#it's come a long way in the brief time it's been around

[fallenprophets]

I will never let you go

robert "bob" reynolds x reader

can be read as a sequel to told you I'll be waiting/hiding from the rainfall

summary: usually, he's the one having nightmares, waking you in the middle of the night with heavy breathing and anxious twitching. but this time is different. this time, you're the one plagued with memories. no use of y/n, gender neutral as always, still not proofread. no spoilers

warnings: swearing, mentions of drug addiction, mentions of a bad childhood, very brief mention of suicide?

a/n: WOAH back already? i know, it's insane. hope y'all enjoy this. i want to thank beyonce for inventing music so that i could listen to ethel cain while writing this. also thank you to my own experience with Feelings- who knew my ptsd would come in handy someday

He has nightmares often. 

Since the first night, he’s been living with me; won’t let me sleep on the couch or anything, insists that I stay with him. And who am I to deny those soft eyes, his grip on my waist or on my wrist a little too tight? 

So every night, I sleep next to him, even though the bed is almost too small. 

And almost every night, he has these nightmares. 

The first time, I thought someone had broken in. I was woken by strange sounds, and found him gone; so I pushed out of bed, tiptoed into the kitchen with the revolver I keep in the drawer next to my bed. Upon seeing him, though, I realised I was mistaken. 

It was only Bob, standing completely still in the middle of the room. His breathing was uneven; the only movement I could discern was the light rise and fall of his shoulders. 

He whirled around, eyes blown wide open and frightened. In an instant, I had dropped the revolver on the kitchen counter and almost run to him, catching him half-way as he stumbled into me. And we stayed like that, his arms so tight around me. 

He never remembers the nightmares- either that, or he’s lying to me. And I like to think that I can tell when he’s telling the truth, so I choose to believe him. All he recalls is a dark, empty, frightening feeling. Says that when he wakes up, he thinks everything is gone. Sometimes, I hear him mumble- something about a void.

But I don’t press, because I’m just happy to have him back by my side; in due time, he’ll talk to me, tell me exactly what happened between his disappearance in Malaysia and now. 

I’ve become a light sleeper, to say the least. 

But tonight, he’s not the one having the nightmare. 

Ever since the incident with the void, I’ve felt… strange. Like reliving those memories fucked me up somehow, took the box I’d created in my brain so carefully for my past and opened it. Tossed the contents all over the place, left me to pick them up with shaking hands. 

So, maybe Bob isn’t the only one having nightmares. 

Only this one is bad. It’s not like the others, which I have been able to push down, pretend that those aren’t my memories mixing with my imagination replaying freely when I sleep. This one is claustrophobic, and dark, and frightening- like something awful is reaching long fingers down my throat, clogging my veins, choking me slowly. 

I can’t claw my way out this time. Can’t kick and punch and scream- can’t even get high to pretend the walls aren’t closing in on me. 

I’m in the dream for what feels like years. The details are fuzzy around the edges, but one thing is crystal-clear: the feeling that something is missing. That I’ve lost something, somehow, and that I’m not getting it back. That I won’t even know what it is that’s gone until years later, when it’ll hit me and I’ll keel over and just- just die, and no one will notice. 

I’m still half in it when I wake up. 

I sit up all at once, gasping and choking, immediately reaching my fingers into my mouth to pull that suffocating darkness out, before it can fasten onto my lungs, where it’ll fester and rot and eventually, hopefully, kill me. The blinding panic that consumes me is overwhelmingly familiar; wrenches back memories of being a child all alone, of leaving home, of losing Bob. And the emptiness in my chest- that gaping hole of missing memories and a stolen childhood, of those few months before I checked myself into rehab when I was just drifting, barely alive.

I’m so scared, and for less than a second, I’m the only person on earth, about to be consumed and- and forgotten. 

Within moments, though, fingers wrap around my wrist, pull my hand away from my mouth. I lean over the edge of the bed, heaving and coughing and spluttering as terrified sobs tear through me, making my chest and throat burn. His hand is on my back, the other arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. 

He begins to rock me backwards and forwards as I grab onto his arm, digging my nails in. In the back of my mind, I hope it doesn’t hurt. 

My heart races, jumping like a rabbit trapped in my ribcage. I’m still breathing heavily, but his thumb begins to draw circles between my shoulder blades. He holds both of my wrists down in one hand, like he’s worried I’ll try to claw my throat open if he lets go. The pressure is reassuring, so I don’t move to push him away. 

Eventually, I turn my head slightly. He nudges forward, his nose pressing into my cheek. I lean into him, try to breathe in his presence. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of my mouth once the weight has somewhat lifted itself off my windpipes. My voice still wavers pathetically, and I clear my throat, shutting my eyes against the tears that threaten to spill. “Didn’t- didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Hey.” His voice is so soft; the tears come all at once again, following the tear tracks already made only minutes ago. “Don’t apologise- hey.” 

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb swiping away at the tears. He’s never been fantastic at comfort- remember when I’d have my freak outs while we were both high, he’d just squeeze my hand really tight, maybe kiss my shoulder or my neck for good measure. But now, as I feel his nose lightly graze my shoulder, the familiarity of it all is crushing. Seeking more of it, I tug my shirt down, expose the skin underneath to the cold of my room. He presses a soft, gentle kiss there, at the junction between my shoulder and my neck. There’s nothing sexual about it. We’ve never been like that- crumbling in moments of weakness, taking advantage of too many feelings at once. I think it’s why we were so good as a pair, in a way. 

Slowly, kindly, he moves up, pressing soft kisses up my neck, until he reaches my jawline. My face is still wet with tears; my skin probably tastes salty with it. I wonder if he notices. He must, because once again he brushes his thumb across my cheek, light and quick, a repeated motion. 

“Nightmare?” He asks finally, so quiet. I only nod. I can hardly remember the dream- just the aching sadness, the crushing hopelessness as I drowned. 

“I’ll be okay,” I say. My voice still shakes; I swipe at my face with the back of my hand as my lower lip starts to quiver again. 

His chin rests on my shoulder, and he draws me close. Neither of us are very good with words, and we’re used to silence; so I shuffle closer, turn my head so our noses bump. 

“Thank you,” I whisper finally. He smiles. It’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen, and once again, I am overwhelmed with the warmth of having him back in my life. I reach up and push his hair away from his face, trace his features with my fingertip. My heart still hammers in my chest, and I know that eventually, I’ll have to deal with the feelings, the stifling fear and sorrow of the nightmares I’ve been having. But for now, I’m with him, and I think that’s enough. 

I close the distance and kiss him again, letting my eyes flutter shut. 

This is the second time we’ve kissed. First time was his first night here, and we haven’t talked about it. But I don’t think he regrets it, because within half a second, he’s kissing me back, hand at the nape of my neck, drawing me closer. I tangle my fingers in his hair, tilting my head back ever so slightly. He’s kissing my neck, too, gentle, comforting; carefully moving the hem of my shirt out of the way again as he presses his mouth to my shoulder, then to my collarbone, right above my unevenly beating heart. 

He rests his forehead there, like he’s listening to my pulse thunder on. I let him, resting my chin on the top of his head. 

“I missed you,” I say softly, finally. “Think- think that’s maybe what the nightmare was about. Wanting you back. Like my brain hasn’t registered you’re here.” 

His grip on me tightens. 

“I love you,” he murmurs finally- quiet, vulnerable, maybe a little pathetic. 

“I love you too,” I answer, and it’s true- has been true for years. Maybe even from the moment I met him, I knew, somehow- I was stuck with him, and that really wasn’t so bad. 

I kiss his forehead, breathe in the warmth of him. “I’ll never let you go, y’know that?” I mumble. He nods- can feel it, before he shifts to rest his head on my shoulder, occasionally pressing a kiss to the crook of my neck. 

taglist - @foreverchangingmind

[sunflowerwinds]

bite it | v.a

summary: you and vi have decided that maybe each others company wasn’t the worst thing in the world. but you lay down some ground rules that you can’t help but break when you get pent up.

prev. part -> try it

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x soccer player!vi

contains: modern!au, mature content (MEN & MINORS DNI 18+) — fingering (r! & vi!recieving), oral (vi! & r! recieving), tit-sucking (r!recieving), possesive!vi (if you squint & reader if you squint harder), shower sex, kind of exhibitionism (they’re in the showers in a locker room so it’s open).

word count: 3.9K

a/n: SUPRISE!!!! let’s all pretend that i was supposed to post this over two weeks ago. okay? okay. THANK YOU TO MY VAL, MY GOLDEN GIRL @valeisaslut for editing this for me. ily 4ever <3 ENJOY HORNY FREAKS!!!

You and Vi came to an agreement.

If you were going to be fucking while you were partners for this project, there has to be ground rules. Mostly so that Caitlyn wouldn’t find out about it.

One: Only fuck during your ‘work’ time a.k.a your breaks to avoid being seen around campus together.

Two: Do not tell anyone about this as word spreads insanely fast. You two didn’t need your teammates finding out.

Two easy and simple rules that shouldn’t be hard to not break. Well, at least, that’s what you thought.

For the past two days, you had been feeling an abnormal amount of horniness; an aching feeling that can only be described as animalistic. You zoned out during practice and almost got kicked in the nose.

When Caitlyn asked you what’s wrong with you recently, you gave her a short response.

“I’m just stressed about classes,” you responded as you chug your bottle of water as during your break.

Being the absolute angel she was, she offered a quick solution. “Oh, we could study together down in the library on our free days. I’ve got Monday afternoons open.”

The guilt hit at that moment: reminding you of what she didn’t know and how terrible of a friend you’re being to her.

You couldn’t go five seconds without thinking of Vi’s tongue tracing over your clit or her abs pressed up against your back when she finger-fucks you from behind or the way her hands would tighten on your skin with such a natural dominance.

Then the daunting realization washes over you when you check your period calendar.

It’s ovulation week. And you aren’t going to see Vi for another three fucking days.

You tried to get off on your own but your hands and vibrator aren't good enough. Nothing feels as good as her as much as you hate to admit it.

You suck in a deep breath as you attempt to focus on one of your other courses but your mind desperately lingers to the last photo you remember Vi sending you just yesterday.

Being the absolute pain in your ass that she is, she sent you a photo of her ‘injury’ on her stomach on the toned skin that had been scraped from tripping over the ball when it had been passed to her without her realizing. Her hand had held up her jersey to reveal the miniscule spot of redness, the band of her black sports bra peeking from the top of the photo and the waistband of her briefs from the bottom.

Fucking tease, you had thought as you had texted her back immediately to put her shirt down as you couldn’t bare for her to know how you touched yourself to the sight of it ten minutes later.

You shake your head with harsh blinks as you click your pen on your notebook page rapidly to attempt to shush your arousing thoughts, taking in long stabilizing breaths.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You’ve been sleeping with this girl for two weeks now and she’s making you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Should you–

No. No, you agreed. Only your Wednesdays with her.

But maybe she won’t mind one time. Just once, you try to convince yourself that you aren’t acting feral.

You grab your phone from next to your laptop on your desk, opening your messages with Vi to type something and send it before you can take it back.

You | come over, please?

You watch as the bubbles pop up for a moment, anxiously tapping your fingers on the desk. Your phone buzzes in your hand to show her response.

Violet | wow a please? did someone steal your phone?

You | you’re an ass

Violet | that’s not what you were saying last week when you sat on my face

Your face heats up at the memory of her sloppy noises underneath you as your hands gripped tightly to your headboard and her strong forearms holding you down by your trembling thighs on her face.

Fuck, that isn’t helping.

You | well, is that a no?

Violet | as much as i’d love to, i got practice rn.

Violet | but it ends in 30. i’ll hit the showers then head on over, gorgeous.

Part of you wants to just leave it there; ignore her and stand on your ground to yourself on having the patience you claimed to have. But, the more feverish part of you wants to run down to the field and take her right there in front of everyone.

Wait. Why couldn’t you just go down there?

You type on your phone's keyboard screen, setting it aside out of nerves.

You | i’ll come to you. wait in the showers for me

You resume your studying as if you hadn’t just sent that message, your leg bouncing out of anticipation. Hearing the soft buzz of her response coming through five minutes later, you snatch your phone and hold the screen up to your face.

Violet liked your message

Violet | will do, baby ;)

Desperation gains a whole new definition as you wait around the corner, watching as the last of Vi’s soccer team leaves the locker room, but not seeing her come out. So she can listen every once in a while and not be a stubborn pain.

You place a hand on the cold door, pushing it open with a grunt at the weight of it. The moment it was open, you could faintly hear the sound of a shower running towards the back.

Without further thought, you make your way past the tall blue lockers to enter the showers.

“Vi?” You call out, the echo of your voice filling the area.

The sudden squeak of a handle makes you wince before you hear the sound of a shower curtain being tossed open.

“Down here!” She calls back before resuming the water.

You suck in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to see Vi, following the sound of her voice, finding yourself standing in front of the only shut curtain amongst the others that were empty. You curse mentally at the sight of her silhouette, shaking your head.

“Are you just gonna stand there or come on in, gorgeous? I don’t bite.” Vi teases through the curtain, a soft chuckle leaving her. “Much.”

You roll your eyes before stripping yourself of the minimal clothing you had on, ignoring how your underwear had stuck to your sopping cunt. You simply set them down on the bench before gripping onto the flimsy plastic of the shower curtain, tugging it back with a harsh screech.

And god, you couldn’t suppress the moan that left your throat the second your eyes landed on Vi.

The steamy water from the shower head trickles down her delectably toned body, highlighting every ridge of her ribs and abs. Her back tattoo glistens in a way that nearly had you dropping to your knees to lick every line of ink. You truly couldn’t tell how much time passed of you gawking at her until you heard her clear her throat.

“Did you ask to come down here just to stare at me, princess? I mean I don’t mind but…” She trails off as her cocky expression somehow grows wider.

You blink as you lock eyes with her, stepping more into the shower so that the scorching water runs down your own bare body.

“Shut up,” you groan, placing your hands on her chest and pushing her up against the cold yellow tile.

Vi’s eyes, for a moment, widen at your eagerness before she smirks down at you. You don’t give her not even one second to say a smart-ass comment as you press your lips to hers with assertion, cupping either side of her neck to keep her steady. You moan into her mouth as her hands find their way to your ass, gripping the flesh with just as much desperation. Your tongue swipes over her bottom lip, humming as she sucks on your tongue with a soft moan.

You press your hips flush against her lower half, almost grinding into her for any sort of relief. Your clit pulses with need as Vi’s left pointer and middle finger tease at your slit from behind as her right hand holds one cheek open for easier access.

“You want my fingers, baby?” Vi mutters as she nibbles at your bottom lip then trailing down to the nape of your neck.

You whine as you nod against her, wrapping your arms around her neck to keep her somehow even closer to you.

“But,” you gasp as she captures one of your nipples into her mouth, distracting your train of thought. “I-I want to taste you first.”

Vi halts her movements for a moment, taken aback by your words. She pants softly against your skin as her hands grip your waist for a moment. You knew you weren’t as experienced with women but, somehow, the mere thought of getting a taste of her sparked that impulse in you.

“...If you’ll let me.” You add for reassurance, a hand cradling the back of her head as she’s still latched to your boob.

The red haired girl slowly releases your hard nipple from her lips, not before making sure to lick over it once more and standing upright. A ghost of a smile lingers on her lips, the water falling past her face in a cinematic light.

“Get on your knees, gorgeous.” She mutters as her hands follow up your body, as if trying to memorize every inch of you, before stopping to settle on your shoulders.

Her grips tightens slightly, doing as you're told, knees digging into the round drain over and jagged title. Your eyes are immediately hit by the streams of water as you attempt to look up at Vi, cursing at the feeling.

“Shit, sorry,” Vi reaches a hand up to maneuver the mounted neck so that it wouldn’t bother you too much.

You can’t help but feel your heart tighten at the simple yet gentle gesture, but still try to push it as quickly as the feeling comes. You wave her off with a chuckle, brushing your hair out of your face as you realize that your face is right in front of Vi’s crotch. Her bush has you salivating as you lean forward.

