#like im just falling behind and out of touch and missing my window but no!

[corvidaedream]

a former professor who i used to intern for and who occasionally has work for me reached out to me a few days ago offering alright money if I flat colored some graphic novel pages for him so he & his new assistant can make a deadline

and apparently his new assistant is named lucy which feels like a huge coincidence to me because i feel like thats also my name

except it isnt, and you cant just tell a woman you've just been introduced to

"what a coincidence, your name is not the same as mine, but it IS the one i went by for almost four years when i was pretending to be a woman from the 1770s"

i feel like that would give her an accurate but unfortunate impression of me

[wvyik]

signed, sealed, seduced. d.w. ⋆˚࿔

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: she’s high-maintenance, deadly, and doesn’t take shit from anyone; especially not from dean. but when their worlds collide, the hunt becomes personal… and a whole lot more complicated.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, (i couldn’t help myself) tons of sexual tension, mild explicit content, cursing, dirty jokes, fluff + filth combo, (because why settle for one?), some light violence, a sprinkle of possessiveness, lots of playful banter, reader is so bela talbot coded, frenemies to lovers.

⤿ notes: thank you anon for the request!! im happy to oblige, such an awesome idea btw >ᴗ< think mr. & mrs. smith meets supernatural with just a pinch of unholy sexual frustration.

The first time you ever met Dean Winchester, he tried to shoot you.

In his defense, you had just scammed a warlock out of a cursed amulet that he’d been trying to track for three weeks. In your defense? He was being a little bitch about it.

“You stole it,” he’d growled, all puffed chest and righteous fury.

You’d just smiled, blood-red lipstick flawless, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “I acquired it. Stole is such a blue-collar word.”

He hated you instantly.

They say hate is just the other side of passion. Dean’s starting to believe it. Every time you roll your eyes, every time you sass him, every time you bend over in that tight little pencil skirt that definitely wasn’t accidental— he gets closer to just snapping and pinning you to a wall.

And you know it.

You flirt like it’s war. Batting your lashes just to watch him sweat. Dropping dirty little one-liners that leave him choking on air.

“So serious, Dean. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying not to get hard.”

He whips his head toward you. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh relax,” you hum, leaning your head back against the seat. “I’m not gonna jump you. You’re not my type.”

He scoffs. “Good.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “I like men who at least pretend they don’t want me. It’s more fun when they break.”

You’re a ghost in the hunter world. No last name. No phone number. Just rumors and red lipstick. You’ve sold hex bags to demons and then double-crossed them for hunters. You flirted your way through vampire nests and stole angel blades from under Heaven’s nose. Nobody knows whose side you’re really on.

That’s your whole thing.

Dean hates that it turns him on.

The job takes you to Louisiana. Swamps, heat, and the kind of cursed object no sane hunter touches without gloves, prayers, and a last will and testament.

It’s an old Creole relic. An amulet that traps souls in a loop of violent death. You’ve seen it before. Once. You didn’t walk away clean.

Dean doesn’t ask about it.

You don’t offer.

Instead, you two ride down in the Impala, sniping at each other the whole way. He complains about your luggage (“We’re not staying at the goddamn Ritz!”) and you call his music “sad divorced dad anthems.”

But underneath the sarcasm, something’s shifting. You catch him looking at you longer. Laughing under his breath at your jokes. And when you fall asleep in the car, head resting against the window, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances at you, once, and turns the music down.

The house is cursed, because of course it is. Two people already dead, one missing, and a sulfur trail leading straight to the basement.

You go in first. Dean protests, obviously.

“You’re not bulletproof, you know.”

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Neither are you. But I look better while risking my life.”

He doesn’t argue.

Not out loud, anyway.

Inside, the air is heavy. Thick with bad energy. The kind that sticks to your skin. Dean’s right behind you, flashlight sweeping, gun drawn. You’re holding a small dagger you stole got from a Haitian priest once. Dean always makes fun of it— until it saves both your lives.

Which it does.

Twice.

“You okay?” he breathes after the second time, chest heaving.

You glance at your bleeding shoulder and shrug. “Ruined another blouse. Guess you’ll have to buy me a new one.”

He glares at you, then rips part of his flannel and presses it to the wound. “Stop joking.”

You blink. His hands are warm. His voice is serious. “You could’ve died,” he mutters.

You smile, softer now. “So could you.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. And for once, there’s no banter. No sarcasm.

Just that look.

That goddamn look.

The one you’ve seen flicker in motel rooms and over diner coffee, in the lull between hunts. The one he always hides before it can mean anything.

This time, he doesn’t hide it.

He brushes your hair back, careful of the blood. And you let him.

You defeat the cursed object together; barely. It shatters in a flash of flame and screams, and when it’s over, you’re both on the floor, breathless, singed, bleeding.

You laugh.

Dean groans.

“You’re the worst,” he says.

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but stops. Because he’s realizing you might be right.

Next thing you know, the air in the motel room is heavy. You’ve both cleaned up—sort of. You’re in a silk robe now, blood rinsed from your skin but not from your memory. Dean’s wearing an old band tee with a rip near the collar and sweatpants, barefoot, jaw still clenched. He hasn’t looked at you since the kiss.

You don’t know if that’s a good sign.

You sit across from him at the little table between the beds, picking at your nail polish, pretending you’re not waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“You could’ve died today,” he finally mutters.

“You already said that.”

He looks up, eyes sharp. “You didn’t react the first time either.”

You shrug. “I didn’t feel like getting all misty-eyed about it while covered in ghost goo.”

Dean leans forward, elbows on the table, and you swear— his gaze softens. Just for a second.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your stomach flips. Violently.

And now you’re just… staring at him. He’s not looking away. He’s not covering it with sarcasm or barking an insult or making some gruff joke about how everyone dies in this line of work, sweetheart. He’s just sitting there, looking at you like losing you would gut him.

You don’t do emotions. Not like this. Not in daylight. So you smirk, instead. “God, you’re being so clingy.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, but it’s not amused. It’s devastated.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend this doesn’t matter.”

You open your mouth to toss something clever back, but nothing comes. Because it does matter. And you both know it.

So instead, you get up.

Walk over.

Slide into his lap like it’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

His hands automatically grip your hips. His breath catches.

And you whisper, “I don’t want to lose you either.”

It’s the softest he’s ever seen you. And he looks at you like he’s memorizing it — like this might be the only time he gets to see you with your guard down.

Then he presses his forehead to yours. You sit there for a long time, just breathing each other in. Not kissing. Not speaking. Just holding.

The line between friends and lovers? It’s already blurred. Hell, it’s obliterated.

You slide your hand up the back of his neck. His breath hitches. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I’m not gonna run anymore,” you whisper. “So stop looking at me like I’m gonna disappear.”

Dean exhales shakily.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat. His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. You sink into him like he’s home.

It’s not neat. It’s not soft.

It’s messy.

Years of denial crash in one second— teeth, tongues, groans swallowed into skin. You push him back further against the mattress and climb over him, still straddling his lap, your hands yanking at his shirt like you’ve waited lifetimes to touch him without consequence.

Dean flips you, presses you into the mattress, mouth hot on your neck.

“Should’ve done this the second I met you,” he mutters into your skin, voice wrecked.

“You were too busy pretending I annoyed you.”

“You did annoy me.” He grins against your collarbone. “Still do.”

You moan when his hands slide under your robe. “Shut up and take it off.”

Dean’s hands are on you; rough, urgent. His fingers digging into your waist, your body pressed flush against his. His breath is ragged, hot on your neck. You’re both trembling, not from the cold but from something deeper, more raw.

