nose snorts when the group chat send subjectively funny memes or when he watches silly animal videos on his phone. No, Miguel’s caving over, free arm clutching to his stomach as he lets out a hefty guffaw. It doesn’t last long though. After about several seconds he completely stops laughing and sits back up regularly. 

Initially, you think he was about to tell you it was all an act and what you said was in fact highly offensive. But it’s when he reverts back to his original position and continues to let out small huffs of laughter that you realise he’s just not used to reacting to things he finds extremely funny.  

Which you’re questioning because nothing you said was a joke, but anything to get the sad man to smile, right?

But alas, seeing as he found humour in what you said, you let out a dry accompaniment of a laugh. 

The two of you probably looked crazy, or at least drunk, as you each mildly chuckled away, weakly swaying side to side. When you both found it funny enough to stop laughing, Miguel spoke up first. 

“Character building…” He huffs before taking another swig of his cider. “Well, that’s one way to put it.” 

You turn your body in the man’s direction and he knows you have something profound to say. Miguel realises within some meta existence outside of himself that your company is oddly easy to keep. 

“How else can you view it?” You warmly reply. “That it was meant to be? That you simply have bad luck? I dunno but every other option is just too demeaning and lifeless to live by. With this explanation at least it gives you a reason to carry on.” 

Miguel nods solemnly with a pondering look on his face. 

“I never saw it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were grieving.”

There’s a pause but it’s not like the others you’ve shared so far. This silence was slightly uncomfortable, uncalled for even. Miguel didn’t mind it because he feels he’s already gone pass the point of feeling embarrassment with you but he could tell it put you in a compromising position. 

Looking over to him, your face vacates something undetectable. 

“And about that…” 

You softly clear your throat. Miguel is about to take another swing of his drink, but it’s when he sees a glint of something in your eyes, that he decides to slowly lower the bottle neck from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry for not being there for you. In all honesty I was around when it happened and definitely knew what was going on I just…I didn’t know how to approach you about it. We’d grown apart for a bit and it was just…it felt strange to give my condolences after being distant from you for so long.”

There’s a tingling sensation scratching at the cage of Miguel’s chest. 

He doesn’t know what the feeling is. All he knows is that he hasn’t felt it in awhile. But then again, Miguel hasn’t felt a lot of things in awhile so he’s not questioning what it is. But most of all, Miguel is surprised that he’s feeling things for once. He’s not sure if he wants to confront himself about them but he knows that they’re influencing his thought process. 

Miguel tries to take a sip of his drink, but suddenly the liquid felt foreign in his mouth and his throat seemed unwilling to gulp it down.  

He contemplates backwashing it back into the bottle but he’s suddenly subconscious about his image in front of you and how you perceive him. 

Weird. 

He forces the cider down. 

“It’s whatever. Shit happens.” He says while squeezing the edges of his lips clean. 

You make a noise of disagreeal. You used to make it all the time as a teen. Miguel wonders if you continued using it after all these years or if you just redeveloped the habit having being in his presence. He also notices how your chair seems to be a lot closer to his despite you never moving once. 

“I know.” You say with slow and downward enunciation. “But either way, I’m sorry. I should have done better by you.” 

You’re trying to stress something to him. He knows that now for sure but Miguel doesn’t know what you’re putting down or what he’s allowed to pick up. 

He watches over at you with firm determination to find out what you’re insinuating but once he sees the way your eyes reflect the fiery dances of ambers, oranges and borderline crimson reds, he turns his head forwards again and clears his throat.

“I hear it. I appreciate your honesty.”

 

Miguel doesn’t know how he got into this position. 

Actually, he does. He very clearly remembers how he asked you if you wanted to carry on talking inside, within his room specifically, and how he smooth talked you into getting on your knees.

But in all honesty, he didn’t mean for it to turn out this way (or maybe he did). Yeah, he may have walked up those stairs with his dick lurching colourfully within his pants at the insinuation, but his initial intentions was to give you a safer space to talk. He’s honest when he says his invitation was powered by a lot more than just pure unadulterated lust.