You press a kiss just below her belly button, her stomach visibly tightening at the feeling of your lips against her skin. Your hands settle on the thick meat of her muscular thighs as you trail the kisses down her v-line to her aching clit. It’s a hot red, calling for you to cool it down.

Finally, your arm hooks underneath her thigh to lift her leg. She gets the hint and rests her thigh over your shoulder, cursing when you lick that first long stripe over her puffy cunt. She gasps softly, her hips bucking into your face, chasing your tongue with a desperate libido.

“O-oh,” a broken soft moan leaves her lips.

Soaking in the encouragement, you continue your eager motions at her slit. You, shamelessly, moan into her cunt from the sole taste of her.

You can't help but think of what you had been missing out on. Was this why Vi would ravish you and ‘could never get enough of you’?

The addicting musky scent that lingers on your tongue along with the sound of her attempting to shield her noises sparks a flame in you even stronger. Your eyes lock on hers as you suck her clit, humming when she jerks her hips against your face. Your ego shoots through the roof as she lifts one of her toned arms to cover her eyes, her mouth falling open to prettily pant into the steamy shower space.

Her abs tighten as her grinding hips follow your tongue eagerly.

What you would give to have this image imprinted in your mind forever.

Sure, Vi would moan and groan softly into your mouth when she fucked you until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. But these sounds? The quiet begging and endearing whimpers? Oh, they are driving you insane.

You’re relentless with your tongue along her slit as her breathing picks up, signaling you that she’s getting close. Your arm keeps her thigh up on your shoulder as the thick muscle tightens and threatens to fall back to the ground.

“Fuck, fuck, oh, just like that, baby,” she praises through stuttered whines.

You moan against her clit as you raise your free hand to her cunt, teasing the tip of your pointer and middle through the folds. Vi nods rapidly the second she feels your fingers, pushing her hips against your face.

You gently and gradually slide your fingers into her, making sure to not be too rough with her. She grinds down to follow the new feeling, eager to chase her orgasm that you’re pulling out of her. You curl your fingers as you continue to lick and suck on the sensitive bud.

Vi’s moans are growing higher in pitch, her jaw going slack. Keeping your pace with your tongue and eager fingers, you watch as her flushed face contorts, gripping onto your head to shove your face into her cunt harshly.

You weren’t complaining, that's for damn sure.

You feel her thigh shaking on your shoulder as she finally cums, coating your fingers, the warmth dribbling down your hand. You pull away from her clit but slow down your movements, eager to taste her arousal. Her knees buckle as she chases the orgasm, harsh pants leaving her lips as she attempts to recover.

“Well, fuck, princess,” she says with a shaky chuckle.

You peer up at her from your kneeled position, placing a few soft kisses on her clit teasingly. You hold back a cheeky smirk as she bucks her hips before standing on wobbly knees. Vi takes notice of this as her hands land on your waist to keep you upright, tugging you against her as she captures your lips into a hungry kiss.

Teeth clanking and loud panting fill your ears as you pull away slightly to raise the hand that was inside of her, holding up your two fingers to her red bitten lips. She stares at you with blown out pupils, greedily letting you wipe her own cum in her mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” You mutter with a hum.

Vi groans as she licks her lips to show you she agrees.

“Up against the wall and spread your legs for me,” she instructs as she places harsh kisses to your neck all the way down to your tits.

Usually, you would scold her about marking you up, but that lust blinded part of you wants to shamelessly show them off. So you simply do as you're told, licking over your own lips to remind yourself what you just did. Your back hits the cold tile as the shower water is running lukewarm at this point, no longer steaming up the confined space.

Vi’s teeth bare as she bites at your collarbone, digging her canines into your hot skin. You moan softly as her hand travels down to in between your spread legs to feel your slit with her middle and ring finger.

“Fuck, eating my pussy got you all wet for me, baby?” Vi questions.

You nod as you look at her with nothing but desire.

“I—fuck—needed you,” you admit with a soft whimper.

Vi’s baby blues lock on yours as her smile grows eagerly. You press your lips to hers to attempt to conceal that giddy grin (and the fact that her eye contact alone made your heart skip in an alarming way).

She chuckles, sliding her middle finger into you, messily making out with you as you wanted. Her tongue glides over your own as she easily slides in her ring finger next.

You shiver at the stretch as your arms wrap around her shoulders to keep her close. Her tits press against your own as she continues her sloppy kisses, beginning to pump her fingers into your needy cunt. She detaches her lips from your own to watch your furrowed brows and heavy eyes threatening to shut from the titillating feeling.

“So fuckin’ greedy, baby. What happened to only Wednesday’s, huh?” She teases.

You would snip back but you only moan when she asks the taunting question.

The two of you freeze at the sound of the heavy locker room door opening and shutting with an echoing rumble. Rushed footsteps follow along with low curses of annoyance.

The silence that comes over the two of you is deafening.

“Damn, Vi, you still here?” This person, who you assume is one of her teammates, calls out to the girl who has her fingers inside of you.

Vi stares at you with an eyebrow raise, holding her free hand up to press her pointer finger on her lips. You roll your eyes at her cocky smirk but hold your breath as you listen to the footsteps echoing around the locker room.

“Yeah. I’ll be out soon.” Vi calls back as she continues to pump her fingers in and out of you.

“Well, I think I left my phone here. Did you see it?”

Still, you'd be lying if you said the thought of almost getting caught doesn’t thrill you, just a little.

Your body is the one to give that away for you, clenching around her lengthy fingers, and meeting her eyes. Vi mouths a shush that only makes you want to release the moans itching at your throat even more.

The sound of lockers opening and closing and shuffling of clothes are reminders that you can’t make a sound.

“Did you check the field or the bleachers?” Vi calls out to her teammate as she continues her feverish pumps.

“Shit, you’re probably right.” The teammate mutters to herself as she slams her locker shut.

Vi curls her fingers to meet your g-spot, a sudden moan slipping from your lips at the overwhelming pressure, but she quickly uses her free hand to cover your mouth, your hips stuttering to chase her fingers.

You whine at the way her natural dominance took over in that moment.

“Stay quiet for me, gorgeous. She’s almost gone,” Vi whispers in your ear with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You huff as you feel your stomach tighten, your orgasm begging to release.

“Vi, did you say something?”

The red haired girl grins at you before calling back: “No. Good luck with finding your phone.”

A beat of excruciatingly long silence passes.

“Alright. Uh, yeah, thanks. Don’t take too long or else Coach will have you running 100 laps again.”

Your brows furrow at Vi at her teammates' insinuation.

Again?

Has she fucked a girl in the showers before?

“Yeah, okay.” Vi snorts as she presses her lips to yours.

The two of you listen for the receding footsteps before the sound of the large door slams once again. You grab onto Vi’s wrist to push her hand away from your shielded mouth as you bury your face into her neck, freely letting your timid moans out now.

“You’re a d-dick,” you stutter out into her damp skin, nibbling a possessive hickey on her skin.

Vi throws her head back to allow better access for your markings, a grunt leaving her lips.

“Oh, you love it, baby,” she mutters smugly.

And the upsetting thing is you really fucking do.

Her arrogant words draw you closer to cumming all over her fingers. Your clit throbs as you remove one of your hands to reach in between your bodies, rubbing your own aching bud.

“Vi, please. ‘M so close.” You whimper.

Vi takes notice of how you’re touching yourself, shaking her head with disappointment.

“Take your hand off.”

Your brow quips at her tone. She sighs as she leans in more to kiss you deeply, making you hum as she pulls away to ghost her lips over your own.

“Please?” She adds with a cheeky grin.

You hesitantly remove your hand, watching as she drops down on her knees with her fingers still pumping inside of you. You watch her latch her lips around your clit and moan lowly at the relieving feeling of her tongue. Your hands weave into her hair instantly, rolling your hips against her face shamelessly, your orgasm clawing at the base of your spine.

Vi’s eyes are hooded with concentration, and she doesn’t dare let up her persistent thrusts. You fold over, attempting to clench your legs to ease the pressure. The familiar overwhelming feeling rips through your chest and stomach.

“I– oh my god,” you whimper throughout your orgasm.

Your inner thighs shake with sensitivity as you can feel yourself leaking down her toned forearm. You let out soft pants as you come down from the orgasm, pushing Vi’s face back as carefully as you could manage. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you lean your head back against the tile, shutting your eyes to calm yourself down.

A few seconds pass of Vi placing kisses up your body before you feel the stream of the lukewarm water hitting your boneless naked body.

“So, now, should I be expecting you to ambush me while I’m in the shower from here on out or what’s our schedule looking like?” She tilts her head at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I didn’t ambush you. I let you know I was coming,” you shake your head with an amused grin.

Vi’s smile grows at your accidental innuendo, placing a hand over her own lips to attempt to hide it. Before she can say anything, you roll your eyes as you push her chest slightly.

“Ha, ha. Yes, I definitely let you know I was coming. You are so–”

Vi holds her hands up in defense with a shake of her head. “Hey, you said it. I didn’t.”

You two shared heavy kisses until the water runs cold. Showering together felt eerily domestic; not fitting the dynamic you’ve established.

As much as you insisted on just leaving in the clothes you came in, Vi had the brilliant idea to swap clothes. You left the locker room in her baggy joggers and her black wife pleaser, while she sported your ribbed lace grey cami and Hello Kitty pajama shorts that had her ass nearly hanging out of them.

You giggle at the sight as she reaches behind her to tug the back down, walking down the hall to the exit door.

“Well, this is the sexiest you’ve ever looked, Vi,” you motion to her (your) clothing.

Vi scoffs before ranking her eyes up and down your body. “It’s definitely worth it seeing you in my clothes. You look…”

You finish for her as you fold your arms in front of your chest with a knowing smile. “Douchey?”

“Beautiful.” She says simply, her eyes shining as she tilts her head at you.

The soft comment throws you off guard.

It means nothing, you repeat mentally before you take one step forward to capture her lips into a gentle kiss; too gentle for what you two are. Her hands find your waist, thumbing at your hips.

You pull away, hooking your finger onto the strap of the cami to snap it against her skin. “Have fun walking home in that.”

“Same goes to you, princess.” She kisses you once more, lingering as if she wants to stay here with you. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Sadly.” You sigh dramatically.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your lips again once she detaches herself from you completely, pressing her back against the heavy exit door. You watch her leave into the bright midday sun, making her way to her own dorm room.

But you couldn’t help but wonder as you walked home:

Why the fuck did you miss her so much?

TAGLIST: @sawaagyapong @unear7hly @leeidk87 @childishname @ferxanda @whisperingcherub @rad-radical2 @strawb4kdior @natscloset @aliendustpee @satorix @rosieeteaa @moodient @mars4hellokitty @klallx @skzvilleshi @drunkenrosesluv @fairexy78 @angelynn-nicole @sevikas-baby @milanyas @jajsnjz @oatmatchalatte

[melk-maid]

warnings: everyone is aged up 21+, gn reader/no pronouns, incel shigaraki tomura, suicidal ideation/planning, angst, lots of heavy feelings, masturbation, hentai and tentacle mention, filth and grime, the beginning of an online friendship, league of legends ~ 3k words chapter one synopsis: tomura can't even find pleasure in masturbating anymore, reflecting on his miserable life until he decides to end it all. after pouring out his thoughts and feelings on a random, densely populated discord server, your message distracts him series masterlist / chapter two

note: this is the first of a multi-chapter series! i love incel shigaraki with my whole heart and i realised when doing research for incels and their mindset that i was thinking about 'old school' incels (aka 4chan) so tomura is very that lmao very wet paper towel cums in his pants over tits kinda guy + the filth that comes with it :) if you'd like to be notified when chapter two comes out, send me an ask to lmk and i'll be sure to tag you! enjoy~♡ minors & ageless blogs dni - you will be blocked

Silence.

Some people will go out of their way to experience it, while others run away.

It allows Tomura to think clearly. Process his thoughts, allow himself to drift into the darkest depths of his mind, to feel all the pain and misery that haunts him. Despite the brief wash of serotonin that crashed through him a mere thirty seconds ago, that gaping hole still resides in the centre of his chest.

Leaning back against the old desk chair, his cock lays limp against his stomach, softening quickly with strings of his own residue clinging beneath his foreskin. He thumbs at the cooling cum on his index finger, spreading the remnants of his pleasure over his hand. What hadn't trickled out of his slit was soaking into his old shirt, pooled in the centre of his chest — right where he feels the most hollow.

Thinking is one of his greatest abilities — and worst. When Tomura allows himself to think, it could be good or bad. In this moment, however, it brought him nothing but misery.

It makes him nauseous. What is there for him to be happy about? The hideout is temporary — he doesn't have any kind of permanent home, he hasn't for as long as he can remember. Always moving, hiding, lurking in the shadows. Everything he owns has been stolen, even if it isn't a lot. He feels like a waste. Tomura has never been worthy of anything.

There aren't any tissues on the desk, so he wipes his hand 'clean' on his pants instead, sitting up slightly from his position. The chair squeaks beneath him, an echo that reminds him he's real. Tomura is real and so is the silence that surrounds him.

His hands are on his neck before he can even think about what he's doing. Scratching. Scratching and itching and tearing at flesh. It hurts but at the same time, there's a minute sense of relief. Gritting his teeth, Tomura claws at himself, digging his nails into the thin and sore tissue of his neck. It's not until he feels blood beginning to burrow under his nails does he feel satisfied. The stench of copper is familiar and oddly comforting in a sick and twisted way.

It burns. Tomura's neck throbs like it has a pulse; just like his cock five minutes ago. There's no way for him to distinguish whether or not he enjoys the pain or it fuels his self loathing. Hunching over himself, Tomura looks around the room — 'his' room. It's a disgusting mess that he has no motivation to clean up. Stolen furniture rots against the mouldy walls, wallpaper torn and continuing to peel, a pile of dirty clothes that he needs to sneak into a laundromat for sits atop his bed.

Is there anything beyond being depressed? Because Tomura would describe himself as that.

He remembers when he first moved into this hideout, one that his master helped him find. Moving in with Spinner and Kurogiri, he tried to tell himself it was cosy. Up to that point, he doesn't remember ever living in a nice home or having new things. Everything has always been stolen or found on the streets, fighting for his survival. The glass walls shattered around him when he saw how 'normal' people live. Pro heroes were expected to live in some kind of luxury, but even those who are quirkless live in better conditions than he.

Born never to be a pro hero but instead, given a quirk that decided he would be a villain. Life might have been better if he were quirkless. People would feel bad for him rather than looking down upon him with utter disgust, much like they do whenever he wanders through the city. No one knows what his quirk is and yet they know he's a villain.

The pile of clothes on his bed blends into a dark mass when tears begin to prick at his eyes. It blurs his vision as nausea builds in his throat — the throbbing has subsided, leaving an aching pain to remind him of the agony he feels within. Tomura looks down at his hands in his lap, sitting up as he takes a deep breath, flexing his fingers.

He's real. He's alive. He's caused so much pain, death and destruction with these hands.

Always so careful about what he touches and how he does so. A pinkie is always pulled out when he holds a cup, uses chopsticks, his mouse and keyboard. It probably took years for him to reflexively learn how to keep all five fingers away from things he needs, from the few things that bring him some semblance of joy.

It's a painful life to lead. To constantly be aware and conscious of what he does, how he touches things. All he's good for is destruction. Rendering everything and everyone to dust so quickly, whether it was purposeful or not. Even if he didn't live this kind of life, Tomura would never be normal. He'd never be able to touch another person without caution, wholly enjoying the feeling of life without bounds.

His hand reaches out for his neck again, all five fingers wrapped around his throat. Tomura holds his breath, eyes shut tight as he prays to turn himself into ashes. It works on others and he curses the fact it will never work on himself.

A single tear begins to run down his cheek, tickling the dry skin around his nose. He's erratic in the way he grabs his wrists with all five fingers, growling in frustration. It's unfair. Why won't his quirk work on himself? Why can't it be so simple and easy?

The little gudetama trinket that Toga gifted him vanishes instantly when Tomura rests his pinkie finger on the yellow egg. A reminder that his quirk is working, just not for him.