You gasp as his lips meet yours again, his mouth is hard against yours, like he’s trying to consume you. And you’re not exactly pulling away either.

Your hands are on his chest, pushing his shirt off, nails scraping against his skin, making him groan low and deep in his throat.

“You sure about this?” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, his grip firm and possessive. His lips move down your neck, kissing and biting, and you can’t stop the shiver that races through you.

“I’ve been sure since the first time I laid eyes on you, Winchester,” you breathe out, your voice shaky but bold. The words feel like they’ve been building up for months, desperate to spill out.

Dean’s hands slide lower, just shy of where you need him. “Yeah? Then why’d you keep running from me?”

You’re not sure if it’s the heat, the pressure, or the way he looks at you with that fire in his eyes, but you snap, your patience snapping like a rubber band. You rip his belt off, hands shaking but determined.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this too,” you snap, before kissing him hard again, all teeth and tongue, pushing your body against his, aligning the two of you in one swift motion.

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, a low growl escaping his lips as he finally lets you have control. His hands are on your hips, guiding you, the pressure between your legs sending an electrifying jolt through your entire body.

The world outside the room disappears. There’s nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the slick slide of skin on skin, and the rhythm you’re both setting— raw, frantic, desperate.

His voice breaks as he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against your ear. “God, you feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You don’t hold back. The tension, the need, it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, and now, it’s exploding. You move against him, your body finding its rhythm with his, chasing that overwhelming heat, that burn that has nothing to do with the hunt, with monsters. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in sheets, no masks, no pretenses.

Dean groans as you shift, his hands gripping your hips tighter. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Should’ve had you like this from the start.”

You smile, teeth grazing his jawline as you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your breath uneven. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

“You feel so good,” he mutters between kisses. “Damn, you feel better than I imagined.” His voice is low, strained, the heat in his tone like fire. “Always knew this was gonna happen… didn’t realize it’d be this fucking good.”

Your movements become faster, rougher, and Dean matches you, his hands gripping your hips harder as he takes control of the rhythm. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, the soft, breathy moans you both can’t hold back, fill the room. And you can feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that sends a wild thrill straight through your core.

His name is a whisper on your lips as you both fall into it. That final, explosive moment when you can’t tell where you begin and he ends. It’s pure, intense, all-consuming.

And when you both finally collapse into the bed, gasping for air, sweaty and wrecked, there’s no question.

You’re not just two people sharing a night anymore.

You’re tangled up in something deeper.

Something that’s not going to fade in the morning.

After, you’re tangled in the sheets, your head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing patterns across your bare back.

“You’re mine now, huh?” he murmurs, voice all husky and smug and soft.

You hum. “I was starting to think you’d never ask...”

Dean kisses the top of your head. “We’re really doing this?”

You look up at him. “Yeah. We are.”

Dean’s face breaks into a grin, clearly amused, but his eyes flicker with that intense, familiar heat. “You sure you’re ready for all this, sweetheart?” He motions to himself dramatically. “I’m a lot.”

You pause, staring at him, before letting out a mock gasp. “Oh no. Does that mean I’m gonna have to be the one saving you next time?”

Dean laughs, the sound rich and full of life. “Baby, the only thing you’ll be saving is my dignity— if there’s any left after last night.. And maybe if you get lucky a few monsters along the way.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” You give him a wink, running your fingers through his hair. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you out of trouble, huh?”

Dean leans in, catching your lips in a kiss that’s lighter than before but still packed with that unmistakable Dean Winchester intensity. “You’re my trouble now, sweetheart.”

And for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly as it should be.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @riteofpassage77 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[imnotkaizer]

skyfall. paigebueckers x reader

while paige is away for a game, a accident had occur resulting to you having a miscarriage, when paige found out, she started to crash out.

angst. heavy emotions. miscarriage.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon, a quiet saturday, paige had left before dawn for her away game.

you remembered the way she kissed your cheek, her lips lingering just a little longer than usual, she’d been nervous about the game, sure, but mostly about leaving you alone.

at 6months pregnant, you'd both finally begun to breathe easier, the worst of the nausea had passed, the baby had a strong heartbeat, and your last ultrasound had brought nothing but smiles and tears of joy.

“you sure you’ll be okay?” paige had asked, standing in the doorway in her travel jersey and windbreaker, her duffel bag over her shoulder “i could ask geno to let me sit this one out.”

you’d laughed, trying to reassure her. “And miss the chance to score on (ENEMY TEAM dont wanna put any team here 😵) i'll be fine, paigey, i promise.” she had texted you around noon.

“Miss you already, ”

you sent her back a heart and a photo of the nursery you'd been working on, little cloud decals half applied to the wall, a basket of clean onesies waiting to be folded, you were determined to finish it before she came home.

that was the plan, fold some laundry, drink your smoothie, take a nap, instead, when you went to sit down and grab the next pile of baby clothes, your balance shifted, your foot caught the edge of the rug, and your body twisted unnaturally, you stumbled backward and your tailbone hit the sharp edge of the wooden arm of the rocking chair.

the pain was instant, a piercing, electric shock up your spine, you cried out, grabbing at your belly instinctively, trying to breathe through the pain, but then you felt it, warmth, pressure, a gush.

you looked down and saw blood pooling beneath you, your scream ripped through the house.

your best friend, Sam, had just stopped by to drop off smoothies, she burst through the door moments later, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene, your body crumpled on the floor, blood staining your leggings, the soft beginnings of your nursery now soaked in fear.

“oh my god, oh my god—dont move, dont move, okay?” she said, dropping the drinks and pulling out her phone “im calling the hospital, we are going right now, hang in there.”

you were too far gone to respond, the only word you managed was “paige.” sam nodded, already dialing her, the call connected on speaker.

“hey babe! we’re warming up, whats up?”

“PAIGE.” sams voice was shaking “its bad, she fel, shes bleeding, a lot, im taking her to ER get here now, please.” a beat of silence, and then paiges voice cracked through the phone, terrified “what do you mean she fell? what happened?!”

“she hit a chair, shes in pain, her water—just get here, now!”

you were unconscious by the time paige arrived, she hadn’t even changed out of her jersey, her hands was shaking so badly she could barely sign the visitor paperwork.

the nurses face told her everything before words could "im sorry" the woman said gently "she lost the baby, shes stable now, but… it was too early there was nothing we could do." paige felt the world fall out from under her feet.

you woke up in the sterile quiet of a hospital room, an IV in your arm, your body aching, hollow, paige was standing at the window when your eyes opened, she looked like she aged a decade, hair a mess, hands clenched at her sides, her jaw tight.

you turned your face slowly, barely managing a whisper "paige…” she spun around so fast the chair behind her nearly toppled "your awake” she said, rushing over, but then, before she even touched you, something in her cracked, her voice wavered “what the hell happened?” your throat tightened “I fell. the chair—”

“you fell? what are you even doing? i told you not to lift, not to move too fast, i told you, didnt I?” your eyes widened, stung “i wasnst lifting anything, paige, i was folding baby clothes, i tripped on the rug, I—it was an accident.”

“you shouldnt have even been doing that alone!” she snapped “why didnt you just wait until I got back?” you felt the tears coming, hard and fast “what, so this is my fault now?”