“Fuck…” He hisses once you scrape your bottom teeth ever so lightly against his shaft. 

Miguel doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t think animalisticaly stuffing them in your hair will do him any good and he thinks a hand on the cheek is too intimate. All he can find appropriate is to splay his hands behind him and slightly lean back to watch you work. 

It’s almost alien seeing how your cheeks hollow over his cock and how your eyes fluttered shut as you manoeuvre your mouth up and down the length of his member, your hand helping you with what your mouth couldn’t reach. 

Miguel doesn’t think there’s anything dehumanising about this.

He was so sure you were giving him the eyes back in the garden. And with the way your lips quipped to one side when he invited you into his room? Yeah, you were big people now. Adults. These sort of things weren’t like hushed secrets or tales of promiscuous old — these were You Either Do or Don’ts — and you both decided to Do. 

“I-I’m close.”

No, there was nothing dehumanising about having your now super hot (and single!) childhood friend suck your cock within your childhood bedroom whilst your parents backyard party went on just outside your window. 

Whether it felt right or not was for Later Miguel to worry about. 

Despite his heed, you were still working your mouth over his cock. Your lips were so prettily spaced around his girth — almost a perfect fit, and Miguel knows he could easily finish this way but he’s making an active decision not to. 

He wants to be mildly selfish and ask for more.  

“I-I said I’m…nrgh.” Miguel sits forward before laying a few fingers to your forehead. “I don’t want to finish like this.” 

You release Miguel’s cock from your mouth with a pop but you don’t leave him hanging dry. Your hand continues to stroke at his wet shaft and fuck, the way your lips glisten with your spit and his precum is legitimately going to push him off the edge, but he has to refrain himself.  

“How else did you plan on finishing?” You quip. 

Miguel seems to freeze as he gives you a look of expected understanding, and at first, he’s so sure you were going to make him spell it out but as predicted, you caught on quick and your eyes widen in realisation. 

“Oh.”

Your hand discontinues stroking Miguel’s cock and he mildly panics at your response. 

That didn’t seem like a good ‘oh’. Miguel doesn’t mean to be an enemy of his own progress but trust for him to end the day with a fractured friendship and blue balls. Suddenly, Miguels backpedalling on his initial stance of being selfish and getting what he wants. 

“We don’t have to. I—Only if it’s okay with you, if you’re comfortable with it.” 

“No. It’s fine.” Your tongue pokes out to swipe at your lips. Fuck. “Might as well get something out of this.” You quip. 

Miguel wonders whether he should have been cautious of how rusty his pipe game had gotten. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his late wife and even then, he stayed off of her most of her pregnancy. Either way, as he’s thrusting his cock in and out of you, all he can think of is how forward you were with telling him about himself outside in the garden. 

It’s not like he was a masochist or into degradation, but there was something about the way you were so bold and open in highlighting his flaws despite the satellite silence for well over a decade.

“How’s this for maturity, huh? For character building?” He grunts into your ear. 

Okay, so maybe Miguel’s sex talk has gotten only a bit rustier, but with the way whimpering whines dribble from your lips, he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger like a promise string. He folds you into a deeper mating press, your feet cuddling his upper back and his body pressed against the warmth of your breasts. 

“M-Miggy.” You moan into his collarbone. 

The nickname causes an innate and deep annoyance to sprout from Miguel’s chest — so much so that he replies inadequately.  

“Shut up.” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he notices your stilling against his body and he immediately regrets his words. He however continues to fuck into you. 

“S-sorry. I di-didn’t me—“

“Miggy.” You moan again, this time with even more intentional lust and immediately he knows what you’re doing. 

“Don’t.”

His warning is solid, and inertly tinged with concern, because Miguel’s unsure how he’s supposed to look you in the eyes after this. You’re playing devious games, dangerous ones as you nail at his back.  