He shouts and slams his fist on the table, palm down with all five fingers splayed out, bent back to ensure he doesn't touch the desk. It's instinctual, whether he wants it to be or not. Tomura wants to die, so what would it matter if he lets his desk turn to ash? His friends linger in his mind and it only makes him sicker.

A stain on this world. Destined for nothing. Not even destruction brings about pleasure anymore. The violence or chaos is just a neutral blip in his mind. Destroying buildings, killing people or even heroes; none of it brings relief to the dark abyss that is Tomura's life.

His eyes sting again, fingers curling in on themselves as he lifts his hand from the desk and creates a fist. That same hand is thrown at his eyes as he presses his palms into his sockets. Teeth grind under the pressure of his jaw and he lets out a pitiful sob — it's choked and tortured, but it makes him aware of the silence that continues to surround him.

Tonight is the night. Tomura will kill himself once and for all. There's no way he can handle this pain any longer.

After he made the decision in his head, his thoughts drift towards the people he knows and how they would react. It's laughable the way he tries to convince himself any of them would care, as though there would be a reason not to.

His master tells him constantly how he's supposed to change the world, that he can if he puts his mind to it. If he can grow up and believe in himself, and focus on the end goal to make for a better world, then Tomura could be someone. A little patience and he will get there someday. But he can't; he can't wait because nothing works out the way he wants it to.

Even his own family team members question his plans and abilities. None of them truly believe in him and his cause. His organisation is nothing but a pathetic show, an attempt to be taken seriously in life and his goals. When Dabi first showed up at the hideout, he made it clear he had no interest in Tomura's plans, only his own that could be forwarded with his help. Everyone has their own agenda and will abandon him once they are done — something he had accepted initially, but now the idea makes his heart ache.

Tomura thinks about asking one of the others to use their quirk on him since he can't use his own. Dabi could set him on fire easily, turn him into molten ash like he desired. The more he thinks about it, the sooner he realises that he wouldn't; probably humiliate him for asking or suggesting such a ridiculous thing, ridicule him for giving up on his goal as a villain. Tomura would be proving to them he really is weak; he's never been the leader he portrays himself as.

For a moment, the idea of leaving the hide out makes him question if suicide is worth it. He wants to be free from the pain and shackles of his life, but scowls to himself over the thought of going outside. At least it's the middle of the night and there will be limited heroes to stop him from jumping off of a bridge or tall building.

Yeah…Jumping from a building would do.

Maybe, just maybe, he'll feel okay in his last few moments before his body hits the ground. Tomura doesn't believe in any kind of an afterlife, yet the thought of physically feeling the binds of life leave him would be pleasant.

Tomura stares at his computer screen as he decides how he's going to kill himself; the porn he had paused is still on display, showing a crude animation of a woman being penetrated by multiple tentacles. It was the frame he purposely paused on to finish, left there when he fell into his suicidal ideation. Once his favourite obscure hentai video, it's now the bane of his existence, a reminder that he'll be nothing but a lonely freak.

It's shameful how much he longs for someone else's touch. Tomura can't remember the last time he was given a hug. Never kissed anyone, never fucked anyone. It's only his destructive hands on his own body, touching others with malicious intent. Relationships and intimacy are stupid and weak. People cry over others, leave themselves vulnerable and open to another person, show off their most sensitive parts to be destroyed. Those fucking tears sting again when he thinks about being hugged. About being desired.

The world is fake and shallow. No one truly cares about one another, only out of selfish desires and societal standards. Heroes are loved because they keep people safe — just like Tomura is hated because he is danger itself. No one wants to befriend a villain, no one wants to love a villain. Even the quirkless find love, friendship and family. There's something so deeply wrong with him that he can't seem to fix. A quirk isn't something that can easily be erased or changed. His anger and self loathing is rooted so deeply, it's impossible for him to be someone else — another person who doesn't have disdain for the world.

Silence reminds him of his loneliness. His deep, shaky breaths break the silence in his room, but it's not enough to ease the pain.

Tomura is surrounded by people; his organisation and its few members, the strangers in the city, others in the discord servers he's a part of. Yet the feeling remains when he opens the chat program to no messages or individual pings. No one cares about him. Often, he will isolate himself, not bothering to log in or leave his room for days or weeks at a time. No one ever notices his disappearance.

When he ends his life tonight, everything will continue without him.

No one will notice for weeks, maybe even months. His master will find someone new to run the villain organisation, someone who is more likely to succeed in their goals. The other members of the hide out will follow suit and forget his name soon enough. The world will keep turning. Villains will keep rising and heroes will knock them down. The sun will rise and set as though nothing ever happened.

Why he's writing his feelings down in a discord server he isn't too sure, especially since he's almost never active in there. It's one he found through an online forum, full of other people like him. Lonely, quirkless or wish they were, into gaming and anime. It was supposed to be a server for people to talk to one another outside the website but with ten thousand members, Tomura still found himself alone.

It's a glorified suicide note, a thick chunk of text that's likely difficult to read. He doesn't care because he doesn't expect anyone to read it. The message isn't personal enough to out himself or his organisation, but it bares a lot of his thoughts and feelings on the world and himself. It mentions how the few in his life don't care and acknowledges how no one in the server would care either, that his quirk is undesirable and destructive, he was never meant to experience happiness. It's a goodbye to the only community that accepted him, even just a little.

Getting his feelings out eases the pain just a little, though Tomura wonders if that's the acceptance of ending his own life. It was decided he will do it and how, yet he remains rotting in the desk chair. Staring at his discord message, watching the egregiously large server list constantly increase and decrease as people log on and off.

His breathing had regulated, at least, and his eyes were dry. It's acceptance that despite it all, he was right. No one cares.

Tomura takes his time to put his cock back in his pants, grimacing at the dried and slimy residue that coats his underwear. For the first time today, his mind is clear. He's going to kill himself. He will be free.

The reason why he remained seated after his message for so long was unknown. Potentially soaking up his last moments alive, or delaying the inevitable because he wished someone would stop him. Either way, Tomura would soon be grateful he didn't log off.

There's an unfamiliar ping that rings out in his earphones. Looking up at the screen, a new icon sits atop his server list. It's a direct message, highlighted with a little red bubble. The sound rings again, the red bubble changing to the number two.

He's cautious when gripping the mouse, pinkie finger straightened out, and hovers over the icon. Normally when he gets a direct message, it's from a bot that's somehow infiltrated one of the large servers he's in. Sending links and spam about giveaways or free gifts. At first he thinks it's another of those, but a part of him is terrified it's not.

'hey saw ur message in a server r u ok'

'do u play LoL'

Tomura can't decide how he feels. The content that settled within him has been disrupted. A flurry of various emotions tear through him, making it difficult to decipher just how he feels seeing your messages. It's obvious you aren't a bot and part of him is grateful — someone cared. The rational part of Tomura's brain reminds him that you're human and there must be some kind of ulterior motive.

He stares at the message, re-reading it over and over again. Your icon of Jhin almost taunts him. Already, you are in his good graces, yet he still tries to find reason to doubt. Trying so very hard to make himself walk away, to stick to his plan and remind himself of the heartache that he feels everyday. You reaching out is temporary; nothing will come of this interaction. Nothing meaningful, at least.

Instead of shutting off the computer or peeling himself away from his chair, Tomura finds himself responding to you. Wanting to maintain an air of mystery and disinterest, his response was a simple 'no' and 'yes' just to see what you say. There's no way you expect a genuine conversation after what he posted, and he has no interest in talking further about his feelings with a stranger like you.

'cool'

'wanna play?'

That's…not what he expected. It's too good to be true — there has to be a catch. You must be a bot, a smart one at that. In a message or two you're going to link him to some shady website, give him a speech about how you're a start up business selling in-game skins or premium loot. Just to prove himself right, Tomura proceeds to question you on your League Of Legends knowledge.

It's mildly infuriating when you give him good answers. Both of you play in the same lane and you main Jhin in your icon, a respectable character. As though you were giving him all the right answers, he couldn't find anything wrong with this interaction no matter how hard he tried.

One game, he tells himself. One game to see if you're trash or you're as good as you seem. If you annoy him enough, Tomura will write an actual suicide note and blame you for his decision before turning his room into ashes.

However, much to his surprise and mild frustration, you're really good. A decent player that Tomura finds himself having fun with. You flame others in the in-game chat with him, backing up his frustration and feeding into teamwork. He indulges in another game, and another, and another until the sun is rising and Tomura no longer wishes to jump off of a building.

He feels cynical trying to find a reason to hate you and this interaction. It's such a strange feeling to be so, so low and now, as he logs off and climbs into bed, Tomura doesn't feel so hopeless about his life. 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hello! Can I ask for an Dream BBQ Ena with a reader who is a genie? Like maybe Ena finds a new door and thinks that the genie can help her find the boss. Reader is the genie of the door and is just like "???" at this strange but kinda endearing humanoid. IDK, I just think Genie!Reader's redaction to Ena would be funny.

This reminds me of that one Door that's hidden in the Lost Village (there's a pathway in the top right corner of the area). It's like a mermaid

Makes me wonder if the door itself just got abandoned here, or if there's a world inside it that's still ran by a Genie. But anyways I'm gonna base Reader off of what I think this Genie would've been like!

........

'Huh..another Door.' Ena mused as she came face-to-face with another blue entity. This time, it was a mermaid-shaped figure with the head of a fish, being only connected by a spine or backbone of some sort.

She had the feeling that she definitely shouldn't be here, but after wandering and looking for clues as to which house in the Lost Village was the correct one to enter.....she just happened to stumble upon this Door.

Something told her to use the humanboard to cross over to it, and that's exactly what she did, determined to explore this new "ocean of opportunity". She was always one to venture into the unknown.

It was still part of her job, after all--it could lead her to the Genie who could clear that smoke away.

Stepping onto what little platform was holding up the door, she was teetering on the edge, not daring to look down into the abyss, knowing it'd be staring back up at her.

After recalling her trusted companion tool, she looked at the head in-between her hands for a brief moment, thinking..

Should she be here?

Shouldn't she be heeding the words of Sir Frank?

Regardless, her curiosity won over...and it may be her undoing.

There was a cracking sound, like bones snapping, and she glanced up to see that the Door reattached its own head. It stared at her with one blinking eye, almost as if it was expecting something out of her...

The moment she reached out to make contact with it, the creature suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her closer, aggressively wrapping its limbs and tail around her in a crushing embrace, before dragging her downwards into the blue--like she was being pulled underwater.

For a few seconds she gasped, fighting its hold on her....but it didn't take long for her vision to go black.

Next thing she knew, she was falling and hit the ground hard.

She could breathe again, and after coming to her sense, she found herself in a new place: A large room that resembled an abandoned swimming pool area. She looked around, finding faded motivational posters, a deflated beach ball or two floating in the air, and of course....a lot of mannequins who have somehow found this Door, too.

Some lied dead in their lounge chairs, holding empty martini glasses, others were trapped at the bottom of the pool, and a few took turns hopping off the diving platform, only to respawn on the board as soon as they touched the water.

It seemed like a lot of fun, but she ignored it.

She allowed it to distract her once, and look where that brought her....

Now she knew she definitely wasn't any closer to finding the Bathroom. But what else could be done except continue on?

Surely, there had to be another way.

Up ahead, she spotted a decrepit canopy that piqued her interest. It just screams "Genie Hideout Here" with flashing neon signs and red arrows all pointing to its entrance.

So she pressed on, stepping into the pool and realizing that she didn't sink right away. She was able to walk on the water, but it didn't bother her as she marched onwards with newfound determination.

When she made it to the other side, she drew back the curtain, discovering the canopy to be much bigger on the inside--not to mention more glamorous, full of shiny things and strange fish in aquatic tanks on all sides of her: left, right, up, down, and diagonal.

At the very end, you were sitting there, meditating in the middle of it all. You looked like a rather important figure, so she did the only sensible thing and walk right up to you with her request.

"Excuse my intrusion, but perhaps you could help me?"

Hearing the footsteps of a newcomer, you opened your eyes and looked up to see that you indeed had a visitor. It's an ENA, much to your surprise, but you welcome it.

"Hello, my friend. I don't know how you found this place, but I must say...I'm impressed." You rise up, your cloak swishing around your form. "I am the Genie of this Door, although...what you've seen is all that remains of it. Time has passed so quickly, I've even forgotten what its purpose was." Your earfins fold downwards as your smile becomes forlorn, a sentimental feeling washing over you.

"A Door...within a Door?!" Ena's Meanie side huffs, taking out a megaphone and shouting into it. "I'm sick of all these conundrums! I just want to find the Bathroom!!!" She was so worked up, she didn't even realize there was no force overtaking her--no higher power that was making her say "Bathroom" instead of "Genie"--anymore.

"..Bathroom? Ah..you must mean Theodora." You sigh. "The fact that you winded up here means you were close to reaching it....but you've fallen short. You won't find her here. Only her remnants, which the village has been protecting for a long time. If forgiveness is what you seek, unfortunately I cannot give you that blessing, for I've lost the power to do so."

"Grrahh..then what services can you provide for me, fish fry?" She sneered, tapping her foot, hands on her hips as her disconnected head tilts to the side.

Normally, you wouldn't tolerate anybody speaking to you like this. But this was the first time you've really gotten to know an ENA who was...stable. Her emotions seemed balanced, united in search of a common goal, instead of being an aimless wanderer like many before her and one side having an extreme overreaction at the drop of a hat.

She wasn't annoying, but interesting. And it's been a while since anything or anyone interesting has come to see you. So you decided to entertain her.

"Well, it'd be cruel to let you leave emptyhanded. So I will grant you one aspiration. No more, no less."

Your response satisfied Ena's Salesperson side, as she grinned, knowingly exactly what she must aspire for. She didn't need a moment longer to think about it.

It's not about what she truly wanted deep down, as only one thing mattered right now.

"Dear Genie, our target today is your Boss. They've been giving us trouble, but the smoke is in the way of our work. If it's within your power, would you kindly eradicate it for us?" She clasped her hands together. "Pretty please?"

"Hmm...are you asking on someone's behalf? Or out of your own volition? Is this what you really want?" You ponder out loud, but when she doesn't answer, you continue. "Ah...very well. Just know that a time will come that you'll earn the freedom you desire in your heart. Liberation. Happiness. Unburdened by responsibility. You'll no longer be a cog in the machine."

Again, she said nothing, although you could see it in her eyes....that she liked the idea of that.

You then gestured behind you. "Dive into the code behind me. It's a shortcut to the answer to your prayers, and a way back to your physical form."

Ena looked past you, seeing a small pool of blue code, layered in realistic watery textures. Then she gazed back at you one more time, her Meanie side almost looking like she wanted to say something else...

But instead, she makes another snarky business joke. "Should I hold my breath? I'm already drowning in debt here."

"That's up to you. May you find peace with yourself someday, my friend. If we cross paths again...hopefully it's under better circumstances."

Without saying anything further, she walked behind you and jumped into the pool of code. No hesitation.

And as white greeted her vision, your voice echoed in her mind--from somewhere beyond:

"Remember, ƎNA: All it takes is a place and the right food"

[zomboivex]

Have some Rui thoughts <3

Wow I haven’t posted THOUGHTS in a while

So- as much as I love the idea of Rui originally being from Ultio.

I was thinking about it and I think he MAY have originally been in Mortkranken.

And here’s why;

Rui and Nicholas have a sort of relationship with one another that seems more positive in light. Not only does Nicholas go to Rui’s bar as a regular customer, but he also knows how Rui’s stigma works. But

Now, you could argue that Nicholas may have treated Rui at Darkwick General. But I’ll argue that could be unlikely because of the following;

Nicholas seems to be the type to fret over being ‘indecent’ around students of the school. I don’t find it hard to imagine he would feel similar towards former patients.

Then again, it’s more likely he said this because he’s aware that MC’s curse will turn her into an anomaly and possibly feels uncomfortable with the idea of her being lied to. Or- if he doesn’t know that, he could just be uncomfortable with the idea of being around someone who he can’t cure and is fated to die. But I digress-

Additionally, Rui seems to have quite the opinion against Darkwick General.