“i didnt say that” she barked, but her voice broke mid sentence “i just—dammit, you promised you’d be careful!” you turned your face away, blinking hard “you think i wasn’t careful? do you think I wanted this to happen?!"

paige’s mouth opened, then closed again, she looked like she didnt know what to do with all the fury, grief, and guilt warring inside her.

the hospital discharged you two days later, they wheeled you out with an empty belly and a folded piece of paper with the words "spontaneous preterm labor" printed in clinical ink, but no amount of paperwork could explain the ache in your chest, or the haunting quiet that followed you home.

paige hardly spoke the entire drive back, one hand gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, and the other hovered near your thigh wanting to touch you but too afraid she’d break you more.

at home, she helped you into bed, drew the blinds, and wrapped the comforter around your body like armor, then she kissed your forehead.

“i’ll be right back” she said softly, she didnt come back, not for hours.

You eventually found her in the nursery,she was sitting on the floor in the half painted room, her knees pulled to her chest, a little cloud decal had peeled halfway off the wall, dangling just above her head, the bassinet you picked out together still sat by the window, untouched, perfect, waiting.

paige was staring at the floor, unmoving, except for the slow shake of her shoulders, you walked in quietly, still sore, still bleeding lightly, both inside and out "paige?” your voice broke on her name.

she looked up and for the first time since the hospital, you saw it, she was gone, her eyes were swollen and empty, her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Then suddenly she snapped “i cant fucking do this" she whispered

“this, here.” she gestured wildly to the walls, the crib, the folded baby clothes still waiting in the laundry basket “i walk into this room and I can hear them crying, i see you lying on the floor in my head over and over and over every time I close my eyes, its like its happening again.”

you stepped forward, heart cracking “paige—” she stood abruptly, knocking over a stack of unopened baby books “i should been here! I should been home!” her voice rose, raw and ragged "you told me you were okay! i should known better, i should known something was wrong.”

“you couldnt have known” you cried, reaching for her “dont do this to yourself—” but she stepped back, almost like she couldnt stand your touch “i dont know how to breathe in this house anymore” she admitted, and that was what broke you.

you watched her shoulders heave, her fingers curling in her shirt like she wanted to tear it from her skin “every time I walk past the fridge, I see the sonogram, every corner has a ghost in it, and im trying, i swear, im trying to hold it together for you, but im drowning.”

"i dont need you to hold it together" you said, voice shaking “i need you to fall apart with me.”

paige blinked through a fresh wave of tears, she looked so young then, so wrecked "i dont want to feel this” she whispered.

“neither do i” you said “but if we dont feel it together… were gonna lose everything, paige, not just the baby, us too.”

she finally let you touch her, you wrapped your arms around her as she collapsed into your chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her body trembling with every breath, the grief tore out of her in jagged pieces, screamed into your shoulder, cried into your hair, that night, you lay tangled together on the nursery floor, not saying a word, just existing in the wreckage.

MORE WORKS .ᐟ

🔖 — @addl0vee @tndaqlwifwy @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @paige05bby @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @taylynbueckers44 @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode

[mononijikayu]

merry–go–round–of life — ryomen sukuna.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.” Your reply is instant. 🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’” 👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.” He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words. 👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babes.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lovers, Marriage, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Long Distance Relationship, Frustration, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Husband! Sukuna, Wife! Reader;

Words: 9k words.

Note: i wrote this in a rush while im constipated and suffering in bed about it. and honestly, im glad i did because this is going to be a happy one, i know a rare treat. but there will be quite a lot of heartache here soon enough. also, yes, the signatures were created by me. i write like that irl. and yes, they both have autographs (reader gets asked by little kids who are interested in science for her signature). anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. i love you all so much!!!

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THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT. It was fulfilling to be able to go and pursue your passions in your respected fields, that was true enough. But you knew this would happen. Your schedules aren’t overlapping the way you need it to be, and you hate it.

You hate how you and Ryomen Sukuna, your famous Olympic volleyball fiancé are like two stars in separate galaxies, orbiting each other from too far away to touch. You both were wanting to meet each other but the thousands of light years prevented you from even finding each other. 

It wasn’t always like this. Back when his training was domestic and your research wasn't demanding 80–hour weeks, you used to cook dinner together at least twice a week.

He’d lift you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, kiss you until the pasta boiled over, and say things like “We’re gonna have the loudest wedding in Japan.”

But now it’s missed calls, unsent voice notes, messages like “call me when you wake up.” followed by hours of silence because time zones are ruthless and the Olympics don’t wait for love. You’re lucky if you catch his voice once a week, muffled through tired laughter and stadium noise. 

And it’s bad that you were the same as him too.

You weren’t just the one being left behind you were running too, just in the opposite direction. You hated that about yourself. Hated how the very ambition that had once made him fall in love with you was now the same thing keeping you from each other.

The worst part?

Missing ten missed calls.

Sometimes more than that.

Seeing his name flash on your phone hours after he tried to reach you — each notification a little wound that you picked at without meaning to. Not because you ignored him. Never.

But because sometimes, you genuinely didn’t hear the phone ring over the sounds of your team discussing propulsion flow models or thermal regulation equations.

You’d come home and find the lunch he packed still untouched in your work bag. Rice cold, vegetables a little soggy from condensation. A sticky note on the lid with his handwriting which was messy and fast, like he was rushing out the door but still thinking about you: “Eat well, genius.”

You didn’t. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you forgot. Or because you were calibrating simulations past lunchtime. Or because you were sitting in some dark conference room answering questions from engineers twenty years your senior.

And the coffee, the one he brewed at 5:30 a.m. with the beans you like, poured into your favorite thermos? You’d leave it on the kitchen counter by mistake, still warm when you got home twelve hours later. That’s how you realized how bad it had gotten. You weren’t just missing him, you were starting to miss yourself too.

Ever since they assigned you to the development of a new rocket mechanism system, this new revolutionary propulsion array meant to change the trajectory of long–range space travel—you knew, in your gut, that this would take everything.

And it did. Your time. Your sleep. Your calendar. Him.

He was lucky to see you after 10:00 p.m — not in the romantic way, but in the “quick, I have five minutes before I pass out on this couch” kind of way. You'd sit side by side, half in your work clothes, his shirt still damp with sweat from training. 

You’d hold pinkies like kids and talk like strangers trying to remember the rhythm of your old conversations. Sometimes you’d fall asleep mid–sentence. Sometimes he would. Everything about it has just been rough.

It’s been a year and a half since he proposed to you. A year and a half since you said yes with tears on your cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours in a moment so still, so real, you swore nothing could ever pull you apart. And yet here you were. Not even a date set. No dress. No venue. No plans.

Not because you didn’t want it. Hell, you’d marry him in your scorched lab coat with grease stains and ink on your fingers if it meant being next to him when you woke up. If it meant not having to count days between kisses. You knew that. He knew that.

But life doesn’t care about how much two people love each other.

Every time you tried to plan, something got in the way. A training camp for the upcoming FIVB league, where he was captain and poster boy and MVP all rolled into one.

Then a week later it was the National League games or in the International Qualifiers. Or a media appearance. A charity match. A recovery period he had to take seriously or risk injury.

And for you, it was just the same. A last–minute research grant that couldn’t be passed up, not when it would fund your entire next project. A call from the head of the department asking you to lecture at an aerospace symposium.

Sometimes it was a request to mentor new hires or new interns. A sudden data spike that cracked open a new theory, one that would require late nights, recalibrations, endless documentation.

It always felt like one step forward, two steps away from each other.

No one was to blame — not him, not you. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Because when he told you “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

And you told him “Then let’s do it, babe.”

The world said, “Not yet.”

And you both obeyed silently, painfully, hoping one day it would stop asking so much of you.