“T-t-touch me, Miggy.”

Now, you’re really testing his patience but also his limits because Miguel is taking everything in him not to go all out. 

And so he complies. Despite him knowing that it was going to rot at his brain for eons and eons to come, that he wasn’t going to be able to back away from this now that he’s had a taste, that he couldn’t go back to be being just Childhood Friends with you, he complies. 

One of Miguel’s hands reaches down between the both of you and once he wedges it close enough, he allows his thumb to swipe at the meat of your swollen clit. 

The mewl you let out is instant and makes Miguel’s dick hiccup inside of you and suddenly he’s seeing stars. Had you no concern for the party still very much going on? The possibility of someone hearing you? The issue of getting caught?! 

A devious grin finds its way onto Miguel’s lips and he’s pressing wet open mouth kisses just below your earlobe. 

“You’re so fucking dirty.” He breathes. 

Quite frankly he’s lying through his teeth. 

There is nothing about this experience or your request or your wanton reaction that was dirty. It was all in fact very sexy, lucrative. Hot. Miguel would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every wet second of it. 

The man can’t help but look down and watch as he bounces his hips harder against your seeping cunt. White froth forms around the base of his dick and he can’t deny that the sight arouses him. 

“Is this who you really are, huh? All this time…all this time.” 

It’s implicit what he accuses that you’re so called hiding, as if you haven’t been transparent with him this whole time. A breathy laugh leaves your throat. 

“You’re…pro-projecting.” You mutter. 

All Miguel can moan in reply is: 

“I know.” 

It doesn’t take long after that before you’re cumming around Miguel’s dick and him into the wryly rubber of the condom. 

“Where do we go from here?”

Miguel is first to speak. 

The two of you have been chilling out in silence for the most of twenty minutes. He was kind enough to let you stay underneath his covers. You were comfortable as you used his bed as your own, scrolling through your phone with one hand underneath your head and your feet rubbing like cricket legs. There was enough room for both of you to lie under there but you said something about not wanting to touch him just after sex. 

Miguel deadpanned and then proceeded to call you things like spoilt and bratty in Spanish, but he still let you have your way. 

Now he was sat at the foot of his own bed (can you believe!), back against the wall as he idly played a game on his console. 

His phone had been buzzing all day; Peter and Jess ultimately amusing themselves in the group chat all whilst occasionally asking where Miguel was and whether the social interactions of the barbecue had killed him yet. He could respond now, but he’s saving the reveal of what went down till after you’re out of his hair. That way he can fanboy in the peace of his own company. 

But now that the two of you were silently sharing a space, Miguel is starting to wonder whether he wanted his own isolated company now so that he could think properly. It’s when he’s failed to complete a level for the fifth time in a row (because his minds occupied on you) that he decides to lower the controller and therefore ask you that question.

Your eyes continue to stay glued to your phone screen as you answer him. 

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” You mumble plainly. “Don’t have to put a name on anything.”

Miguel sighs loudly and he’s rubbing his face with both hands. His dramatics pass over you. 

“Fuck, no, no. I’m not doing that. It’s either we are or wes isn’t. I haven’t got the capacity for any of that situationship, fuck buddies, friends with benefits bullshit people’ve got going on.” 

Miguel is scared for himself once he says the words because it’s only after they tumble out his mouth that he realises they were kinda harsh — which, technically shouldn’t be a problem concerning that was this evening’s whole weird theme. 

But he feels even more afraid because as stupid as it sounds, he can’t lose you. Another staple in his life. Despite him only reconnecting with you for the past few hours or so, Miguel has grown very attached to you and would be an idiot to deny that you meant a lot to him. 

He couldn’t afford to lose you over one fuck. 

Either way, Miguel doesn’t regret those words. They were a direct reflection of how he felt, of what he was thinking whilst he was fucking into you not even half an hour ago. He knows that this one canon event has caused a split trajectory for the both of you. Miguel thinks whatever happens after this is just another testament to how life continuously deals him rubbish cards but he can’t figure out what’s worst: having to let go of a possibly good thing or deal with the change that will now inevitably come with the relationship. 