Granted, this entire interaction has me ITCHING to know more about the dynamics between Tohma, Rui, and Haku. But specifically Tohma and Rui because they seem to butt heads in a campus hangout, too. But that’s a discussion for another day.

Either way, Rui was rather (cheerfully) scathing towards Darkwick General. Yet, he still seems to have a good relationship with Nicholas.

Then, there’s the fact that Rui also seems to be on friendly terms with Jiro (who he calls Big J- which is stupidly cute, okay?)

Rui is familiar with anomalous plants. Enough so that he knows which ones Jiro would need for medicine. And sure, that could come with time (especially if Jiro is going there frequently enough to collect said herbs).

But ya know what? Listen- I just wanna pretend for a second I’m smart, okay?

Anyways—-

Whatever house Rui was in before Obscuary was likely for a very short time. He was cursed during a mission and said mission more than likely happened on his first year since he spoke to Haku regularly and Haku was in Clementia his first year (before transferring to Frostheim then to Hotarubi).

Collecting those lapels like infinity stones.

So, if Rui spent a lot of time talking to Haku after he was cursed (and Haku was in Clementia his first year) it only makes sense to me that Rui was cursed pretty early on. He’s also very removed from the other students and hasn’t attended classes in a long enough time that he forgot what the class schedules look like. I doubt that’s something you would forget if it was only even a year ago. It’s probably due to him just- not being in classes since his curse took effect and already being probably new to Darkwick, in general.

So- there ya have it!

Rui was probably not in Mortkranken for a very very brief time!

Alright back to uhhh doing whatever it is I do.

[the-pallid-king]

He kicks the doctor out as soon as he's done deciding Ichigo will probably live and stitching him up. He knows how to dress wounds and keep them clean.

Letting Ichigo rest and not constantly poking his head in to make sure he's still there really takes a surprising toll on him. He's so impulsive he's stood up, made it three steps and had to remind himself to sit his ass back down at least twice now. If Ichigo wakes up and dips somehow, maybe that will be the final straw finally. Maybe that's what it would take for him to get over Ichigo, or at least give up on him. But even as he sits there and stews on it, he knows that's now how he works. He'd pursue Ichigo into a figurative or literal grave.

At some random time of the evening, he pours himself a drink and makes dinner, doubling the portions to make sure he has leftovers in case Ichigo wakes up hungry. His phone goes off twice. He looks at it the first time, sees the name that comes up, and flips it upside down. He ignores it the second time. Ten minutes later, though, he decides he doesn't want anyone just showing up, so he sends a brief text saying he's busy.

He eats standing at his kitchen counter, then tops off his drink and takes it up to the balcony to get some fresh air. It's been a high tension past few days and his brain can't settle on any one feeling for long. He's mad, he's hurt, he's worried. He wants to work through things with Ichigo, but he also wants to guard himself against that kind of vulnerability again. And he knows what Ichigo must think of him, his relapse. He knows what Ichigo thinks about drugs and addicts. And part of him feels that same way, about himself especially.

He's drinking alone on his balcony when a sensor goes off, a silent alarm, to tell him someone's moving around inside his house. The front door didn't alert, though, so he assumes it must be Ichigo. He stays where he's at, figuring Ichigo will either find his way to Shiro or to the front door.

"Start doing better." That's what he wants. He wants Ichigo's love, he wants his company and attention and the closeness they know how to share. He wants it so bad it hurts and if Ichigo wants it even half as bad he can do better. If Ichigo wasn't just pretending after the party, if he really means those three little words, he's going to have to prove it because he broke Shiro's trust in a way no one else ever has.

That shot, so close and not of his own doing, makes him flinch but he trusts Ichigo entirely, at least with a gun. He doesn't even glance in the direction of the now dead man. These people deserve death or worse. He has no pity for them. He scoffs a laugh. "Good thing there's probably nothing in your stomach."

He can tell Ichigo barely conscious. He hopes it's just the drugs, but Ichigo looks like shit. Someone really worked him over. It could be more than drugs. When Ichigo's laid in the car and the gun slips from his hands, Shiro grabs it and stash across his lap in case they need it on the way out. They don't, and he slides it barrel down between his seat and the door so it's better out of sight once they get to the main streets.

He pulls his phone out and makes a call, telling his parts dealer of a doctor to meet him at his place, no questions and no protests, then hangs up. He takes them to his penthouse, where it's easier to guard and harder to get a good enough line of sight for a lucky shot. He calls in double guard duty. No way in hell a massacre like what just happens goes unnoticed for long.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event and my main card over at @steddiebingo.

i get stoned for survival (it helps with the healing)

CCF Prompt: End of the World || Steddie Bingo Prompt: Hold the Line | Word Count: 9396 | Rating: E | CW: Injuries, Unprotected Sex, Mention of Weed | POV: Eddie (and a little Steve) | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Canon Divergence Before Events of S4, Zombie Apocalypse, Surviving in Hawkins, Forming An Unlikely Alliance, Virgin Eddie, Corroded Coffin Boys, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

This one got long, so it's available in full right here on ao3.

Excerpt below:

There are other survivors in town, at least Eddie thinks there are. They can't be the only ones. At least, Eddie's pretty sure. They see traces of other life from time to time and that's the only thing keeping Eddie upright. That maybe they might be able to make it to the other side. 

Run, his whole body is telling him. Run away. Run far, and fast.

But they need to stick together. They need to gather what they can salvage, what they can carry, and make it back to home base.

There's not anywhere else to go, anyway. The town is surrounded. They've checked. And they're guarded by a massive government show of force, more military than Eddie's ever seen in his life, assuring nobody leaves the area.

So, they might not be able to leave town, but they're gonna have to leave the van. If they don't, this is how they're gonna die, he's sure of it. Pressed together, protecting each other, locked in this coffin of a van.

It's ironic, how he loved the Corroded Coffin name before and now it just feels ominous. Like that's where they've always been destined to end up.

He just needs to psych himself up. He closes his eyes, just for a brief second, before he hears the crash, and looks out the window just in time to see a fire spreading across the asphalt, and the zombies turn away from the van. This is their chance while they're distracted. An opportunity given to them by unknown allies. It'll hopefully give them enough time to put some distance between themselves and the shambling creatures on foot.

"Grab what you can," Jeff snaps, "three, two, one," and they push out of the back doors, feet hitting the ground running. 

It was a Molotov cocktail, and Eddie looks back as he runs, desperate to see who threw it. Who else is out there, alive, still fighting. Catching a glimpse, Eddie is absolutely certain he's seeing Steve Harrington, wielding a nail-studded bat. Taking zombies down, one by one, hand-to-hand, as others are picked off by what sounds like a shotgun. Harrington's crazy. Fighting up close like that. Not running while he has the chance like Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Goodie are doing right now.

And they do run, that's always Plan A. They strategize each move, voting as a group, as if they're planning their next roll of the dice. But they definitely do not fight hand-to-hand unless they've been backed into a corner with no other possible way out.

Steve Harrington getting up close and personal, swinging his big dick of a bat around? Eddie's not surprised, even if he thinks it's way too risky. Way too stupid.

But at least that means there are other survivors.

They aren't alone.

And for some reason it feels right that Steve Harrington is one of them. King Steve, still holding court in Hawkins, somehow.

Continue reading the full fic right here on ao3.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event! (Also, you can sign up for card two over at @steddiebingo right now!)

Note: Title and some of the imagery comes from Weed, Whiskey And Willie by Brothers Osborne.

Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, comments or reblogs. All are so very appreciated! ❤️

[el-bibi]

It's never too late (part two) │Fernando Alonso

pairing: fernando alonso x pr manager!reader

word count: 1300

A/N: hellooo! I'm back with a new chapter and I think there will be only one more since this one is rather long and eventful. Anyways, I hope you will like it! As always, thank you for the likes and reblogs, they are very much appreciated!

part one

taglist: @valeelavvale, @pear-1206

Some time had gone by, weeks had turned into months and before they knew it they were spending every second together. Fernando found himself looking forward to each and every one meeting or briefing he had, as long as he knew Laura would be there as well.

One night, after the Bahrain race and a meeting that had ended rather late, he had driven her back to their hotel and she had fallen asleep in the car. When he turned off the engine, he took some time to look at her. They were both adults yet he found himself caring for her almost in the same way he cared for his daughter. That unconditional love that makes you give your jacket to someone if they are cold, that kind of love that makes you check up on them constantly.

But Nando couldn't feel that way. She was his manager and he was basically at the end of his career, why would she want to stick around? He had nothing more to give. Yet he wanted to give it all for her.

After the Saudi Arabian GP he had somehow convinced her to spend some time in Monaco with him. Sure, Olivia would have been there as well, but he had the feeling that his daughter would be spending more time with her new love interest, Kimi.

Nando glanced at the perfectly set table, the flickering candlelight dancing across the crystal wine glasses, and then back at the risotto, its creamy perfection a testament to his surprisingly adept culinary skills.

He was waiting for Laura.

Laura Gomez, his manager, his confidante, the woman who had occupied his thoughts for far too long. Months, really. Months of stolen glances across the paddock, of lingering touches during contract negotiations, of late-night phone calls that drifted far beyond the purpose of racing strategy. Months of a silent, unspoken tension that crackled between them like static electricity.

He'd finally invited her. A simple dinner, he’d said, a chance to relax away from the pressure of Formula 1. But beneath the casual invitation lay a desperate yearning to finally bridge the gap that had separated them.

The doorbell rang, he took a deep breath, smoothed down his shirt, and opened the door.

Laura stood there, the Monaco breeze catching her dark hair, making it dance around her face like a halo. She wore a simple black dress that accentuated her curves without being 

"Fernando," she said, her voice a soft melody. "Thank you for inviting me."

He swallowed, the carefully rehearsed greeting dissolving in his throat. "Laura," he managed, stepping aside. "Come in."

The evening unfolded with a delicate grace. The risotto was, thankfully, a success. They talked about the upcoming season, the relentless pressure to perform and other work-related things. But beneath the professional conversation, the unspoken desire simmered. Their eyes met across the table, held for a beat too long, and then darted away. A brush of hands as they reached for the same bottle of wine sent a jolt through him.

As the evening progressed, the conversation loosened, the laughter flowed more easily. They shared stories from their childhoods, revealing vulnerabilities they usually kept hidden. He learned about her dreams, her fears, the sacrifices she had made to get where she was.

Finally, the dinner plates were cleared, and the remnants of the wine sat in the bottom of their glasses. 

"Let me help you with the dishes," Laura offered, rising from her chair.

"No, no, you relax," Fernando insisted. "I've got it."

But she was already moving towards the sink, her presence filling the small space. He followed her, suddenly needing to be close to her. As he began rinsing the plates, she started drying them, their hands brushing occasionally, sending sparks up his arm.

The comfortable silence stretched, filled only with the clinking of dishes and the soft hum of the refrigerator. Then, he couldn't resist any longer. He turned towards her, and noticed she was already looking at him. It was then or never.

"Laura, I…" he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Her eyes, wide and luminous, met his again. He leaned closer, the scent of her perfume filling his senses.

She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned even closer, setting the tea towel on the counter.

His lips brushed against hers, a tentative, hesitant touch that sent a wave of heat through him. She responded, her lips parting slightly, inviting him closer. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to the back of her neck, pulling her closer and closer.

They kissed for a long moment, lost in the intoxicating sensation. The world outside the apartment, the pressures of Formula 1, everything faded away, leaving only the two of them.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the spell.

"Pa? I'm home!"

Fernando and Laura broke apart, their eyes wide with shock. Fernando spun around to see Olivia standing in the doorway.

The girl's eyes darted between her father and Laura, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Oh, my God," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Am I interrupting something?"

Fernando's face flushed crimson. He ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to regain his composure. "Olivia," he stammered. "We were— weren't you supposed to be with Kimi?" He tried to change the topic.

"We just went to grab some coffee." She shrugged. "So," she continued, leaning against the doorframe, "what were you two doing before I so rudely interrupted? Discussing next season's strategy? Or something a little more… personal?"

Fernando shot Olivia a warning look. "Olivia, that's enough," he said, his voice firm.

Laura, to her credit, was handling the situation with surprising calm. "Well," she said, "I should probably be going. It's getting late."

"Nonsense," Olivia said, stepping further into the apartment. "Stay for a while. We can all have a chat. I want to hear all about your plans for next season."

Fernando glared at his daughter. He knew exactly what she was doing. She was teasing him, yes, but she was also giving him a chance. A chance to salvage the evening, to make amends for the unexpected interruption.

He looked at Laura, his eyes pleading. "Please, stay," he said softly. "Just for a little while."

Laura hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," she said. "Just for a little while."

The atmosphere in the apartment shifted. As Fernando watched his daughter and the woman he was falling for interact, he felt a surge of affection for both of them. Sure, the kiss had been interrupted, but the spark remained. As Laura finally left, Fernando walked her to the door.

"Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For everything."

Laura smiled. "Thank you," she replied. "It was… an interesting evening."

He leaned in and kissed her again, a quick, chaste kiss that still managed to send shivers down his spine. "We'll have to try that again," he whispered.

"We will," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Good night, Nando."

As he closed the door, he heard Olivia's voice from the living room. "So," she said, "are you going to ask her out on a real date, or are you going to keep relying on me to play Cupid?"

Fernando sighed and walked into the living room, a smile playing on his lips. He loved his daughter truly and wouldn't want to have it any other way, even with her relentless teasing.

"We have something to discuss, missy." He crossed his arms, pretending to be the strict parent he never managed to be. 

"Don't start. Kimi and I are just friends." She rolled her eyes.

"Sure, and so are Laura and I." He tried to be serious, he really did. But he couldn't even believe himself. Maybe it was time to ask that woman out properly…

[wandasaura]

THE GRACE OF SOUTHERN CHARM

summary — maybe the instance you fell in love with amanda rollins was the first time your daughters name rolled off her lips dripping with southern charm

warning(s) — single parent, medical examiner, mention of death, mention of assault, canon-typical content/dialogue, brief episode reference, southern accent, certified milf, pregnant amanda rollins, playful banter, flirting, oblivious reader, pregnancy, alludes to c-section delivery, ICE mentioned, consoling, cravings, mood swings (kinda), mentions/alludes to adoption, generally just cute domestic fluff

authors note — down bad for kelli giddish. once again not edited, nothing ever is here. enjoy :)

“The park isn’t this way.”

The New York skyline had evolved since you’d moved to New York. It had lost a couple of buildings, gained a couple more. It was different, but beautiful. Your life looked different too. All those years ago when you’d stepped foot in the city with a suitcase and an acceptance letter to Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai. Everything had felt so big back then. The twin towns had reflected the sunlight down on you, Billionaire’s Row hadn’t seen a crowded expansion, Hudson Yards hadn’t grown so much. You’d have never anticipated the city to look the way it does now, but it had come to feel like home whether you missed the old New York City at night or not.

“We have to stop by Mommy’s job, remember?” Your voice is patient, more patient than it should be while wandering the streets of New York, but your daughter already softens your exterior and makes you vulnerable, that’s just the sad reality of the society you’re bringing her up in.

When you’d moved to New York City, before the World Trade Center had needed to be rebuilt, it had been just you. You didn’t have a roommate your freshman year due to widespread last minute unenrollment, and being a creature of habit, you’d chosen a single your sophomore year too. There had never been a roommate to mold with, schedules to memorize or sync together. You’d always been able to do your own thing whenever you wanted to, though you hadn’t taken advantage of that, spending most of your nights holed up with a highlighter and a textbook. The point was that you could have if you wanted to, but you hadn’t, and now you certainly cannot.

”All the bad guys are dead?” Your daughter pauses on the sidewalk, her little head craning to the left curiously — a trait you think she’s absorbed from watching too much Dora. You wished it was that simple, that her theory was ever at all possible, but it wasn’t. So long as there was somebody good in this world, there would be somebody downright despicable to even it out.