You’re sitting in the corner of the office lab today, shoulders slumped over your desk, staring at an untouched to-do list. You’re not crying, not really. But certainly, there’s a tiredness in your bones that not even coffee can fix.

Maryu Hana notices first. She always does. She walks over quietly, sits next to you, and just wraps her arms around your side like she's trying to hold the pieces of you together. Her hair smells like cherry lip balm and lavender softener. She doesn’t say anything yet, just rests her cheek against your shoulder.

“You okay?” Hana asks after a moment, voice soft and small, like she’s afraid that being too loud might break you further.

“No….not at all.” you admit. You don’t bother sugarcoating it. There’s no energy left to pretend you’re fine. “I miss him. We’re supposed to be planning our wedding right now, Hana. I don’t even know when he’s going to get home from his match abroad.”

Your voice cracks slightly on that last word. You hate the way it does. You hate that your chest feels heavy every time you think of him, of Sukuna with his duffle bags, his passport tucked into his pocket like a lifeline, his voicemail always full. 

You used to tease him for being impossible to reach. Now it just feels like the universe is playing keep–away with the one person you’re trying so desperately to hold onto. You could only sigh into your hands and feel the devastation.

Kenji, ever the loyal office goblin and chaotic gremlin of the lab, rolls over on his squeaky stool like a knight on wheels. His hoodie is inside-out, and he’s clutching an energy drink like it’s a sword.

“You need me to hack into the work calendar and ‘accidentally’ reschedule his matches?” he says, completely serious.

You let out a breathy laugh, weak but real. “That would start an international incident.”

“I’ve started worse, bestie.” he deadpans to you. And he was not lying. You knew he had. That’s why they can’t fire him. “Just say the word.”

“I’d….rather not.”

Haruki looks up from his soldering station, holding a screwdriver like it’s the Holy Grail. “Wait. WAIT. I volunteer as a wedding planner.” He rises with the gravity of someone delivering life–altering news. “I’ve been watching Downton Abbey. I’m emotionally equipped.”

“Yeah, me and Haruki could help!” Hana says, looping her arm around yours with a bright, unbothered smile. “After all, it would be like me and Haruki planning our own wedding. Since we had a court wedding.”

You blink. You’d almost forgotten that. It happened so quietly. A lunch break turned into a courthouse appointment. A blurry photo of them holding hands and a paper certificate posted in your group chat with no caption. You remember being stunned, speechless. But not surprised. They made it work.

You found yourself envious of that. Not in a bitter way, not in the why them, not me way. But in the aching, quiet kind of way. The kind where you smile and congratulate them and then cry into your pillow later because it reminds you that love can happen right now if you let it. If life lets you.

And yet here you are. A year and a half into your engagement with Ryomen Sukuna, and still floating in that weird limbo where you’re so in love and so ready but so impossibly stuck with the needs to please the roles you were meant to play.

Your colleagues, they had trouble even getting a proposal out. Haruki couldn’t string a proper sentence together and Hana had to say, “Do you want to marry me or not?” with a pen already in her hand.

But they got married. Quick. Simple. Straight to the point. No ceremony. No guests. Just them and their decision. And it was beautiful in its own way. It was what suited them and their personalities and wants, after all.

But you and Sukuna wanted something different, however. Not necessarily bigger, but shared. You wanted time. The time to plan, to invite everyone you loved, to dance until the floor cracked beneath you.

You wanted him there to argue over cake flavors and sigh at venue tours. You wanted photos in a sun–drenched field and stupid wedding favors no one would keep but you.

But time has not been kind.

“I’m happy for you guys, really.” you say softly, glancing at Hana and Haruki. And you mean it. But your next words are a little quieter. “I just wish we’d had that chance too.”

Hana squeezes your hand. “You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will.”

“Unless Sukuna gets abducted by aliens.” Kenji adds. “Then I’m legally your backup husband.”

Haruki gasps. “Unacceptable. I already wrote my vows.”

Hana raised a brow. “Um, I am right here, as the actual deserving title of wife?”

“Well, if he does show up, I promise you, the wedding would be perfect if I plan it with you.” Haruki says, winking at you.

You snort through the lump in your throat. “Yeah? You're gonna walk me down the aisle too?”

Haruki grins. “In full 1920s suit attire. Ruffles and everything.”

Kenji adds, snickering. “And I’ll build you a hologram of Sukuna to stand in until the real one gets back. Super realistic. Only mildly cursed.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. Really laugh out loud. and it spills out of you in a way that’s raw and grateful and a little watery around the edges. Like your ribs were too tight until now, and something cracked open.

“I just…” You tug the sleeves of your lab coat down over your hands, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Being in love with someone whose life is on a global clock.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hana murmurs, pulling you in closer, her cheek resting against your shoulder. “It’s hard. But not impossible. You and Sukuna are like… built different. You’ve always made it work, even when it sucks. And you know he hates it just as much as you do.”

You nod slowly. “He texted me last night… paragraphs of it. He said if he could, he’d cancel everything. Just to eat instant ramen with me on the couch. No cameras. No schedules. Just us. In our socks. Watching the same dumb reruns we’ve already memorized.”

Hana lets out a soft sigh, like your pain settles into her chest too. “That’s love right there. Instant ramen and reruns.”

“Haruki doesn’t even like instant ramen,” she adds with a pout, throwing a side-eye at her husband, who glances up, blinking in defense.

Haruki frowns. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just make healthy options for us. Gotta keep you from living off potato chips and soda.”

Hana gasps dramatically, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Excuse me, sir, do you know how much junk I sneak when you’re not looking?”

“Yes!” he says, flinging his hands in the air. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, babe!”

“You say that,” Hana points at him like she’s presenting Exhibit A, “as if you don’t drink an absurd amount of Asahi Dry every night.”

Haruki, affronted, gestures to himself with wide eyes. “That’s my only vice! And it’s cultural!”

“You’re such a hypocrite, aren’t you?” she groans, nudging him with her foot.

Kenji, never one to waste a perfectly chaotic moment, raises his energy drink like he’s toasting at a wedding. “Ah yes. Romantic, romantic ramen. Love brings you together!” he says sagely. “The cornerstone of any healthy relationship.”

You cover your mouth to muffle another laugh. “You guys are idiots.”

“Correct on that, captain.” Kenji says proudly.

“But you’re my idiots, to be sure.” you add, blinking away the dampness in your lashes. 

And for the first time in days, you feel… lighter. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not even okay. But held. In this tiny lab full of solder smoke, caffeine, and nerds with poor sleep schedules, you are loved. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.

You look down at your phone, Sukuna’s texts still sitting there, glowing softly against your palm like a heartbeat. Instant ramen, huh? You think you’ll message him back soon. Maybe you should even leave a voice mail.

Maybe even send him a picture of the lab gang yelling over takeout later.  Let him know you're not alone. Let him know you’re still here. Still his, still waiting for some time to just be together again and love each other again.

You tuck your phone into your pocket, your gentle fingers lingering against it like maybe….Just maybe. You could go on and press hard enough. Maybe, you might let him feel you from wherever in the world he is right now.

Hana gently nudges your side again. “You should text him. Or call, if he’s awake. You’ll feel better.”

You nod, already thinking about it. You’ll do it. After this moment. After sitting in the warmth of people who don’t ask you to be okay before you’re ready to be. “Yeah….I should….”

Kenji spins once on his stool, as if the energy drink has finally hit his bloodstream. “Alright, I’ve made an executive decision. Emergency wedding planning simulation. Just for morale.”

Haruki blinks. “What?”