However you, clearly not as turmoiled as Miguel, slightly lower your phone screen from your face so that you could stare at the man. 

“Then ‘wes isn’t’ anything then. Simple as.” 

It was so obvious this was affecting Miguel internally because there’s that screw up face he does when he’s inadvertently tickled by something he’s heard. He use to do that a lot growing up. 

“How can you be so calm about this?” He asks. 

“Because it’s not that deep.” You shrug. 

Now Miguel’s leaning closer to you, voice seeming to seethe but as a clear defence mechanism. 

“Whaddyou mean it’s not that deep?!” He spits. 

Because he’s acting like this, you now have to lock your phone and place it down onto the bed so that you can give him your utmost attention. You’re even thinking to back track your earlier words about him having matured. It was obvious that he was still that same young boy who sought to always get what he wanted. 

In a weird sense, it was comforting. 

“Not in that way, dummy.”

You force yourself to sit up against his headboard, the blanket sliding down to expose your naked chest. 

“I didn’t see sex with you as casual, Miguel. It was definitely something. But I’m just… Mm. I don’t wanna say I’m not in a rush to label anything but, it’s you. Lil o’ Miggy from two doors down. There’s too much to us and who we are, how long we’ve known each other, how much we’ve experienced each other to let sex completely change that.” 

You can tell he wasn’t expecting your words because his face falls and his eyes widen. He’s so unaware of his facial expressions that it’s cute. 

With a huff of laughter you shake your head before slouching backwards even more. The way your eyes doll over him was surely a testament to your lack of will power when it came to him. Always has and always will be. 

“I love you but in a much bigger way than just platonically or romantically or sexually. You mean a lot to me and I’m grateful we were able to have that experience to strengthen that.” You say softly. 

Miguel finally closes his mouth. His eyes still bore holes into you but you can see his skin start to redden in the embarrassment from the chest upwards. 

You’d figure it’d be a lot for him to take in. Granted — because hearing your childhood friend say they loved you in a much larger capacity than anyone ever could — despite having not seen each other in years, straight after sex, was definitely something. And you figure that part of it was you trying to express to him that you really were sorry, so you realise your triad can almost be viewed as borderline manipulative, but you wasn’t lying.  

You loved the man in a bigger way than fathomably possible, and that was the truth. 

Finally coming to his senses, Miguel leans back against his bedroom wall again, picks up his controller and resumes to play his game. Initially, you think he’s taken your words the wrong way and misunderstood you, but then he starts mumbling something as he’s watching the screen with a hard stare and blotchy crimson skin. 

“That’s unfair.” He mumbles, the click of the controller working in between pauses. “You can’t tell me you love me whilst showing me your boobs. It’s cheating.” 

And you laugh, because what else can you do? As hard-headed and brash as he was in his earlier days, this was who Miguel was. It’s the first version of him you ever fell in love with and didn’t stop loving. It’s the version you’re carpingly in love with now.

Lifting up a corner of the duvet, you give the man permission to join you in his own bed.  

“Miggy, just get underneath the blanket and stop pouting at me.” You say, and he can’t but help instantly crawl over and dutifully comply. 

[karlachismylife]

Standing For Something

This one was requested by @rerejunebug and it was a fun challenge, cuz I kinda understand Hesh better through his family bonds, so romantic partnership with him was a little bit of a riddle to me. Hope I did him justice, definitely had a good good time simply watching through his cutscenes and dialogues. A very special man indeed hehe.

CW: gn!military!reader, mentions of injury, kinda hurt/comfort I guess. Also cursing. Riley is there and he's alright!!!