“Not quite, goosebumps.” You smiled sympathetically, wishing that you could lie to her about this like you did about Santa Claus and the ice cream truck being for kids five and older on week days unless explicitly stated otherwise on the light up sign by the door. Your kid is smart, painfully so, but she’s not smart enough to know how to read yet, and that has saved you immensely in the four years that you’ve been watching her glow. You can’t lie about this though, because as much as it’s your job to be the parent now, to let her be a blissfully unaware kid while she still has a chance, you can’t let her be ignorant, because you’re not around all the time, and you’ve seen the end of life come from far smaller things than gun violence or suffocation. ”One of the good guys had an accident. I have to tell my friend Ms. Olivia about it. That’s why we stopped to get the papers, so that she can read them.”

”Oh, okay.” She nodded, a look of genuine pondering on her tiny face. “I can be like a mermaid all the way to the stop sign!” She proclaimed in the next minute, and you know in an instance what that means.

”We’re not going to be mermaids right now. We need to be humans and walk nicely on our feet.” You attempt to remind her, to reel her back into your control, but she’s a spritely little creature with persistently sticky hands, and you’ve lost the battle before you could even put up a fight. Her little body jumps and thrashes at your side, her little feet pretend glued together to make a mermaid tail. It’s adorable, truly it is, but you don’t have time for her tiny little jumps because her legs aren’t even half the length of yours yet. “Etta Lou, we’re walking right now.”

“You’re no fun, Mommy.” She tells you honestly, and you know that she probably means that as sincerely as she can comprehend. Regardless of her disheartened opinion, she does stop hopping at your side, walking at a snail's pace beside you, but it’s still faster than whatever her mermaid pace is.

“Mommy only has to be fun when we get to the park.“ You reasoned, earning yourself a deadpanned glare from the four-year-old. She doesn’t understand sarcasm in this stage of life, but she is a harsh critic with taunting jokes whenever her mood is soured; which it currently is. You don’t budge at her pouting, swinging her up onto your hip when you reach a cross walk, waiting for the red hand to stop flashing. “What number is that?” You redirect, pointing toward the blinking signal sign across the street.

“Seven!” Loretta grins, her feet kicking at your sides as she watches the seconds tick by, distracted from her abruptly cut-off game of walk the mermaid. “Now it says four!”

”I think I know somebody whose four.” You hum, looking hasilty to your left before you cross the street, Loretta seated on your hip contently, tiny hands balling up the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s purple, a light lilac, and it has the name of Loretta’s dance company on the front, a fundraiser from last year's recital — the first one you’d gotten to attend as a mother. It still maintains a spot in your weekly rotation, perfect for days at the park. “Is Daniel from your class four?”

“No, Mommy! I’m four!” She tells you, beaming brightly, her tiny hands on your cheeks, pulling your attention to her when she’s displeased to realize you’re actually paying attention to where you’re walking instead of her eyes that you still can’t believe you made.

”Oh, Charleigh’s four!” You feigned a look of realization, nodding your head in understanding that had your daughter shrieking, shaking her head and giggling manically, the sun tinting her cheeks pink even with the layer of sunscreen you lathered her in before you left the apartment.

“No! Etta’s four! Charleigh’s… how old’s Charleigh, Mommy?” She questioned, and you smiled, kissing her forehead as you climbed the stairs to the precinct, hoping you can keep her distracted until you get inside, knowing how much she’s being loving to tackle the stairs by herself and you don’t have time to painstakingly take each and every one if you stand a chance of getting to the park before the ice cream truck. You have the route memorized. It shows up at one-thirty, bells and whistles ringing, and if there’s nobody left in line for precisely three minutes, he pulls away and another one doesn’t come back until eleven the next day, which you think is actually so obscure considering that’s before most people have lunch ready for their kids.

“Charleigh’s five. We went to her birthday party at the aquarium, remember?” You brushed a hand down her hair, returning her to her feet when she strained, realizing that you’d entered a building she’d never gotten to explore before. “If I let go of your hand, do you run away?”

“No.” Loretta answered, shaking her head like she was shocked you’d think she’d run away from you. You scoff, but oblige, because one day the concepts of trust and consequences are going to click and your life is going to be exponentially easier for establishing these boundaries in any capacity right now.

You let her lead, staying three steps ahead of you because she’s come to learn that she can go that far without you beckoning her back to your side. She takes her independence seriously, but when she reaches the end of the main hallway and doesn’t know where she’s going, she freezes, standing still like a statue in the middle of the path as she looks at you for directions.

“Find the picture of a big angel.” You tell her helpfully, because left and right is still amongst the mountain of things left unlearned. It’s so easy to forget that everything in life is learned until you tell a kid to do something and they take you so literally that you can’t even be mad, or they just stare at you wide eyed until you give more explanation.

“Okay!” She giggles, spinning around, looking right, and then left. You think she missed it, didn’t catch it on the wall in the Sex Crimes hub, but then she points with one tiny little finger painted yellow, and she bolts off like a bolt of lightning, your pre discussed and established rules flying out of her head like they were never there at all. You have to admit that she’d done well, but you don’t say that as you chase after her.

“Etta!” You call, catching up to her when she pauses to closely analyze the picture of the angel, her little hands clasped in front of her as she swings on her feet, forward and backward repetitively.

“Was that a real life angel, Mommy?” She asks, not recognizing the look of exasperation on your face as you stand beside her, fixing the strap of her backpack over your shoulder. The files are zipped away inside, between a bottle of bubbles and two peanut butter sandwiches, no jelly. The change of clothes and spare pull-up in case of emergency keeps it from moving around, but you can only hope that nothing’s pressed or wrinkled a corner in any way.

”Some people think so. Ms. Kathy at school thinks so.” You hum, leading her farther into the precinct, Olivia’s door in sight. You’re about to park her at a bench down the hallway, in your line of sight from the office but out of the way of foot traffic when she gasps and bolts off again, her tiny hands knocking into colorful plastic before you can stop her. You sigh when tiny pieces crash to the floor, her little hands flying up near her head in alarm. “I’m so sorry!” You rush toward Amanda, trying to pull Loretta into your chest and away from the blonde’s desk, but she’s already sinking to the floor and letting her little fingers grip the pieces. You recognize it now. It’s a lego duplo set you’d gotten her for Christmas and have since accompanied and watched be rebuilt at least seventeen times.

“I can fix it!” She beamed, not phased by the embarrassment that flushes your cheeks, or the way you apologize to Amanda for her curiosity and lack of control.

“She has this set at home. It’s one of her favorites.” You explain before you bend down, “We can’t touch other people’s things without asking, Etta. Can you say sorry to Ms. Amanda?”

“Sorry for touchin’, Ms. Amanda.” Loretta frowns, because she knows you’re upset with her now. Apologies are an automatic trigger for tears right now, you hate this bashful, just barely self-aware stage. She knows enough to realize that she did something wrong, and you know she doesn’t understand what embarrassment feels like. but you assume that’s what’s coursing through her as she blushes, shyly raising her head to look at Amanda while she presses close to you.

“Well, that’s alright now.” Amanda brushed it off, because there was no way she could even be slightly annoyed when you were squatting beside her desk looking so horrified even she hoped the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “My little girl made that for me. Her name’s Jesse.”

“My names Etta Lou!” She grins, and you smile too, because there’s no way you can remain stone faced when she looks so proud of herself for getting it right.

“Loretta Louise, right, goosebumps?” You encourage, trying to drill it into her head that despite calling her Etta every day of her life since she’d first been pulled from your womb by forceps and gloved hands, her legal name was Loretta, and people had every right to call her such so she had to at least recognize it.

“Yeah! Loretta Louise, and this is my Mommy.” She points to you, and you laugh, standing up now. Loretta remains on the floor, still holding onto pieces of the scattered duplo.

“I’ve met your Mommy before, she’s very nice.” Amanda winks at you, and your thankful that your cheeks have maintained their warmth, not giving away how that single action makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah, Mommy’s nice. She plays fishies good.” Loretta nodded, looking down at the lego, piecing it together with ease. You need to look into getting her some more sets, you figure she must be growing bored of this one at home if she can put it together without even looking at the picture book you lay out next to her and flip through when she demands.

“How do you play fishies?” Amanda asks intrigued, leaning closer to Loretta, her hands on forearms on her knees as leverage.

Loretta’s head shoots up from the pile of legos, and she puckers her lips, framing two hands on either side of her mouth until she’s certain they look just like gills. “Like this!” She mumbles between puckered lips, and Amanda laughs. “Do it Mommy!”

“Mommy has to talk to Ms. Olivia.” You remind her, and Loretta pouts, putting the final piece back on the duplo. She holds it up to Amanda proudly, clearly pleased that her conscience was now free of guilt she couldn’t recognize without your help. “Say bye-bye to Ms. Amanda.”

”You can leave her here.” Amanda smiles, and you falter, not expecting her kindness. You’d done this all on your own for the last four years, and you mean that literally. When your daughter is not at school, she’s with you. You’ve changed every diaper, made every bottle, multi-tasked through every single day and overcompensated just to be Mom, Dad, Boss, and co-worker at the same time. It’s an odd feeling to have someone offer to watch Loretta for you, even if it’s only for five minutes when you’re across the room. “We can hang out while Mommy talks to Ms. Olivia, right?”

Loretta nodded enthusiastically, and you sighed, relenting because if this was the only break you got from constantly being ‘on’ all weekend with Loretta, you’d appreciate every second spent not putting on a mask of happiness and innocence.

“Be good for, Ms. Amanda.” You kiss Loretta's head before you stand up, the backpack still over your shoulder, and you’re almost certain Amanda’s snickering into her palm as she takes in the sight of you stalking toward Benson’s office with a plethora of Disney princesses on your back surrounded by a solid background of pink.

You’d known her for months now, seeing her anytime someone crawled down to the lab for an analysis or update. It wasn’t often Amanda was the one who came down to grovel and beg for you to find a way to get things done faster, but she’d been in enough times for this to feel like healthy, friendly conversation, if not the slightest bit more.

She’d never seen you out of professional attire, and she thinks the black biker shorts and purple company t-shirt is so amusing given the circumstances. You don’t know it, but whatever she’s saying about you has Loretta giggling into her palm, clamoring up into Amanda’s lap with no semblance of stranger danger.

“Cap?” You peak your head into the office, smiling at Olivia who sets her glasses down to give you her attention. “I just got the report back for the Davis case. As of right now, I’m ruling it a homicide. I’m still waiting for the DNA under her fingernails to come back. But the semen found in her underwear is a match to your perp.”

“You’re thinking multiple assailants.” Olivia mused, dropping the documents, now fully intrigued with your medical examination of the body and injuries attained.

“The marks on her neck are only possible if her attacker was behind her, but the lacerations on her belly were made from the front. Like she was pulled into the blade. There had to be at least two people there.” You conclude, because you finally have enough lab testing back to rule conclusively that foul play was involved by at least two suspects.

Olivia sighed, “Thank you.” Her eyebrows raised when you turned the backpack so that you could reach into the big pocket, pulling out the medical file that was thankfully in pristine condition. “You have the day?”

“Yup. I promised someone a trip to the park and a break from preschool. Apparently having someone map out your entire day is exhausting and she needed a break.” You nod out the window, toward the desks where you can see Amanda and your daughter. She’s curled up in the blonde’s lap, both of them with their backs toward you, looking at something on Rollins’ computer that you’re not close enough to decipher.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to keep you.” Benson’s eyes twinkled, and you know she misses these years with Noah even if they hadn’t been that long ago. Her eyes trail to the framed picture on her desk, one from Noah’s sixth birthday, and you only know that because it was her phones background and you’d seen it down at the lab last month when she’d dropped by with Fin.

“The second set of DNA should be back by next week. The labs backed up, and before you tell me to rush it, I already did. The original send back date was three weeks out.” You tell Olivia, and she nods thankfully, before you leave, stalking back toward Amanda and Loretta who aren’t aware of your soft footsteps.

“That’s Jesse’s first birthday party. She had a strawberry cake.” Amanda tells your daughter, and you can finally make out that they’re looking at pictures of her daughter, bright blue eyes and blonde hair evidence of their direct relation.

“Mommy likes strawbaby cake.” Loretta tells her, and you laugh, giving away your presence behind them. She spins around, grinning brightly at you.

“Mommy, that’s Jesse. Ms. Amanda said she’s three! That’s as many as Daisy.” She tells you proudly, and you can tell that although Amanda has no clue who Daisy is, she understands the sentiment of what you’re trying to get across. “Ms. Amanda’s gonna bring her to the park to play bubbles.”

“I think Ms. Amanda still has a lot of work to do. She’s super important, they’d have to close down the park if she went home because she keeps it safe. Jesse can’t come today, goosebumps.” You tell your daughter, and Amanda is surprised at how easily you cover for her, because she absolutely would’ve agreed if you didn’t fill the silence before she had a chance. Damned if she was still on the clock, it had been far too long since Jesse had a playmate who wasn’t a spoiled brat or Noah, and she didn’t think Benson quite had the looks you do, but she didn’t say that part out loud.

“Do you keep the banana store safe too?” Loretta asks, and you smile softly, taking her into your arms when she least expects you to just pluck her up. She hums, surprised, but settles into your embrace comfortably.

“The grocery store. They have more than just bananas, Etta.” You remind her, and she makes a look of realization, nodding her head.

Amanda didn’t miss a beat, reaching out to tickle Loretta’s belly. “I do keep the grocery store safe. I practically keep all of New York safe.”

”Even Mommy and me and Jesse?” She asks, eyes wide. You smile, wondering what your life would be like if you didn’t have her to see the world through. You can’t remember what it was like to be amazed by every little thing and see the world as something kind and ever giving, but Loretta is living in that moment, and she’s showing you thinks that as an adult you’ve become blind to.

“Even Mommy, and you, and Jesse.” Amanda smiles, “Now, I think you and Mommy have somewhere to be. The parks waiting!”

“Bye-bye, Ms. Amanda!” Your daughter needs no further guidance, waving dutifully at Amanda before she wraps her arms around your neck, apparently deeming her legs out of commission for the time being.

“Bye-bye, Etta Lou.” There’s always an underlying twang of southern hospitality in Amanda’s charming tone, but there’s something utterly delectable in the way your daughters name rolls off her tongue so smoothly and sweetly. There’s a rhythmic pattern in the way the two names fall off her tongue, sounding so perfectly cohesive it remind you of why you’d given her this name four years ago. You’d liked the way it sounded then, but it feels like you’re hearing it in a whole new way right now.

“Thank you.” You say again, because you’ll never be able to express enough how much it’s meant to you for her to show Loretta so much kindness and patience even when she’d come in like a bulldozer.

“She’s a cute kid.” Amanda tells you, and you think that’ll get a reaction out of your daughter, she’s ever the ham, drawn to compliments as if you’d deprived her of them her entire life, but she’s otherwise absorbed with waving to Olivia through the window, and you can only assume Olivia’s waving back because Loretta changes her strategy, pulling some kind of funny face as she stretches out her lips.

“She’s free.” You tease, and Amanda knows that’s all that it is. Even if she hadn’t known about your daughter before this moment, never having a reason to bring it up before or even begin to think you had anyone at home or specifically who it was, but now that she had seen you with Loretta, she knows you love her with your entire being.

“Oh, I’m good with two.” Amanda laughs, dropping her hands to her belly, and that’s when you take in her rounded tummy and swollen knuckles. There’s an undeniable water weight to her face, her nose just slightly contorted to where it’s noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. That’s why she hasn’t been down to the lab. She’s playing her cards right and getting literally anyone else to go down for her.

“Congratulations.” You coo, your head tilting, melting at her admission. There’s no ring on her finger, you don’t even know why you’re looking, but it’s an automatic response and you don’t recognize your doing it until you breathe a sigh of relief at the empty search. “Ms. Amanda has a baby in her belly.” You tell Loretta, who finally looked away from the window and turned her attention back to you and Amanda.

“Is it a girl baby?” Loretta asks, because her obsession is girl babies, not boy babies. She’d come home saying she doesn’t like boy babies a month ago, and after a very confused conversation with her teacher, you’d come to find out another little girl in her class is expecting a baby brother, and it was about the end of the world when she found out it was not going to be a sister the Sunday before school resumed after easter break. You’d been trying to work that out of her head since, but apparently this girl and her unborn baby brother have enough tension to still be a conversational point weeks later.