Kenji claps his hands. “You’re going to hate this, but—boom. Picture this: rooftop wedding. At sunset. Hana officiates. Haruki cries.”

“I don’t cry!” Haruki objects.

“You absolutely do, a lot!” Hana says, smirking. “You sobbed at that ad with the puppy and the blind man.”

“It was emotional!”

Kenji continues like he’s narrating a movie trailer. “Reception at a space museum. Guests get party favors that are actually mini thrusters. There’s a robot bartender. And instead of a first dance, you and Sukuna spike a ceremonial volleyball at a target shaped like all your problems.”

“I can 3D print that target.” Haruki mutters as he opens his tablet. “Give me two days. I can reuse the program from the last rocket thrusters. Just need to edit them to smaller size, of course—”

You throw your head back and laugh again, tears still clinging to your lashes but now glinting with amusement instead of grief. “Stop, stop.” you groan, covering your face. “This is the dumbest thing—”

“—and yet you’re smiling,” Hana sings, pulling you closer. “Which was the point.”

You drop your hands and meet her eyes. “Thanks, everyone.” you whisper. “I’m grateful for all of you.”

Kenji gives you a goofy little salute. “Anything for our favorite overachiever–in–love.”

“You mean resident astrophysicist–in–love, no?” Haruki corrects, tossing a bolt across the table like a mic drop.

You shake your head, heart sore and full. There’s still that ache, that missing piece in your day-to-day rhythm that only Ryomen Sukuna fills. But tonight, for just a little while, it’s dulled by something soft and familiar. Love that stays close, even when your person is far.

Later, maybe after everyone’s gone home or dozed off at their stations, you’ll sneak into the break room and video call Sukuna. He might be in a different timezone, maybe halfway through his physio routine or brushing his teeth in some hotel room you can’t pronounce.

And when he picks up, and sees your face lit up under the sterile break room light, you’ll tell him: "Let’s eat ramen together this weekend. You, me, whatever city you’re in. I’ll bring the pocket Wi-Fi, baby. You bring the cup noodles. I love you."

Because if there’s one thing this moment reminds you, it’s that love like yours doesn’t disappear. It adapts. It lingers. It waits. And finds its way back. Always. Because love wins all in the end. It will always win in the end. 

IT HAS NEVER GOTTEN THIS BAD BEFORE. But now it has and there’s just really no way to stop it. Usually, there was a way to calm himself down. Yet, it's not working right now.

Since you are busy like him and you can’t call him often or spend time with him. Ryomen Sukuna is just as frustrated on the other side of the world. No, maybe not just frustrated. Since his spikes are getting everywhere.

The volleyball slams against the court floor with such vicious precision that it echoes like a gunshot, ricocheting off the walls in a wild blur of movement.

Coaches flinch. Teammates keep their distance. Balls aren’t just being served. It was like they’re being launched like warheads, and everyone knows better than to say anything about it now.

Everyone except Vice Captain Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru stands just beyond the service line, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses still on like he’s at a beachside photo shoot and not inside a national Olympic training gym. His expression is unreadable, but even he knows something’s off.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t talk.

He trains. He spikes. He glares. He barely sleeps.

And it’s getting bad. Because he misses you. Because he hasn’t held or seen you in over a month at the very least. Because he hasn’t heard her voice since three time zones ago. And it was obvious to everyone that he was just upset.

His chest is tight. His lungs feel too small. Every part of his body is coiled with an energy that doesn’t know where to go. Except into the ball, into the court, into whatever’s in front of him that isn’t her.

Another spike. Another blur of motion. Another dull ache in his wrist. But that didn’t matter. He doesn’t care about that right now. He cares about being able to air his feelings. And probably hearing your voice later, if you pick up.

“You’re gonna fracture something, Captain!” Satoru finally calls, breaking the silence.

Sukuna says nothing, panting through his nose. He’s drenched in sweat. Muscles straining. Every vein on his arm is a live wire right now. He huffs a breath as he goes on and picks up another ball.

“Y’know, Mr. Lover Boy….” Satoru continues casually as he fixes his jacket. “Most people go for a walk or write sad poetry when they miss their fiancée. You? You look like you’re trying to kill the floor.”

Sukuna turns his back on him, fists clenched, shoulders rigid. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, or spoken to her in days.” he mutters, so low Satoru barely catches it. “Didn’t even get to call last night. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.”

His voice is rough. Like gravel dragged across asphalt. Like the exhaustion finally caught up to him. But that’s probably how it just is with his schedule.

He’s both in the National Team and in the V.League. Then there’s the training camps and the other stuff like the press. And it’s rinse and repeat, as always.

Satoru sighs and strolls over, dropping down into a squat like a coach babysitting a storm. “That’s rough, really.” he admits to him, still a bit playful. “Real tragic. Definitely calls for alcohol and sad jazz music.”

Sukuna’s jaw ticks. “We’re supposed to be planning our wedding, you know that?” he says after a long pause. “It’s been a year and a half. We haven’t even picked a damn date.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to offer empty platitudes. “She’s got this new rocket system project. Her team’s finally getting funding, which is good. She deserves it.”

“Hm, you said that the other day.”

Sukuna’s voice is softer now, but bitter–edged. “But every time we try to plan anything….anything and absolutely anything, something comes up. Her lectures. Our training camp. Her research. The World Cup qualifiers. Another damn seminar or match or trip across the globe.”

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Satoru says gently.

“She doesn’t say it, but I know it’s wearing on her too.” Sukuna looks down at his hands. The same hands that have sent balls flying like missiles, the same hands that haven’t been able to hold hers. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s putting everything on pause for me. Or that I’m putting her last.”

Satoru’s expression softens, sunglasses slipping down just enough for his eyes to show. “She wouldn’t stay if she felt that way.”

Sukuna finally meets his gaze. His voice is low, threaded with an ache he rarely lets show. “She’s the only thing I want more than this game.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Ryomen Sukuna, who loved volleyball with everything he was. Whose entire life has been volleyball since he was tall enough to touch the net. But he loved you more. He loved you more than volleyball. You were his life. You were his everything.

Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Then keep wanting her. But don’t burn the rest of your world down in the meantime. You’ll get back to her. Sooner than you think.”

But Sukuna’s heart is elsewhere. With you. Always with you. He dreams of the way you tug at your lab coat sleeves over your hands when you're tired.

The sound of your laugh through the phone when you’ve got your headset still on. The way you’d always try to make time, even when you couldn’t. Even when the world was pulling you in a thousand directions too.

He’d give up all of it in a heartbeat. He knew that. All the fame, the medals, the arenas, if it meant just waking up beside you every morning he has in this life, then he’d give it all up. No alarms. No training. Just you in his arms. Breathing soft against his chest. Home, in its purest form.

But he can’t. Not yet. So he breathes, barely.  And spikes another ball, like it’ll keep his heart from shattering. Sukuna’s next spike hits the far wall so hard it rattles the bleachers. It echoes loud and sharp, like the crack of something breaking. Satoru doesn’t flinch. He sighs, long and theatrical. 

“Well, that’s something.” he mutters, “He’s officially in full sad, long–distance lover mode. Talk–jutsu failed. We’re in phase two: Rage Despair.”

“Is that like a boss level, Gojo–san?” Itadori Yuuji asks, jogging over with a towel slung around his neck. His cheeks are pink from drills, hair stuck to his forehead, sweat still trailing down his temples. “Because he looks like he’s about to go feral.”

“Yuuji–kun.” Satoru turns to him, hands on hips. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Satoru grins, wide and devious. “Operation Cheer–Up–Sukuna–With–Sheer–Stupidity.”