(Title from Eminem's "Survival")

You were honestly more surprised than hurt, when in the middle of your retreat from a mission, compromsied by a whole Federation squad stumbling into you four (counting Riley), the ground suddenly jumped from under your feet and changed its place with the skies several times. Took you a second to realize that you simply fell and rolled downhill, another - to feel the hot sting in your leg, refusing to support your weight when you tried to get up and getting suspiciously colder despite feeling like it was burning.

A clean shot, in and out, cutting through some important shit deep in the tissue since it rendered you currently down one very crucial limb.

The next shot would've landed somewhere in your skull if Logan didn't provide cover.

"Shit," was your first word after you somewhat regained understanding of your situation. There wasn't much time to lounge on the ground under the constant gunshots chatter, so you grunted, turning over, and tried to get up at least on your hands and knees. There came baby's second word: "Fuck!"

Your leg was giving in under your weight, you slipped and prepared to hit the ground painfully again, when a solid arm wrapped around your torso, yanking you upright. The sheer force you were lifted up with caused your already whoozy from the bloodloss head to snap back. Blood ran cold in your body for a second, the whole world darkening before your eyes rolled back.

Then a familiar voice cut through the cotton (or was that Riley's fur?) stuffed in your ears, calling your name.

"...how copy? I repeat, how copy? Can you walk? Ah, shit, just hold on. I'm not leaving anyone behind."

Hearing David's solid promise made you want to try and find your footing again, but the best you could do was stumble, dragging your hurt leg as he hauled you along, your arm thrown over his broad shoulders.

Fucking guardian angel, your Lieutenant, coming through even under heavy fire.

Your head was spinning so much. What did that bloody bullet hit to fuck you up so badly?

"Riley, down! Take cover!" Nearly blew your ear off, suddenly ducking with you in that same steel grasp, rolling out of the way of something worse than bullets, judging by the noise and rubble flying everywhere from the spot you literally stood (well, Hesh stood, you were more like... located) seconds ago.

Saved your hide again. For the small price of your leg feeling like it got dipped into molten metal as you felt David's weight press down on you generously while he shielded you with his own body. Would've been so much nicer to feel all those kilograms and pounds of discipline and training paying off in some other circumstances.

"Still with me? Good. You're good. We're getting out of here." He could've told you that you'll die in five seconds and you would've still been enamoured with him all the same. Bloodloss didn't make you any sharper, and you already had been feeling the stupidfying effect of Hesh's presence for some time.

Damn, his eyes were greener than the grass in this burnt and torn world.

"Fuck, wanna kiss you," somehow slipped your tongue. You were pretty sure you were saying something else - assessing your condition, maybe? Giving directions? Anything else?

"What, now?! Here?!" Hesh didn't even seem fazed - did anything ever faze this always-prepared, never-taken by surprise man? He did have a point though.

"Yeah... sorry." How did he even understand your slurred speech? You wanted to add a proper "sir" too, show him you weren't completely out of your mind. Just a little out of blood and inhibitions, probably.

You blacked out in his arms the moment he hauled you up again. A limp bleeding body, sporting two wounds instead of the one you noticed.

Good men are defined by the choices they make.

David made a choice to leave no one behind.

[mistyresolve]

| Recovery (Hostage Epilogue) - Simon”Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word count - 1.9K 

Summary - It’s been a month since the incident, and both y/n and Simon are helping each other through it the best they can. After some encouragement, Simons decided to talk with Price about how he’s been feeling and Price says something that changes his perspective.  

Warnings/Tags - Slight depictions of PTSD/Depersonalization, Mentions of a hostage situation   

A/N - Ask and you shall receive 

Hostage 

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Price wasn’t harsh on Simon during their meeting, he had been understanding and empathetic. He understood the relationship between the two of you, understood that Simon didn’t just care for you, he lived for you. And you live for him. It was a symbiotic relationship in the way you too supported each other. Against Price's own beliefs, he still needed to uphold the rules and regulations and was forced by HR to give Simon a suspension. Price was able to pull strings and shorten it from two months to just one. Simon didn’t argue or try for an appeal because both of them were mindful that he needed the time off.  If only so he could spend time with you. Time he could also spend to reflect, and he himself could recover. He was far from cavalier about what he’d done, he knew and internalized it all. 