“It is a girl.” Amanda smiles, and Loretta nods.

“Park now Mommy.” She whines, evidently bored with the conversation now that it didn’t revolve around cake flavors or the lego duplo sets Amanda has back at the apartment for Jesse.

You say goodbye to Amanda, hoping that you can find another reason to stop by the precinct sometime soon.

A week and a half later, you have the second set of DNA results back, and just as you’d expected to be the case, the results were not a match to the suspect already in custody. There was good news attached to your break in the case however, and that good news came in the form of his name already being in the system for petty crime at nineteen.

You manage through the precinct a lot quicker without your daughter, but it feels like something’s missing as you trek through the halls holding onto the manila folder containing your lab reports. You’d come straight from the lab, a crossbody bag slung over your shoulder and your professional attire dampening your radiant personality.

Your eyes sought to find Amanda, but she didn’t turn up at her desk or anywhere in sight as you walked to Olivia’s office. You didn’t want to say you were disappointed, but you’d be lying if you said a twang of disappointment didn’t shoot through you at her absence. For a moment, you wondered if everything was okay with the baby, and with Jesse, but then you remembered that you don’t know her well enough to be concerning yourself with her personal affairs even if she had spared five minutes of her day to show your child kindness and that was more than anyone had done for you in a long time.

“Here’s the other report.” You tell Olivia, and she hums. Her energy is depleted, her tired eyes looking up from yet another pile of documents that you’re sure need her immediate attention because everything in these lines of work do. “That second set of DNA is to Forrest McClain.”

“Thank you, really. You didn’t have to walk these over.” Olivia couldn’t express her gratitude effectively enough, but you wave her off regardless.

“It’s no problem. It would’ve been another handful of hours, and your case is getting colder the longer you waste time. Is everything okay though? The mood in here is kind of… more suffocating than usual.” You were closet with Benson, that’s just what came with the territory given you were the Lead ME and she was the Captain. You worked together often, either at the scene or through emails from your lab. It wasn’t abnormal for you to be checking in.

“Rough case with ICE and Amanda.” Olivia sighed, “She’s taking it… not well.” Olivia grimaces and you sympathize, knowing that any case emotional enough to rattle Benson is never a good sign, but there’s something that you can recognize that Olivia can’t — raging emotions while pregnant. You’d never pin it against the Captain, but she can’t even begin to understand what it feels like to have your world turned upside down when you already feel like all your emotions are one sneeze from shooting out of your popped and swollen belly button.

“She still around?” You asked, and Olivia smiled, nodding her head and informing you that Amanda was attempting to sulk her sadness away in the break room.

You stopped by the vending machine before you found the break room down the hall, exactly where Olivia had told you it would be across from the main interrogation room. You knocked on the doorframe before entering, watching Amanda with careful eyes.

She sat hunched over the table, her head in her hands, tears evident on her cheeks even though she tried to hide any evidence of her emotional state with her hands, the apples of her cheeks concealed by swollen fingers. She’s wearing a blazer, black, and slacks of the same shade. The monotone outfit is surprise from her, but it makes her figure pop, the definition in her bump undeniable even if the sleek outfit does it’s best to slim her down when shadows hit her right.

“I heard you’re having a rough time.” You start,and Amanda laughs humorlessly, scrubbing the evidence of her meltdown off of her cheeks to instead glance at you curiously. “Mind if I join you? Thursdays are storytime days at daycare, Etta won’t mind getting another hour of Hansel and Gretel.”

Amanda nodded, motioning to the chair at her side. You smile softly, stalking near enough to drop the snacks you’d purchased in front of her before you grabbed the back of the chair, pulling it out just enough to get your body into it.

“My cravings with Etta were insane. I was eating all the time, from the first trimester to the last. Fritos were an unexpected delicacy, and you need something sweet to finish up, so I grabbed some donuts. You don’t strike me as a chocolate person.”

Amanda smiled, reaching for the bag of Fritos. She pulled it open like she hadn’t eaten at all that day, and you grinned. “Not a chocolate person.” She confirms, and you hum, knowing you were correct but glad to have solid confirmation. “I was gonna take her. I would’ve. ICE… Stone made a deal, somehow. He got her back with her mother, but if that didn’t happen, I would’ve taken her.” Amanda rambles, and you’re still at a loss for most of the details, but you have enough information to see the full picture. Your heart breaks for her a little bit, but you know that most of her let down has to do with the fact that she’s months away from meeting her baby and at this state, everything feels colossal. That doesn’t negate her want to open her home. You’re sure that whether she was pregnant or not she would’ve wanted to help however she could, but the current state of her womb doesn’t help matters.

“What happened to two being enough for you?” You tease, because you take Amanda for the type to rely on humor in dark times, and it doesn’t fail you. Her shoulders jump with her inhale, a breathy sound floating off of her tongue that’s not quite a genuine laugh, but does something to lighten her mood at least.

“No, I… I’d be okay with three. I’ve thought about three more this week than I have in my life, and I’d be okay with it.” She breathes out, and her eyes flicker up to yours. You think there’s something more there, in her unspoken words, but you’re not sure.

“And there will be plenty of time for three. But, this girl has a Mom. It may not be what you want to hear, but it’s a good thing when too many people have the best thing of a child at heart. It’s a good thing that you care enough to have yourself all worked up in a break room. You impacted that girls life, Amanda. You know how I know that? Because Etta spent a fraction of the time with you and you’re all she wants to talk about. What’s Ms. Amanda’s favorite color? Does Ms. Amanda let Jesse have ice cream on Saturday? Ms. Amanda has legos on her desk, Mommy, you can put legos on yours! So, thank you for that. You’re the reason there’s astronaut legos crowding my already minimal desk space now.” You tease, and Amanda smiles wide, finally beginning to crack, to come down from the high of overwhelming sadness.

“I’ve never… in all of my years on this job, I’ve never met a kid I connected with like that. It scared me. It scares me to think that there’s so little keeping that from being Jesse, Etta, this baby. One wrong move, and who do they have? You have somebody at home?” Amanda asks with tears gleaming in her eyes.

“No.” You shake your head, breathing deeply, because if you hadn’t had the same panicked fear rush through you a million times, you’d be somebody else. “No, it’s just me and Etta. It’s always been just me and Etta.”

“It’s just me and Jesse.. or, it’s just me, Jesse, and this baby.” Amanda’s hand falls to her bump, and you frown.

“Well, then how about we change that?” You perked up, reaching a hand out toward her. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Amanda frowns, but she complies with your request regardless, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her phone, swiping it open past a picture of her and Jesse on Halloween.

“If your girls need someone and you’re not around, my contract hours end at four unless I’m on call and needed at a scene.” You tell her simply, taking her phone and putting your number into it’s contacts, feeling bold, uncharacteristically so. “It’s good if you need anything too, you know. Maybe some pickles. Pickles were what I craved most.”

”God, pickles sound good.” Amanda grounds and you giggle, glad to see that you’ve roused her from her fit at least temporarily. “Here, give me your phone. Maybe we can get the girls together for pizza one night.”

”Loretta’s only stipulation will be that we order garlic bread too.” You tell her, because it’s easier to say yes if you use your child as a buffer, and Amanda laughs wetly at your flushed state. You hand your phone over the second after, giggling when Amanda makes a sound of awe at your home screen, a picture from two years ago with Etta passed out in her laundry basket.

“I’m not…I’m not reaching if I ask you to dinner without the girls, am I?” Amanda asked after a beat, her hands still holding her phone, like she’s trying to delay giving it back and letting the conversation end.

You smile timidly, your bottom lip bitten as you glance down at the table, feeling your stomach churn with butterflies at her proposition. “No… no you wouldn’t be reaching.” You admitted, and Amanada nodded, smiling fondly.

”Good. Okay.” Amanda smiled, nodding her head a bit dumbly. You giggled, taking your phone back and sliding it into your pocket.

“Okay.” You mimicked, and Amanda’s eyes rolled fondly, her cheeks tinting pink. “I’ll text you later?”

“I’ll be waiting.” She sang, and you laughed, shaking your head as you stood up from the table, beginning to back out of the squad room with one last glance at the donuts and fritos you left on the table for her. “Bye, Amanda.”

Amanda waved, her mouth full of the curved and salty chips. You laughed softly, backing out of the room without another word, because you’re sure if you said anything else, like that Amanda looks good with her hair falling around her face, not contained by a hair tie, she’d have kept you in that squad room forever and neither one of you ever wouldn’t gotten back to your girls.

At eight o’clock, after an eventful dinner time and bath time, you’d finally gotten Loretta down for the night. You reached for your phone after you’d cleared the dishes and prepared her lunchbox for the morning, eager to text Amanda, but she’d apparently texted you first, a notification lighting up your home screen.

You grinned at the simple text that said ‘Home’, but what really made your lips pull was the selfie she’d taken with Jesse over dinner, which looked to be spaghetti and meatballs. Jesse was splatted with tomato sauce, her blonde hair twinged pink from where little fingers had rubbed saunders into thin strands. She’s probably fighting a losing battle in the bath with the toddle right now, but you text back anyways, a selfie of yourself in front of the three sippy cups you’d washed the daycare requires two cups of water for all children at the start of the day, and Etta had a specific cup in mind for dinner tonight.

Amanda doesn’t get back to you until almost ten o’clock, telling you that Jesse had decided to find a second wind somewhere between bath time and the third book they’d read, so she’d been spending the last hour and a half trying to redo their entire bedtime routine. It wasn’t fully formed yet, but the start of something new was upon you after years of no change.

[bumblesimagines]