Yuuji blinks. Then lights up like a puppy who just got the go-ahead to fetch. “YES.”

Before anyone can stop him, Itadori Yuuji barrels toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna like a human golden retriever missile, arms open for a completely uninvited hug. Sukuna glared at him as he saw him coming towards him.

“RYOMEN SUKUNAAAAAA!” he yells mid-run. “YOUR SOULMATE WOULD WANT YOU TO SMILE!!!”

Sukuna turns just as Yuuji launches at him. His first instinct is to side-step and deck him. His second instinct is still to deck him. But he hesitates just long enough for Yuuji to latch on, full koala-style, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs bracing like he’s riding a moving train.

“You smell like rage and heartbreak!” Yuuji wheezes against his chest. “Let it out, Captain!”

“I will kill you, Itadori!” Sukuna growls, trying to shake him off. “You best be fucking ready to do dive serves, you punk!”

“You need love!” Yuuji cries.

At the same time, Satoru pulls out a Bluetooth speaker from absolutely nowhere, presses play — and suddenly “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from Grease begins blaring through the gym. All the staff and coaching team were either about to laugh or disappointed. The rest of the team looks like they were used to this. 

“Oi, are you actually serious right now?” Fushiguro Megumi barks from the sideline, dropping his water bottle.

Nanami Kento walks in from the hallway, pauses at the doorway, and squints at the scene. Ryomen Sukuna dragging Itadori Yuuji across the court like a furious god with a clingy barnacle.

Gojo Satoru dramatically sings into a protein shaker. The ridiculously loud Grease soundtrack echoing like it’s karaoke night in hell. It was just not something that anyone can see everyday. And yet, this was the normal of the Japan National Volleyball Team.

“No, no.” Nanami says flatly, “No. Absolutely not.”

He marches toward the chaos with his usual calm menace. “Itadori–kun, get off him. Satoru, turn that off. This is a place of discipline. Not a high school musical.”

“Aw, come on, man!” Satoru whines back at them.“It’s a classic!”

“Sukuna doesn’t need musical numbers, Vice–Captain.” Megumi deadpans as he drags Yuuji off the fuming captain. “He needs peace and a phone call with his fiancée, probably followed by a ten–hour nap too.”

Yuuji flails dramatically in Megumi’s grip. “He needs love! Let the man feel things!”

“I am feeling things, you punks!” Sukuna growls, voice low and dangerous. “Like the urge to end your entire career.”

“You see?” Nanami says out loud. “This is what happens when you let emotions run unchecked. He needs focus. Structure. Calm.”

Sukuna, despite himself, lets out a sharp breath. Almost a laugh. Almost. “I need her, right now.” he mutters instead, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. “That’s it.”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat.

Megumi, releasing Yuuji with a shove, glances at him sidelong. “Then call her.”

Satoru grins. “Yeah. Do that. And then I’ll serenade her on speakerphone so she remembers how charming we are.”

“Try it, Gojo. I’m telling you it will not end well.” Sukuna mutters, grabbing his towel. “See how fast I put you through a wall.”

But there’s less venom in his voice now. And maybe, just maybe…. a flicker of peace behind his eyes. Because even halfway across the world, in a gym where every breath feels like a battle, he can still hear her voice in his head. And maybe, if he hurries through the cooldown, he’ll get to hear the real thing.

Sukuna sits on the bench, finally. Shoulders hunched, towel draped over his head like a ghost of defeat. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers threading into his hair as he exhales sharp through his nose.

He’s not broken, he knows he’s not. But god, he’s tired. Of the distance. Of the ache. Of pretending it doesn’t chip away at him every day.

Megumi hands him a water bottle without a word. It’s cold. Reliable. Exactly what you’d expect from him. Sukuna takes it, mutters, “Thanks.”

Nearby, Yuuji’s still pouting on the floor with a bruise forming where Sukuna elbowed him. “I was trying to be supportive, you know!” he mumbles. “Hugs are powerful.”

“They are, Itadori. We know.” Megumi replies blandly. “But not when they come from a hyperactive golden retriever on suicide watch.”

Yuuji gasps. “I am a comfort animal, I’ll have you know.”

“More like a feral street dog, with Gojo around.” Nanami mutters, adjusting his glasses as he heads toward the exit. “You two make it too much when you’re together.”

Satoru lounges next to Sukuna now, tossing a volleyball from hand to hand like the whole near–homicide was just another Tuesday. “You know…..” he says casually at you. “You could surprise her. Hop a flight, spend a day with her before qualifiers start. No press, no entourage, no distractions. Just you and the astrophysicist hottie of your dreams.”

Sukuna gives him a side–eye like he’s grown a second head. “You do know how training schedules work, right?”

Satoru shrugs. “Yeah. But I also know how you work. If you don’t see her soon, you’re gonna combust and take the rest of us with you. God help us, we might even lose a game and miss international spots if this keeps up.”

“He’s not wrong, Captain. Stupid as he is.” Megumi adds, already back to stretching. “You’re like a ticking emotional bomb right now.”

“I could forge some documents, you know.” Yuuji pipes up from the floor. “Like a fake conference about biomechanics in volleyball and propulsion—”

“Absolutely not.” Nanami cuts in from across the court without even looking back. “We’re not being fined by the FIVB because of that, Itadori–kun.”

“But come on!”

“We’re abiding by propriety. No other words.”

Sukuna’s quiet now. Still. Because the idea’s in his head. You’re probably in her lab right now, probably up to your ears in data and test simulations. Probably hasn’t eaten since noon. Probably sipping cold coffee because you’re too focused to remember it’s there. 

You’ll have a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even with the heater on, hair in a bun you forgot to redo, typing with that deep furrow in your brows you always get when you’re close to a breakthrough.

God, he wants to see you. He wants to hear you mumble something scientific he won’t understand and then laugh when he repeats it wrong. He wants to lean against your chair, press a kiss to your temple and feel the tension in your shoulders melt. He wants to hold your hand. Fall asleep beside you all day in your comfortable bed, for once.

He stands. “Where are you going?” Satoru asks, though there’s a smirk forming already.

“To shower, you punks.” Sukuna mutters, already walking. “Then maybe check flights.”

Yuuji gasps. “IS THIS A ROM–COM AIRPORT MONTAGE IN THE MAKING?”

Sukuna points at him without turning. “You say one more word and I’m dumping you in baggage claim.”

“Don’t worry, you can come back in two days, one day at most.” Gojo Satoru says with a beaming smile. “We can say you needed the break. So, don’t worry too much. Plus, I’m sure Yuuji–kun here can cover your spikes while you’re out.”

“I’d be honored to do it in the name of love, Captain, Vice–Captain!” Yuuji beams at them, blush echoing in his face. “Let’s go, Fushiguro! I need to practice some spikes!”

“Itadori, wait! Fuck, you’re shoe laces are untied!”

For some reason, he didn’t hear that. What mattered to him right now was that his heart already feels lighter. And somewhere, even across time zones and orbit paths and Olympic demands, you’ll be surely feeling that too.

Steam still clings to his skin when Ryomen Sukuna steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, hair wet and dripping onto the tile.

The exhaustion that weighed heavy on his shoulders during practice hasn’t disappeared, not completely, but it’s dulled now. It has softened at the edges like an ache he can almost bear.

He rubs the towel over his hair, muscles tense and jaw tight, still debating whether he should risk flying out or at least try to call again. And then his phone buzzes on the sink counter.