All that he could remember, and all he couldn’t remember but read from the reports that followed. 

In the past month, little bits and pieces of that night came back to him. Sometimes it was something mundane, like when he was in the kitchen and saw the glint of a knife while you cooked. Other times they came back to him while he was in the shower and he let his mind wander. Some nights he was laying awake beside you and when you’d begin to thrash and scream from your own trauma, he’d involuntarily imagine what you must have gone through before he got to the warehouse. 

He asked once, just once, what happened. You down right refused to tell him. You also didn’t tell him it was mostly to protect him. Work had given you a 6-month leave, with compensation and provided resources. You were receiving weekly counselling so it wasn’t like you were trying to deal with it all on your own. You just didn’t want to put any more pressure and guilt on him. Which he would feel. Even if he wasn’t deserving of it. 

There was something so heartbreaking in the way Simon held the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was part of why he’d become rather recluse in the last month. Not physically, he never wanted to leave your side, but it was like he was always someplace else in his head. He’d seemed to fold in on himself; it was like he was a blackhole sucking everything in. The good and the bad. 

You confided in him, let him know if it was a good day or a bad day. You let him hold you and comfort you. It was therapeutic for the both of you. He said it allowed him to “make up for his fuck-up”. It didn’t matter how many times you told him he played no part in the capture. In the torture. And the sleepless nights that followed. You tried reminding him that he saved you. None of that mattered though. He was still…troubled.  

You’d asked him to try and find someone to talk to once you realized you weren’t the right person for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you with his crisis or that you didn’t want to, it was that you couldn’t be the subject and the listener in this situation. He’d confided in you for everything else. Just not this. Not yet anyway. 

He’d agreed but said he wasn’t going to any therapist. Instead, he’d turned to John Soap and his captain. He was thankful you pushed him to talk to someone, anyone, because it helped to air out some of his worries and stresses. 

Price had been a good listener, an excellent one. Simon had always found Price’s demeanour calming, and might even consider him an older brother. He’d allowed Simon to say everything without fear of backlash or recoil. He offered him solutions and assuage.        

“Simon,” Price leaned back in his chair, “We get our hands dirty to help keep this world a safe place. And they are your world. It would only make that you’d do the same for them.” 

The men he’d killed weren’t innocent, he knew that, but it still bothered him. It bothered him that he could do something like that. Lose himself like that. Turn animalistic like that. He didn’t regret it because he’d do it again, but it frightened him. It was almost as if he wasn’t sure if he could come back from this one. A part of him wasn’t even sure if it was him, like he couldn’t recognize the recollections.    

And again the guilt of letting it happen. He felt that being in a relationship with you encouraged them to go after you. He wasn’t even sure if they even knew that you were together. It was highly unlikely they did. He kept it all under tight wraps. Even the 141 wasn’t aware, they had their speculations and all but they were never too sure. Price knew but never mentioned it to anyone. 

It was irrelevant now. They knew now. 

“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset,” Price continued, his eyes blazing with nothing but honesty, “You’re not a machine. And you’re not a ghost.”

Simon flinched back at that. Price was right, he wasn’t some boogeyman or monster. It was something he’d forgotten. He’d been living his legend for so long that he’d neglected the reality that he was still human. He was capable of feelings and mistakes. 

Something had changed when he met and got involved with you. You brought him back to humanity without either of you realizing it. Before he was dead set on pushing everything down, bottling it all up for later dates that were never to come. 

When he returned home after his visit with Price he was especially observant of you. The way your hair smells after a shower, and how the familiar scent calmed him. The way your voice seemed to enrapture him. The way your body melted against him, and you hummed into his warmth. 

It was as if he was relearning you. 

“You’re awfully quiet today,” you smiled up at him from your spot on his chest. The two of you were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie, a now empty bowl of popcorn in front of you. 