In Another Time

Request: Yes or No

Summary: The King of Curses expects his return to be glorious, but he doesn't expect a familiar face to disrupt his plans.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical JJK warnings, it's sukuna bro, not canon compliant at allll so yuuji and he don't technically share a body, heian era inaccuracies, true form sukuna, mild/brief sexual content

~~~

The apartment was overwhelmingly human, various modern items placed about and nudged into nooks. It was empty, apart from the dark furry creature in the corner of the room staring at him from a curious-looking, small beige-colored tower.

It hardly surprised him to find an animal inhabiting (Y/N)'s new home. He'd always been in tune with the world around him, something that hadn't changed from the looks of it.

Small plants lined the windowsill, ones he'd almost knocked over when he clambered inside and spooked the feline into hiding. They were a vibrant shade of green, a sign of their decent well-being, and the furball looked well-fed. It was almost humorous in a way, how a man he'd learnt to be so indifferent to the slaughter of his fellow humans was so tender to flora and fauna. (Y/N) remained a curious creature. 

His nostrils flared when he inhaled deeply, and a familiar scent filled his senses, curling around his mind and heart to reacquaint him with it. It'd been centuries since he last took a whiff of his lover's smell, centuries since he'd last laid eyes on him and touched him.

He thought his mind had been playing tricks on him when (Y/N) dropped into the battle with a scythe in hand and a shikigami in tow, but when he spotted that lazy smirk and those magnetic (E/C) eyes, he knew it was him. 

His beloved had come back to him from the dead.

The stench of blood wafted out from the throne room, filling the long, lavish halls with the distinct coppery smell Sukuna loved. The servants scattered into the room with buckets of water and brushes the second he stepped out into the hallway, scrubbing away at the blood while the body was expertly dealt with— more bones to add to his growing collection. 

His broad figure loomed over the figures in the halls, a satisfied smirk forming on his mouth at the sight of servants averting their eyes and bowing their heads, their bodies stiffening to avoid drawing his cruel attention. 

Only one servant dared to meet his gaze and lived to tell the tale, the very one he was on his way to see. (Y/N). The man who'd come into service a little over a year ago and captured piqued his interest over a couple months.

He had concubines, each one beautiful to appease his eyes and appetites, but none of them held a candle to his favorite, intriguing little human. Where most people feared him, trembled at the mere sight of him, and stared at him with pure terror in their eyes, (Y/N)'s eyes were never fearful nor scornful. Always curious, always amused, always coy.

Few of his servants were granted permission to leave the estate unless it was part of their duties, but despite (Y/N)'s former duties having limited him to the estate, Sukuna forbade the very idea of him venturing away. It was a possessive need, a certain desire to ensure (Y/N) could never be more than a couple of strides from him.

His getas clicked softly along the floor, his long, muscled legs guiding him toward the soft sound of a flute playing from the gardens. He dismissed Uraume with a flick of his wrist as he came to stand under the archway leading out into the gardens, his eyes roving over the gardens expanding across the estate until he spotted the back of (Y/N)'s kariginu. 

The sun shone down on him when he stepped out of the shade and followed the smooth rock path to the human, the music from his flute pleasantly filling his ears. Many evenings, after supper, Sukuna would instruct him to play while he rested. His human had many talents, but music was his best. 

The sound came to an eventual, purposeful stop, and (Y/N) gingerly set the flute (a lavish gift from Sukuna, for he wanted nothing but the best sound to fill his ears) across his lap. His fingers danced along the wooden flute, his head bowed despite Sukuna casting a long shadow over him. 

"A new melody?" One clean, clawed hand reached out to rest along the back of (Y/N)'s head. His hand looked comically large, his palm practically engulfing his head.

"It was indeed, My Lord," (Y/N) spoke softly, and then raised his head to peer up at him. It was an act that would've had anyone else struck across the face for blatant disrespect, but Sukuna merely sank into a crouch. "Is there something you require of me?" 

Sukuna lifted one of his bloodied hands, his eyes shifting to gaze over the drying blood smeared across his skin from when he'd embedded his fist into a pesky man's chest for speaking back to him so informally. "There is." 

"A bath?" (Y/N)'s head tilted to the side, his brow arching in the slightest. "Would you like me to bathe you, My Lord?"

Stretching out his bloodied hand, he rubbed the back of his finger along (Y/N)'s cheek, smearing that pretty crimson color along his cheek. Most of his concubines would've leaned away in disgust or horror, but (Y/N) barely batted an eye. 

"Yes, little pet." Sukuna's maroon and golden robes rustled when he rose, allowing the ghost of an affectionate grin to spread. "Do not keep me waiting."

Uraume, ever the perspective servant, had already ordered a bath for him, leaving little for Sukuna to do other than peel his getas from his feet and wait a few passing seconds for (Y/N) to enter. The few servants in his bedchambers were swiftly dismissed, and they hurried out of the spacious room to give them privacy. 

Sukuna turned to (Y/N) expectantly, the corners of his lips quirking at (Y/N)'s mild exasperation as he approached his king and began peeling the multiple layers of fabrics from his body. Sukuna watched him intently, all four crimson eyes studying his movements, locking on his face specifically once it came to shedding the last few articles of clothing. 

"Is something occupying your mind, My Lord?" (Y/N) questioned gently, though he caught the teasing undertones. His head tilted back to gaze up at him, eyes crinkling in a way that reminded him of a mischievous fox. 

A noise rumbled in his throat, but the words died when (Y/N)'s hands released the robe still in his hands to rest them over Sukuna's chest. His fingers traced the black markings along his pecs and up to his broad shoulders as far as he could reach with Sukuna standing at his full height. 

"Is there something you desire, little pet?" Sukuna asked, lowering his head with a growing, smug smirk. 

"Very much," (Y/N)'s cooed, leaning in to ghost his lips over the corner of Sukuna's mouth. "I'd like for you to get in the damn water... My Lord." 

Sukuna gave a little scowl, one that grew when (Y/N) subtly pushed at his shoulders and lifted his brows at him with that little grin of his. "You insolent brat." He huffed and pressed his finger against (Y/N)'s forehead to give it a small push, barely enough strength behind it to sway (Y/N). "Mind yourself, pet. Tch, speaking to your king in such a manner." 

"Forgive me, then, My Lord." (Y/N)'s hands fell to rest over Sukuna's hips, his fingers pressing and rubbing small circles around his skin. Whatever lighthearted annoyance Sukuna felt toward him vanished, replaced by warming desire. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit... after your bath." 

With an agreeable hum, Sukuna stepped into the wooden bath and sank into the warm water, a quiet exhale of content slipping past his lips. The bath had been cut especially for him, but it still looked small compared to his body. His four arms rested comfortably along the rims as his head tilted to watch (Y/N) set the robes aside to be collected and washed later. 

"You should begin moving your belongings here, (Y/N). Your bedchambers are too far."

"I'm merely down the hall, My Lord," (Y/N) reminded him as he kneeled by the bath and rubbed the blood off him with scented herbs. "Besides, I've already moved living quarters once. Your concubines will begin to think you're playing favourites if I move in here." 

"Let them think what they wish." Sukuna waved him off, his eyes shutting briefly in contentment. "What they believe matters little to me. They are disposable." 

(Y/N) hummed. "As I'm sure they are well aware. Humans and lesser curses are all disposable at the feet of the King of Curses." 

Sukuna cracked two eyes open at his words and shifted the arm (Y/N) wasn't washing to wrap his fingers around his jaw, the sharp tips of his claws barely grazing his skin. The very hands that slaughtered and destroyed were the very ones (Y/N) willingly leaned into. Such a curious creature, indeed.

He remembered the first time he'd held (Y/N) in his arms, cradling him close to his chest with an iron grip that dared him to attempt to wiggle away. He enjoyed a good cat and mouse game, enjoyed the little silent dance they'd had going on for weeks, but his patience had run thin. 

He wondered what (Y/N) would do: regret tempting the devil and plead a futile case, or spring another surprise. When he placed his hands over Sukuna's face, the king deduced it was the latter. He explored his unusual features, his thumbs tracing the area just below his two additional eyes before they dipped to trace over his lips and prod at the sharp canines in his mouth. 

Sukuna allowed him without much complaint. Instead, he returned the favor by exploring the male human body in detail.

"All are disposable." Sukuna agreed, his fingers squeezing lightly, but (Y/N)'s eyes remained lowered, palms rubbing the warm water into his biceps. "But as weak and inferior as they are, not all are replaceable." 

"Is that so, My Lord?" Sukuna felt a muscle twitch beneath his fingers. Tch. Such a smug thing, his (Y/N). "The ladies will be pleased to hear such a tender revelation from their lord." 

Sukuna grunted, all four eyes instinctively rolling at yet another mention of his concubines. Effortlessly, he dragged (Y/N) toward him and watched in amusement as (Y/N) scrambled for purchase before he could go tumbling into the bath. 

"Sukuna!" (Y/N) hissed, the scowl on his face coming across as more adorable than furious. He kept one hand firmly planted on the other side of the tub and another on Sukuna's bicep, leaving his body half-way hovering over the red-tinted water. "Do not-" 

With a rumbling laugh, Sukuna used his two lower arms to haul (Y/N) up and fully into the tub. The curses and huffs that flowed from (Y/N)'s lips mixed with the sloshing and spilling of water, little waves rolling over the edge of the tub and spilling across the floor. 

"You are too covered, little pet." Sukuna decided, his hands pinching and tugging at (Y/N)'s robes before he finished speaking. 

(Y/N) huffed and puffed, his eyes rolling and shoulders slumping in defeat as Sukuna peeled his clothes from his body, occasionally ripping and tearing when one soaked piece of clothing would refuse to budge. The soaking clothes were carelessly tossed aside, spraying water droplets across the floor.

"I do not require a bath, Sukuna," (Y/N) muttered bitterly, the water rippling with his movements as he shifted to settle more comfortably over Sukuna's muscled thighs. 

"And I do not care." 

Dragging his palms against (Y/N)'s thighs, Sukuna felt the subtle bumps along his skin, fading claw marks from a night together. With his newly exposed skin, Sukuna soaked in the rest of the marks littered across (Y/N)'s body: teeth marks along his collarbone and upper back, nicks and scratches from his claws along his hips and thighs, varying bruises from Sukuna suckling them onto his skin. 

Every mark filled Sukuna's chest with pride and satisfaction; everyone knew who (Y/N) belonged to without a doubt. 

Sukuna's lower arms curled around (Y/N)'s waist and pulled him until they were chest to chest, a satisfied noise rumbling in his chest again as (Y/N) settled between his two cocks. He leaned in, burying his nose into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck, inhaling the faint grassy smell of sencha tea clinging to him. 

That wouldn't do.

Sukuna wanted him to reek of him, of blood and smoke and sweat. (Y/N) was stubborn, accepting the expensive silks and fabrics with a smile but opting to wear his usual garments, keeping his gifts within the privacy of his bedchambers instead of flaunting them for everyone to see. Sukuna couldn't understand it; his concubines would trip over themselves to receive such attention. 

"Your belongings will be moved here, whether you move them or someone else does." Sukuna ghosted his lips over his neck until he found a faded bite mark. In an act of tenderness he only allowed behind closed doors, he gently kissed it. "Be compliant, just this once, little pet." 

"And if I refuse?" (Y/N) asked, his voice filled with feigned innocence.

Humming lowly, Sukuna slipped his tongue out from the mouth across his abdomen and licked a stripe over (Y/N)'s inner thigh. Before (Y/N) could squirm at the feeling, he tightened his hold and began rutting against him, one cock sliding between his ass cheeks and the other rubbing against his own cock. 

(Y/N)'s skin flushed warm, the heat radiating and tugging a husky chuckle from Sukuna. "Don't be foolish." Sukuna cooed condescendingly, picking up into a pace that had the water tipping over again. His forehead pressed against (Y/N)'s. "You have no choice." 

(Y/N)'s mouth parted, likely to spew some snark or teasing comment, but he promptly clamped it shut at the feeling of Sukuna wrapping a hand around their lengths, his fingers squeezing lightly. (Y/N) instead buried his face in Sukuna's neck, and the king relished in the action, his arms tightening further around him possessively, as if anyone would dare take his darling human away from him. 

"My (Y/N)," Sukuna nuzzled his nose against his temple. "Made jus' for me."

(Y/N) chuckled breathily. "All yours, Sukuna."

The bedroom was pitiful, but the intoxicating scent of (Y/N) grew stronger the closer he got. The cat refused to budge from its hiding spot, merely peering at him with its amber eyes and hissing at his every movement. If it was (Y/N)'s primary guard, it was certainly failing at the job.

Sukuna spared the feline a fleeting glance before he stepped further into the bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and taking note of its appearance. Despite the plants, books, and hints of scented candles previously lit, Sukuna couldn't help but scoff at the size. Not good enough.

He approached the bed with slow steps, his nostrils flaring with the deep inhales until he could reach his hand out to touch it. It felt cool to the touch, chilled from the air pumping into the room and lack of a warm body, but Sukuna could faintly make out which side of the bed (Y/N) slept on most. The same as always.

His shoulders lowered with a heavy exhale, his body deflating in a way that was foreign to the curse who basked in the suffering of enemies and innocents. He was someone who relished in death, who eagerly watched the light fade from the eyes of others... until it'd been (Y/N)'s death.

Sukuna had never felt so helpless during his reign as he did that horrid day when he held (Y/N)'s limp body in his arms, willing him to breathe again so he could heal his wounds and lock him away safely in his bedchambers. Each hand trembled like they never had before, the warm blood that soaked into his clothes and skin feeling like the sharpest of blades digging into his flesh. Even Uraume, who'd never been too fond of his attachment to the human, grimaced pitifully at the sight.

He'd screamed, he'd cried, he'd raged during the day and wallowed in his misery during the night when his bed felt too empty. He hated the damned human who'd attacked his beloved to weaken him; he hated (Y/N) for wriggling his way into his very being with sly words; he hated himself for growing so attached to a fragile, defenseless human. 

But (Y/N) was back now. Alive, with a new, beating heart, and the power of a sorcerer. They were wretched spawns, those vexing idiots, but he'd make an exception for (Y/N). They could rule together, properly, this time.

Sukuna felt tempted to reach out and bury his face into one of the pillows, but before he could curl his hand around one, he heard the front door creak open. He listened to the soft footsteps shuffling around, the quiet murmuring meant for the frightened feline, and then the footsteps grew closer. 

Anticipation filled his body. Would (Y/N) feel familiarity toward him? It certainly looked like he hadn't when he'd so brazenly attacked him; quick and half-heartedly, just forming a distraction for the Itadori brat and his friend to get to safety. 

The light overhead flickered on, and then a soft click followed. "Not the biggest fan of people breaking in and scaring Tofu, I have to say." Still the same insolent brat.

Sukuna turned around to face him, his attention falling first on the glinting gun in his hand (as well as the scythe he clutched in his other hand, the item that could actually harm a curse) and then rising to study him for the first time in near centuries. There wasn't a lick of fear or faint panic on his face, just that damned curiosity and healthy amount of caution. 

He looked the same, though. Same eyes, same nose, same hair, same lips, same figure. Whatever words Sukuna wanted to say died in his throat. He wanted to reach out and ensure it wasn't a dream, to hold him for the rest of eternity. Damn him and his way of making Sukuna feel like a pathetic mortal.

(Y/N) tilted his head at his silence and waved the gun's muzzle around in his face. "What? No snarky comeback or threat? Thought you were the almighty King of Curses." 

"I am." Sukuna managed to speak without his voice trembling and reached out, his fingers wrapping around the gun and effortlessly crumbling the muzzle. (Y/N) made a pouty face of annoyance. "Do you remember me, pet?" 

(Y/N) released the crushed gun, and it clattered uselessly onto the carpeted floor. "I've had dreams." He answered with a small shrug. "It was only until Itadori brought you back that Gojo had the bright idea of mentioning you were probably the man I kept seeing." 

One of Sukuna's eyes twitched at the mention of another man's name. Gojo Satoru, the damn bastard. "What have you seen?" He asked to resist the urge to coil around him until he forgot all about the sorcerer and only babbled his name. 

"Gardens." (Y/N)  eyed his hand when it reached out toward him, his grip on his scythe tightening until he felt Sukuna's knuckles gently graze his cheek. "Music.. a voice I don't recognize.. people crying and screaming, sometimes. There's always a lingering man with too many arms and eyes." 

Memories muddled in dreams, echoes of their past. Sukuna no longer looked like his former self, not for the time being. He lacked the height, the second pair of arms, and could only scratch the surface of his abilities until he recovered all parts of himself. If he returned to his former glory, his former body, perhaps it'd jog (Y/N)'s memory and open his heart again. 

"What was I to you?" (Y/N) questioned, though from the tone of his voice, he already had a guess. "A servant? A slave? A toy?"

"You were my beloved. Mine and only mine, just as I was fully yours. You had the King of Curses in the palm of your hand, but you did not care." Sukuna's hand cupped his cheek, his eyes glinting with amusement and longing. "You weren't the brightest, my foolish pet." 

(Y/N)'s head rolled to the side, his brow arching ever so slightly. "Obviously, if I was sleeping with you." He scoffed.

Motherfucker. 

Still, Sukuna couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, surprised and almost relieved. "Tch. You haven't changed, pet." His shoulders shook with a continued laugh, his fingers extending to grasp and hold (Y/N)'s chin. 

He could hear, faintly, the beat of his heart and smell the prickly scent of fear. It was there, just barely, but there. Fear from (Y/N) was a foreign concept to him; his (Y/N) had never feared him, because he'd never feared death. It'd angered him after his burial. Perhaps if he had feared death, he would've fought harder to survive the attack, and Sukuna wouldn't have dealt with the pathetic sorrow of heartbreak. 

(Y/N)'s expression steeled, his figure tense with caution. Sukuna could end his life easily, and they both knew he'd only 'won' their fight due to Sukuna's distracted daze. He could crush his skull with his hand and leave his body to be discovered by whatever poor soul came looking; probably Gojo or one of the younger brats. 

Part of Sukuna wanted to spill his blood, to twist his head with one sharp movement and hear the crackling snap of his bones twisting violently in his neck. Sukuna left marks across his own chest from how much he clawed at it to demand his heart cease its torment. Could he deal with another mortal-like heartbreak? 

"Well," (Y/N) swallowed and pressed his lips into a puzzled line. "Are you gonna do something or what? I'm kinda hungry, and I could jus' give Gojo a call if you're looking for a fight, Ryomen." 

What... was his plan? Sukuna's many eyes flickered away from him, focusing on the messily folded blanket at the end of the bed. His face burned the slightest, his ears particularly, and it was obvious from the growing smirk on (Y/N)'s face. Ugh. Maybe (Y/N) had cursed him before his death and left him to feel every mortal emotion tenfold. 

"You do not have a lover now." His nose twitched with another sniff. Any scents apart from (Y/N)'s were too faded to give him reason to believe his pet found another in this modern lifetime. 

"And if I did?" 

Sukuna's eye twitched, his grip on his chin tightening. "They'd be swiftly dealt with, you foolish thing. I'm all you need, all you require. No feeble little human or sorcerer can compare to me." 

Being reduced to two arms was a pain. He was used to being able to hold (Y/N) with two and use the other pair to explore, but all he could do now was force him forward with a tug and sling his arms around him when he stumbled into his chest. One arm wrapped around his midsection, keeping him close, while the other toyed with his shirt. 

"Maybe I should jog that faulty memory of yours, pet." It took all his willpower not to melt and purr at the feeling of (Y/N)'s body against his. (Y/N) scowled at him, half-heartedly, much to his delight and pride. "You'll remember who you were, who you belonged to."

(Y/N)'s hand firmly planted itself on his chest, a quiet huff leaving his mouth once he finally gave up on squirming his way out of his grip and let the scythe fall from his fingertips. His eyes narrowed slightly, vaguely teasing. "You must've really loved me."

Sukuna only grunted and tilted his head to bury it into the nape of his neck. He really did, and he was going to do everything possible to have (Y/N)'s love once more.

[fkasoul]

morning wood જ⁀➴ jjs x female reader