He doesn’t even bother drying his hands, just grabs it, breathless with the kind of hope that still manages to knock the air out of him.

It’s from you.

🧪🌌: “Just made instant ramen. No one to eat it with. Kinda dramatic of the universe, don’t you think?”

He stares at the screen. And for a long, quiet moment, his heart actually hurts. Not in the dramatic, movie-score way. In the real, gritty. It was like the ‘I’d give up gold medals and glory if it meant I could teleport into your kitchen right now’ kind of way.

Another buzz.

🧪🌌: “Don’t worry, I made two bowls. Yours is getting cold.”

He sinks down onto the bench, towel around his neck now, water still dripping down his back. For a man who could crush a ball at 130 km/h, his hands are shaking. It always is like that when it comes to you. 

👹: “I’ll eat it. Even if it’s cold.”

👹: “Save it for me.”

He stares at the screen for a second, then types again. This time slower, like the words are peeled straight from the ache inside his chest. In this moment, he feels like he could breathe again, even just a little bit.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.”

Your reply is instant.

🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’”

👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.”

He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words.

👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babe.”

There’s a pause. You were taking your time to reply to him once again. He stares at the screen, every second dragging like an eternity until the typing bubble finally appears. He blinks at your reply.

 🧪🌌: “Come home, Ryomen Sukuna. Even just for a couple hours. Let me kiss you and love you. Please.”

He lets the phone drop onto the bench beside him, chest rising with something like relief, something like need. And then he stands. He felt renewed, unstoppable. It was like nothing could hold him down now that you're waiting with ramen in hand and love in your voice.

Because cold noodles and long-distance calls weren’t meant to be the shape of your future. You were. And he was going to get on the next flight home. Even if it was just to eat that cold bowl of ramen while holding your hand under the dim kitchen light.

YOU RUSHED AS SOON AS YOU GOT HIS TEXT. You barely told your lab mates where you were going. Just a rushed sentence was left in a haste: “Cover for me, I have to pick up my fiancé.”

And then you were out the door, heart pounding like a reactor core, goggles still pushed up on your head, lab coat half off one shoulder. You could feel everything in you alive for the first time in weeks.

Hana yelled something like “GO MARRY HIM ALREADY!!!” as you ran down the hallway, and you think you heard Kenji dramatically play wedding bells through his phone speaker. You didn’t care.

Not when you were already halfway to the airport, biting down the grin on your face like it might escape and take flight without you. And then you see him. He didn’t pack much. He just brought his so little with him. He had to leave in two days, after all.

Through the arrival gates, in sweats and a hoodie and still somehow the most magnetic thing in the entire terminal. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic volleyball menace, shoulders hunched under the weight of sleep deprivation and a duffle bag, eyes locked on you like a man who’s been starved for years.

You drop your bag. He drops his. And when you run, you run. Straight into his arms, into the kind of kiss that knocks all the loneliness out of your lungs. You felt laughter bellow through your body, with him following.

“Hey, my love.” you murmur against his mouth. “You’re real.”

“I’d say pinch me, but I’ve been doing that all flight.” he mumbles into your hair. “You saved me some ramen?”

“Half of it.”

“Liar.”

You grin. “Okay, none of it.”

He laughs into your neck, voice low and raw, and holds you tighter like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. And then, while you’re still pressed into his chest, flushed and breathless and so deeply in love it almost hurts, you murmur it.

“Let’s get married.”

He stills. Pulls back just enough to look at you. You meet his gaze, steady and sure, eyes bright even in the cold artificial airport light. “Not next month. Not next season. Not when everything settles. Now.”

His brows raise slightly. “Like… now now?”

You nod. “I don’t care if I’m in my lab clothes and you’re in flip-flops. I just want to be your wife already. We can do the big wedding later, during the off-season, when your training calms down. When I’m not deep in grant applications or papers. But right now, I just…” you breathe, “I want to marry you. Today.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

And then, he grins.

Big. Wide. Unbelieving.

“You really mean that?”

“Dead serious.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, you are so lucky I look this good in sweatpants.”

You laugh, swat his chest, then tug him closer with fingers curled in his hoodie. “So, my love? Is that a yes?”

“Hell yes, babe.” he says, already pulling out his phone. “Let’s find the fastest courthouse and the slowest cab.”

And just like that, as the world rushes by in blurry foot traffic and airport announcements, you and Ryomen Sukuna make a decision that was never really a question. You’re getting married. Right now. No frills. No formalities. Just love, loud and impulsive and completely yours.

You ended up in a government office less than two hours later, still in your lab coat, with Ryomen Sukuna beside you in his travel hoodie and scuffed–up sneakers.

Both of you were flushed with adrenaline, sleep-deprived, and radiating that wild, half–delirious joy that only comes when two people finally give in to the gravity between them.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. The walls were horribly beige. The seats were squeaky and plastic. A toddler was crying somewhere in the background and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a glitch in a simulation.

But your beloved Sukuna was holding your hand.

And that was all that mattered.

This was all you could ever want.

He kept sneaking glances at you while you filled out the paperwork, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Like at any second, you’d change your mind and vanish back into the lab, sucked up by equations and theories and spaceflight mechanisms.

But you didn’t. You squeezed his hand instead. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered, voice hoarse from flying and feeling too much.

You turned toward him, eyes glassy but steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, my love.”

His throat worked around a quiet swallow. Then: “I love you too.”

You signed your names.

Handed over your IDs.

And when the officiant finally called you up and asked, “Do you take each other—” you didn’t even wait for the full sentence. Your yeses overlapped, rushed and breathless, like neither of you could wait another second.

There were no rings. No music. No fancy outfits or curated vows. Just the sound of your heart thudding in your chest and the feeling of Sukuna’s hand trembling ever so slightly as he slid a makeshift band, his silver thumb ring, onto your finger until you got something more permanent.

It was messy. It was spontaneous.

It was perfect.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Afterward, he kissed you outside the courthouse under gray city clouds, holding your cheeks in his hands like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. You were just laughing, happily against the tenderness of his warm skin.

“We’re married, my love.” you said, stunned.

“We’re married.” he echoed, forehead resting against yours, breath caught between laughter and awe. “Wow.”

You ended up eating convenience store ramen in the backseat of a rideshare, legs tangled together, laughing with your mouths full like you were teenagers again. You fed him from your cup. He pretended not to burn his tongue. 

And when he leaned back and looked at you, really looked at you. It wasn’t the Olympic athlete who stared at you. It was Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband. The one you knew was the love of your life. Your beloved one and only.

“Okay, okay.” he said, mouth tugging up in that crooked grin. “Big wedding after the league. Deal?”

You nodded, cheeks hot and full of stars. “Yeah. With a venue and guests and upgraded rings this time.”

“And cake.”

“And fireworks.”

“And you in a real dress this time.”

You reached for another bite of ramen and grinned. “I dunno. You kinda like the lab coat.”

He groaned, collapsing dramatically into the seat. “God, I married a nerd.”

You turned toward him, your heart finally quiet, finally full. 

“Yeah.” you said. “You did.”

He laughs for a moment. When he calms down, he finds himself leaning close to you and kisses you with all his heart. This time as your husband, right there in a cab filled with instant noodles and laughter and the quiet, steady hum of forever.

IT WAS INSANE. The crowd is deafening. The overseas lights are blinding, white-hot and cinematic as the announcer calls Ryomen Sukuna’s name and the stadium roars like it’s shaking the foundation of the earth. 