“Just…” he searched for the right words, “Just processing.”

You shifted so you faced him, the movie forgotten, “Was it a good talk with Price today?” 

“Yeah, he made some good points,” he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear so he could see the entirety of your face, traced a finger across a brow, “Said some things that needed hearing.” 

The knot that had been growing in your stomach for months loosened. He’d been so gentle with you. So patient. So attentive. He dedicated all his time and energy to you wanting to make sure you had everything you needed. He learned to make his presence known before making an appearance. He was naturally a silent walker, so he discovered knocking on walls and doorframes was effective. Sometimes he’d whistle or hum a tune in the hallway before appearing around a corner. 

He had also taken to sitting on the floor of the bathroom while you shower so he was close by when your psyche inevitably betrayed you and confused reality for memories. The water seemed to suffocate your lungs even if it was just rolling down your back. He’d usually be able to catch you before you hit the tiles, but other times he was picking you off the floor. He would shut off the shower, and dry you with a towel while you calmed. He’d switch out of his soaking clothes and then patch up any cuts and scrapes from the tiles. 

You tried bathing once, but when you settled into the water and it sloshed against the sides and against your skin, you lost it. He’d very very quickly hauled you out and drained the water. 

But during all this, he never really allowed himself grace. Never allowed himself to grieve, and it was beginning to show in the shadows of his face. He looked starved. Not of food or drink but of happiness, of laughter. It was starting to worry you, but hearing this admission from him was like the sun was rising after a month-long night. 

“I’m glad.” You reached up and picked a stray fallen eyelash from his cheek and held it out in front of him, “Make a wish.” 

He thought for a second before settling on one and blowing the lash from your finger. 

“What did you wish for?”

“I can’t ya,” he gave you an offended look, “Or else it won’t come true.” 

You scoffed, shoving at his shoulder, “You guys and your superstitions.” 

You settled your head into his lap, grabbing at one of his hands to trace the ink of his tattoos. 

He was entirely silent, and when you look back at him, shocked tears burned in your eyes at the sight of him.

He was completely unravelled before you. 

Stripped of any facade.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyebrows furrowing. It wasn’t an apology because of what happened, or of his own tear that rolled down his cheek. He was sorry he was just figuring it out now. That it took him this long to realize that he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“Oh,” you sat up, cupping his face in your hands and kissing the salty tear away, “I know. I know.” 

“I’m trying—” his voice caught. His brown eyes lined with silver squeezed shut. 

“I know,” you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Then his cheek. The line at his brows.   

He wrapped his arms around your center and pulled you until you were in his lap, your knees braced beside his hips. He shoved his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. You rubbed soft slow circles into his back, outlining his muscle with a nail. He basically liquefied at your touch, and it was like a little bit of the weight he was carrying dissolved in reply. 

You stayed like that and held onto him until the credits of the movie you were watching started rolling.  

“Simon?” you asked, as gently as you could, unsure if he’d fallen asleep or not. 

“Mmm?” he didn’t move. 

“Want to come get a soft serve with me?” you ran a hand through his hair and goosebumps arose up and down his arms. 

“What flavour?” he pulled back and looked up at you.

You rolled your eyes, “Blue goo. When have I gotten any other flavour?”

“Cherry’s better.”

“No,” you got up from his lap, holding out your hands for him.

“Why can’t we ever agree on anything?” he took your hands in his, got up and pulled you towards the door. 

“Cause everything you like is weird and vile,” you toed on your shoes, passing him the car keys hanging on the wall after he put his own shoes on. 

“You’re weird and vile,” he threw on a ballcap since it wasn't socially acceptable to wear a mask with a skull sewn into it, but still found comfort in the small sense of privacy. 

He opened the door for you, and you stepped out, but turned back to give him a kiss, “I love you.”

He smiled into the kiss, “I love you.”    

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A/N - he wished for your peace 

Tag List  -  @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @beakami