g!p jinsoul x reader, somnophilia, oral sex | a/n: hii..so this is my first fic ever so sorry for any mistakes (i'm not a native english speaker) also i'm still trying to figure out tumblr but if you request something rn i'll probably write it (only loona x fem reader)

you flutter your eyes open with a yawn. jinsoul, your girlfriend, is lying next to you, hugging a pillow and snoring gently in her sleep. she must be tired, you can see it in her face even though she's literally sleeping. after all, she's an idol, and this is a rare moment of peace for both of you. she finally found a space in her schedule to spend time with you between so many concerts and recordings.

it's when you move closer to cuddle that you feel it. something poking your thigh.

you glance down— for the records, it's almost summer. it's way too hot, you're not using blankets and jinsoul isn't wearing pants so this all drives you to see her boner with clarity.

it's big. that's the first thing you notice. then your mind wanders to wonder how long it's been since you've been intimate, which you end up concluding was a few weeks ago, since preparations for her new album have been keeping her busy. more thoughts come and go and naturally you conclude with wanting to have your lips wrapped around her morning wood.

...okay, maybe you're thinking like a creep or something, but you can't really turn your eyes away. maybe you woke up in that mood too.

after a long minute of just staring and feeling your mouth water, you place a hand on her shoulder, just caressing her at first. she remains motionless, still clutching the pillow against her chest. you shake her a little, and it feels like you're testing the waters, but the result is the same: she's still fast asleep. you shake her again, then again, each time applying more force, and nothing. since when is jinsoul a heavy sleeper?

maybe it's not necessarily a bad thing now, especially with the plan you're forming in your head. jinsoul staying asleep while you suck her off sounds way too arousing, so you carefully move, trying not to make any noise or sudden movements.

you position over jinsoul and gently push her body to the side, causing her to roll onto her back. there's a soft thud and you widen your eyes, expecting jinsoul to open hers, but nothing. the only thing that happens is that she stops snoring for a moment before doing it again.

this position makes it easier, so you rush into the next step and sneak your fingers under the waistband of her boxers, shaking a little as you slide them off. you reveal more of her bare skin, her hip bones and a bit of her barely trimmed pubes before finally revealing her dick: big and hard, but really emphasizing the hard. you've seen her like this several times since you two started dating, but the adrenaline has you craving it especially this morning.

your hand (that never stopped shaking) reaches out and begins to rub circles on the head, noticing how it throbs in response. jinsoul never stopped sleeping either, anyway. you decide to lean in and inch her cock into your mouth, sucking the tip before trying to take her whole length. she's just… so big when she's hard it becomes difficult to make her fit in your mouth.

after a moment of just teasing her throbbing dick with your hands and tongue, the warmness of your mouth manages to envelop her cock and you start sucking her length so as not to waste any more time.

jinsoul's soft heaving shifts into a real movement faster than you expect. you're starting to suck her off carelessly when her snores turn into a gasp, then into a moan, and you hold her legs open with both of your hands before she tries to close them.

then there is a brief silence.

that's what makes you doubt: this is... wrong. jinsoul must be shocked or disgusted. already expecting a well-deserved lecture, you're about to pull her cock out of your mouth when you feel her large hands grab your hair and hold your head down, the aggressive thrust making her tip touch your throat.

“i was asleep,” jinsoul says, her voice hoarse from sleeping, now sitting. “couldn't you wait?”

is it a scolding? an obvious remark?

she doesn't let you go, so it's probably the second option.

“keep going,” she orders. she doesn't even sound mad or something, just… horny. just like you.

jinsoul’s grip on your hair tightens, not giving you a chance to step back, but you got it. you go back to bobbing your head up and down on her cock, breathing through your nose. she moans and thrusts her own hips as an instinct, her obvious pleasure getting you more turned on.

you do your best to taste more than her pre-cum, satisfying your girlfriend with nothing else than your mouth. you assume you’re doing a good job, since you can feel how her cock twitches in your mouth.

“god,” jinsoul moans. “you look so hot like this.”

the praise is accompanied by thrusts, using you as nothing but a hole, and her moans grow louder. you relish on them, tongue working faster, pretty sure your panties are damp now.

“such an eager slut,” she says after an especially deeper thrust. her voice sounds more agitated, signaling she’s close to cumming.

after that, she stays still and lets out a shaky moan, shooting a load deep down your throat. you can't do much more apart from swallowing it, and jinsoul keeps you there for a moment while she catches her breath.

once she does, she finally releases her grip on your hair and lets her cock slide off your mouth. now you're the one trying to catch her breath.

you look up at jinsoul. she's panting, cheeks red, a small smile on her lips. very much awake.

“that was a weird way to wake me up.”

you lick your lips and tilt your head. “sorry?”

jinsoul just giggles. she helps you up and tugs her boxers up again. after brushing your teeth, you two walk towards the kitchen and she offers to make breakfast and maybe something for your throat, but you insist that you're okay. you couldn't come up with a better way to start the day.

[infiniteeight8]

Yess prompts!! More of the Alpha/Alpha series!! Maybe Tony and Stephen reuniting after Afghanistan? ❤️❤️

I’ve been pondering whether or not I wanted this to be a no-superheroes AU for a while. I’ve been able to dodge the question so far, but I guess I have to decide now. 😂

Ultimately, the thing I enjoy about this mini-series is the relationship building. I have no interest in wedging that in around the edges of canon. Plus I’m already doing that for Alpha Dragon Tony Omega Fox Stephen, which makes me want to do it here even less.

So it’s official: This is a no-superheroes AU. Which means no Afghanistan and no car accident. That said, if folks are still interested, I have a couple ideas for other ficlets in this series, some porny (I mean, it started with smut and there’s been none since!) and some plotty.

For today, have Stephen (and Tony) trying to get Pepper and Rhodey on board with their relationship.

-

Stephen is struggling. 

It’s been a long time since he’s bothered to try to charm someone into liking him. It just hasn’t mattered to him. But Pepper and Rhodey are important to Tony, and their disapproval of his relationship with Stephen is wearing on him. Stephen is sure Tony wouldn’t break the bond over it, but he wants Tony to be happy, and he wants their relationship to continue growing, and that means he needs to wiggle into Pepper and Rhodey’s good graces somehow.

Unfortunately, while they’re being polite, drinks and appetizers are already done and they definitely haven’t warmed up to him at all. Stephen’s stomach is in knots that have him dreading the entree. Stephen and Tony’s affection for each other and their bond—probably mostly the bond—had gotten Pepper and Rhodey to agree to dinner, but it sure isn’t a get out of jail free card, and Stephen can’t figure out what to talk about. They don’t know anything about medicine, and he doesn’t know anything about business, or the military. They’d discussed the weather. Stephen has never felt so at sea in his life.

Despite knowing it’ll be a strike against him, Stephen excuses himself after the appetizers are cleared away and retreats to the bathroom for a breather. He’s leaning against one of the sinks when the door opens and Tony slips inside. Stephen groans. “I’m sorry. I just needed a minute.”

“It’s fine,” Tony says, coming over to lean against the wall next to him. “They’re being pretty remote.” Tony makes a face. “Honestly, I’m not sure they’re holding up their end of the deal. Freezing you out is not giving you a chance.”

“Please don’t argue with them on my behalf,” Stephen insists. “That’ll probably only make it worse.”

Tony grimaces in a way that says Stephen is right. “How can I help, then?”

“Topics of conversation,” Stephen says. “Apparently I’ve lost the ability to talk to anyone but doctors and potential donors.”

“We never had any trouble,” Tony says, smiling.

That’s not at all down to Stephen. “You listen to me about medicine. And somehow, everything you talk about is interesting.”

Tony laughs. “I think you may be the only person in the world who thinks so. I ramble, people start tuning me out.”

Stephen snorts. “Idiots. They don’t know what they’re missing. Literally.”

Tony gives him a brief, soft smile before shaking it off into something more businesslike. “Topics of conversation. Pepper has an art collection. Well, I have an art collection, but she manages it, it’s really more hers at this point. Rhodey is always good for college shenanigans. Other options…” They brainstorm for another minute before returning to the table, Tony’s hand resting warmly in the small of Stephen’s back. Stephen draws on that sensation to fortify himself before settling back into his chair.

By the time dessert comes, Pepper has thawed enough to smile and Rhodes is laughing. But the real victory is the happy sparkle in Tony’s eyes.

[juniperscauldron]

Like the flower. It catches her off guard. Enough so that she didn’t have time to dwell on the way he said her name, or how it lingered. Like the flower...- no one ever noticed juniper flowers. They weren’t even flowers really. Insignificant imitations. In a plant picked apart by countless for its uses, from root to bark to berry, not even the evergreen needles were free from harvest; between fragrance, teas and tinctures there wasn’t a single part of the flora that was undesired. All except the flowers. They were nothing, their only purpose was to usher in the anticipation for the fruit that follows. A tragically brief yellow bloom that is meant to wither away with little more than a scant acknowledgment. A promise of better things to come. No one ever noticed juniper flowers. 

"Yeah... Just like the flower."

This man had properly surprised her, and it caused a reluctant but undeniable curve to her lips. Maybe it was something that came with time. Vampires were long lived. Maybe he had simply been around long enough- been bored enough, in his supernaturally long life to start taking notice of such pitifully worthless things. Her curiosity was piqued and that could easily prove dangerous if she wasn't careful.

She almost feels bad when he awkwardly tugs at his own sleeves. He didn’t look bad, especially not compared to her own late-night dishevelment. Company hadn’t been on her mind when she left Theras to wander, more concerned with comfort than aesthetics. All the same sweatpants weren’t more suited for the beach than slacks were. He obviously hadn’t intended to end up here at the end of his night. “Well, if you don’t tell anyone then I won’t. Explaining the sand in your pockets to your dry cleaner might be inevitable though.” She offered her own humor as a sort of peace offering. Ignoring the itch in the back of her mind that told her it was a bad idea. 

Garrick. Before she had time to try out the name for herself, she was met with a question more direct than others she had received thus far. Is it for you? A simple question with a simple answer. But there was nothing about the situation itself that reflected that same simplicity. She chose to delay her answer by putting her knife away, trying to decide if she was going to admit this weakness. This vulnerability. It would be stupid, fundamentally so. You never give away a weakness to someone who may exploit it. And when you are a witch, exploitation can so easily come from every corner and crevice of society. It was a truly lonely and cynical way to live. 

“Unfortunately… yes. It is for me. A recent necessity…” There was hesitation in her words despite how surprisingly easy it was to tell the truth. A hand on her right knee dug in ever so slightly as the mere acknowledgement of her leg made it ache. It was healing faster than she had ever expected. But there were some pains that no amount of healing would dissipate. “Don’t go getting any funny ideas though. It might not be sharp, but I could still probably give you a decent goose egg.” She teased, using humor as a shield for her insecurity; waving the cane at him as a clearly false threat before using it to help herself stand. Holding her breath until she was standing upright, then releasing it with a slow exhale. She had been hunched over so long that finally standing and stretching was a sort of painful relief.     

The hairs on the back of Juniper's neck rise as another new face approaches her in the night. The blood in her veins almost sang, a song meant to serve as a warning. Her eyes immediately found the stranger and she knew her instincts were correct. Vampire. There was no mistaking it. The energy around him was sacrine and thick like the blood he clearly indulged in. This was no starving beast however. Not with the way he moved. Slow and methodical, approaching the shore. He didn’t want to scare her off. Well wasn’t that thoughtful?

“I see enough.” She spoke curt. He meant the water. At least she thinks so. And she could see it, the ebb and flow of the tides as they ever so slowly retreated away from the shore, following the moon on its descent towards the horizon. She could see the way light reflected off the ripples and struggled to breach the inner depths of the sea. She could see that everything she saw was merely a fraction of what was possible under the surface. But her answer pointed to none of those. No as she answered she didn’t follow his eyes to the tides or the undertow. She kept her gaze on him, steady and thoughtful. 

It shouldn’t surprise her that this town was home to his kind. And reason would have it that a town so prolific in its supernatural influence wouldn’t just tolerate a whole population picking off the others like late-night sugar-toothed indulgences. But she still had every reason to be uneasy. Unlike some she was acutely aware of her status as prey. The thought made her hand grip her knife ever so slightly firmer. Not that it would do any good. She was in no shape to actually defend herself- or run. 

His wariness of her craft amused her. Did he think it was a stake in her hand? If so, his eyes weren’t nearly as sharp as she would assume. “I’m sure you wouldn’t… and I certainly am. It’s a cane- for walking.” She held it up to show the blunt end and curved handle. She could probably use it as a weapon if she needed to. However, chamomile flowers were white. Not red. So, she would rather avoid needing to use it as such anyways. 

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. Her experiences with the sanguine-inclined were few and far between. Mostly by design. She could almost hear her grandfather's voice in her ear telling her to leave. 

You are nothing but a meal to them Junebug. Never Forget That.

Yet still she lingered. Eyes glancing up between the raking of her blade against the cane. She couldn’t shake the feeling of an unmistakable melancholy coming from this stranger. He looked at the ocean like an old friend with a bitter history. The more time that passed the more she accepted that at least for tonight, this vampire had no intention of making a feast of her flesh. 

“Names Juniper… Is there something you prefer to be called, or should I stick with Overdressed Beach Stranger?” Maybe taunting this man wasn’t a good idea. But she had to break the tension she had created for herself somehow. And pointing out that he looked desperately out of place seemed like a good start. She could probably assume he had been at the same event Thera had gone to.

[skrunksthatwunk]

household enemy to the yyh watchthrough number one is the olympics. it's taken us a week to get two episodes into the gamemaster fight

[maskedbyghost]

What’s better than a jealous, possessive Simon? Nothing. Get ready for all the drama and dirty you didn’t even know you needed. cw: jealousy, possessiveness, explicit language, rough sex, dirty talk... MDNI

You didn’t mean anything by it.

Really, you didn’t. Just a harmless laugh at some half-assed joke from one of the new guys on base. He was nervous, awkward, trying to find his footing among a team full of people who didn’t blink twice before throwing themselves into the line of fire.

So you were being nice. You smiled. You touched his arm when he said something funny. You laughed—not even your real laugh, just the polite one. The one that lets people think they’re charming even when they’re not.

But Ghost saw it.

He was halfway across the room, but he saw the way you leaned in, the way your lips curved, the way you let your hand rest on that guy’s forearm just a second too long. His jaw clenched, his arms crossed.

You saw it out of the corner of your eye and figured he was just being his usual silent, broody self. But the look he gave you? That wasn’t just disapproval. That was something else...

You forgot about it after a while. Finished the briefing and headed back to your room. You got halfway through pulling your shirt off when there was a knock—no, a thud—at your door.

You barely had time to register it before the door swung open.

He didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t ask. He just stepped in, shut the door behind him, and locked it.

“Something you need, Lieutenant?” you asked, arching a brow, still standing in your half-unbuttoned pants.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, jaw tight behind the mask, chest rising with slow, controlled breaths. Then he walked toward you, calm and quiet, like he had all the time in the world.

You blinked. “Ghost—”

His gloved hand came up, grabbed your chin—not rough, but firm enough to shut you up.

“You like makin’ other men laugh?” he said low, his voice rough and close.

You swallowed. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” He tilted your face toward his. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought I was watchin’ my girl giggle like some fuckin’ schoolgirl over a guy who couldn’t make you come even if you spelled it out for him.”

You snorted nervously, trying to keep it light. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He leaned in until his mask brushed your cheek. “Next time you flirt,” he growled, “I’ll put a leash on you.”

Your breath caught, and that’s all it took.

He grabbed the waistband of your pants and yanked them down in one smooth motion, spinning you around and pressing you up against the wall. His hand was at the back of your neck, pushing you forward until your cheek was flat against the cold surface.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the sound got caught in your throat when you felt him behind you—already hard, already pressing into you through his gear.

“Ghost—”

“Simon,” he corrected. “You’re gonna say my name when I fuck the brat out of you.”

His hand slid between your legs, rough gloves against bare skin, and you gasped when he touched you—no teasing, no buildup, just dirty, possessive fingers sliding right through your slick, like he’d expected it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice darker now, lower. “Drippin’ for me while you’re out there laughin’ at other men’s bullshit. You think they could make you feel like this? Think he’d know what to do with a needy little thing like you?”

You whined when he pressed harder, after yanking off his gloves and sliding two fingers inside, curling them deep, rubbing against that spot that made your knees weak.

“Answer me.”

“N-no, he wouldn’t,” you breathed out, already shaking.

“That’s right.” He pulled back just long enough to undo his belt, shove his pants down, and drag your hips back against him. “You’re mine. Been mine. Just forgot for a second. S’right—I’ll remind you.”

You moaned when he pushed in, when his cock stretched you open without warning, just thick, hard, possessive pressure that made you arch your back and grab at the wall for something to hold on to.

He groaned behind you, one hand fisting in your hair, the other wrapped tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ tight,” he muttered. “Can feel how wet you are—fuck, bet you were thinkin’ about me when he made you laugh. Bet you were hopin’ I’d get like this. Mean. Messy. Jealous.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t breathe past the way he was fucking into you, deep and rough, hips slamming into yours with every thrust like he wanted to fuck the memory of that other guy right out of your body.

“Let me catch you lookin’ at someone else again,” he said, teeth at your shoulder, biting down hard enough to bruise. “I’ll make sure they know who you belong to. I’ll fuck you in front of him if I have to. Let him watch you come on my cock while you scream my fuckin’ name.”

“Simon—fuck—”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say it again.”

“Simon—please—”

“Please what?” he snarled, snapping his hips harder, angrier, dragging every inch of him out slow before slamming back in like he needed to ruin you.

“Please don’t stop,” you gasped, fingers scrambling at the wall, legs shaking.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Not until you learn your fuckin’ lesson.”

He reached around, rubbed your clit in tight, messy circles, just enough to send you spiraling. You came with a cry, body locking up, trembling around him, and he didn’t stop—not even when your legs gave out. He held you up, kept fucking into you with punishing pace, chasing his own release like he had something to prove.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groaned, voice ragged now. “I’ll fuck you so full you’ll be leaking for hours—so every step you take reminds you who fucked you stupid.”

You whined, barely able to keep upright, and with one last thrust he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, filthy growl, his hips jerking against you as he emptied inside.

He didn’t pull out. He just stayed there, chest heaving, hands still on your hips, like he couldn’t let go.

After a long pause, he leaned in and said, right against your ear:

“Do it again, and I’ll make sure the whole base hears what you sound like when you’re mine.”

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[the-cooler-king]

Oh yeah..... midnight gospel be hitting.... sitting in my bed fuckin. Crying. Get a grip girl