He walks out of the tunnel with his signature swagger, jaw tight, warm-up jacket half-zipped, the captain’s patch sharp against his arm. He’s calm. Focused. Unshakeable. More than usual. Something’s different. Very different.

The people in the crowd began to notice it before the cameras did. Before the commentators do. Before even Vice Captain Gojo Satoru, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a lollipop between his teeth, leans forward slightly and mutters with a grin. “Oh, look at that.”

It’s small. Just a glint.

But unmistakable.

It was a bright shining ring.

Plain, silver, worn on his left hand.

For a second, the crowd is silent. It’s like the whole stadium collectively holds its breath, squinting as Ryomen Sukuna stretches out his fingers, flexing them as he preps his stance. There it is again. It was a shimmer of metal against calloused skin, just below his knuckles.

“Is that…?” someone whispers from the VIP box.

“No way fucking way—"

The commentator nearly chokes on his mic. “Wait—wait, do we have confirmation that that’s—?”

He doesn’t say it. But everyone’s thinking the same thing. Ryomen Sukuna was married. And as he takes his place by the net, tossing the ball with deadly precision, his eyes flick up, not at the court, not at the crowd but at you.

Seated just behind the bench in a crisp jacket, your hair pinned back lazily, badge still clipped to your belt like you came here straight from the lab. Which, in a way, you did.

You flew in two hours before the match started, thanks to a miraculous two–day leave and Haruki nearly forging an emergency form just to make it happen.

Ryomen Sukuna catches your bright eyes and grins, subtle but real. Then, as casually as if it were part of his routine, he walks toward you during warmups, slipping the ring from his finger. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t explain. 

He just approaches the barrier separating the court from the sidelines, hand outstretched. You stand up, breath caught in your throat. And when he places the ring in your palm, his fingers linger over yours like a promise.

“Hold this for me, yeah?” he murmurs low, so only you can hear.

You nod, fingers curling around the warmth of his wedding band. “Always.”

He smirks. “If I lose this match, it’s your fault.”

You smile, teasing, “If you win, I get the credit.”

“Deal, babe.” he breathes, leaning in close just enough to brush his forehead to yours. “....My wife.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Go do your thing, my love. My husband.”

And then he’s gone, with a grin that could never be wiped from his face ever again. 

Back on the court. Back in his element. The game starts, and it’s brutal. Fast. Electric. Ryomen Sukuna spikes like he’s got fire in his veins and gravity’s got nothing on him. Every serve is a message. Every point, a love letter sent from across oceans and time zones.

But that ring, that ring is safe with you. Pressed to your heart, warm in your hand like the echo of his pulse. And every time he scores, every time the crowd loses its mind over the King of the Court.

Your husband giddily glances at you, just for a second. Because the whole world might be watching him now, but he only ever plays for one. And you know who it was.

The final whistle blows, and the stadium erupts. The crowd is a storm of cheers, roars, and flashing lights, but amidst it all, the most intense sound Sukuna hears is the pounding of his own heart.

The adrenaline is still rushing through him, every muscle humming with energy as he pulls off his jersey and throws it to the side. He’s sweaty, bruised, and panting but the grin on his face says everything.

They’ve won. They’re in the semi–finals of the World Cup. He stands at the edge of the court, fists raised to the sky, basking in the electric atmosphere. His team is all around him, celebrating, high���fives and back slaps, but Sukuna’s eyes? 

They’re already searching for you. He doesn’t need to look long. You’re there, right in the front row of the stands, looking at him with that warm, steady gaze that’s always been his home.

His heart shifts. The crowd might be screaming his name, but there’s only one person he’s looking at. A reporter catches his attention as they move in for the first interview.

“Sukuna, congratulations on the victory! Amazing performance tonight! You’ve led your team into the semi-finals — how does that feel?” the interviewer asks, microphone outstretched, camera flashing.

He grins again, though it’s different this time. Not the typical cocky. ‘I’m untouchable’ grin. This one’s softer. Real.

“Feels like we’re one step closer to the real prize.” he answers, voice cool, collected. “But you know…” He pauses, glancing over at the crowd, catching your eye again. “It’s always worth more when the right person is watching.”

The interviewer blinks, confused, and the camera operator swivels to follow his line of sight. “Ah….” the interviewer says with a raised brow. “Is that—? That’s your wife?”

Sukuna’s smirk returns, a devilish edge creeping back into it. He nods, a single motion that sends the reporters scrambling to adjust. The camera zooms in on you as you wave back at him, smiling.

Your hand still holding his ring like a token, your face a picture of pride. In that same hand, your own wedding band was present with your engagement ring.

“That’s her, everyone.” he says, the words surprisingly quiet, but they carry more weight than the roar of the stadium. “I promised her I’d be back for her ramen. So I did come back.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd catches on. Laughter and gasps ripple through the reporters, murmurs and shock sweeping through the air. Sukuna, the ever–intense, world-renowned athlete, has just casually dropped that he’s married.

“You’re married?” the interviewer asks, genuinely taken aback. “Since when? How did we miss that?”

Sukuna shrugs nonchalantly, “Two days ago. A bit spontaneous, but when you know, you know.” He’s almost too cool about it, though there’s a softness to his voice that gives away how much it really means to him. “This game… this whole journey? The merry go round of life, of everything, doesn’t matter without her.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder. “And the ring?” the reporter asks, now genuinely curious. “Why wear it in the match? You took it off before the main bout, but you still wore it. Why?”

“I wear it because she holds the game for me,” he says quietly, though the words carry in the microphone, clear and true. “She’s my anchor. Keeps me grounded, keeps me sane. So yeah, I’ll wear it every time I step onto this court. She’s got my back. Always.”

The camera pans to you in the crowd once more, this time catching your reaction. You blushed hard, clearly overwhelmed by the attention, but you hold up his ring in your hand like a silent promise.

Sukuna catches your gaze again and, for just a moment, the world quiets down. The noise of the stadium, the flashing cameras, the cheers of the fans. Everything fades. It’s just him. And you. The way it’s always been. And then the interview continues, but his focus is only on you.

When it’s finally over, and he’s walking off the court, his teammates high-fiving him and calling out congratulations, he spots you at the exits to the back stage rooms.

You’re already standing, pushing through the crowd, and he’s there in an instant, his steps purposeful and quick. He’s still sweating from the match, still in his jersey, but nothing’s more important right now than getting to you.

You barely have time to meet him halfway before he’s pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing against your temple, his breath fast and heated, still catching up with the victory and the emotions all swirling around him.

“We’re in the semi-finals, wife of mine.” he whispers, grinning. “It’s gonna be amazing!”

You smile, gazing up at him. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“You better be, babe.” he says, his tone playful but genuine, eyes sparkling. “Next stop, finals. Then we’ll get that celebration.”

You laugh, bright eyes softening as you glance at the ring still safely cradled in your palm. “And then we can plan our real wedding. Just the way we want it.”

Sukuna leans in, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief, quiet moment. “I think the ‘real wedding’ has already started, don’t you think?”

You nod, your fingers curling around his hand, where the ring once rested. It’s just the beginning. The semi-finals are just a step on the way. But you and him? You’re already winners. And that, above all else, is the prize.

epilogue 

The day the statement went live, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. It was carefully calculated, perfectly timed. The World Cup season had come to a close, and the volleyball world was already moving on to the next tournament, the next match. 

But for Ryomen Sukuna and you, it was a different story. You both knew that the media storm was coming. The moment was too significant to let slip by.

So, you’d crafted a statement and not just a post, but something real. Something that would speak to everyone about the choices you’d made, the life you were choosing to live together.

It had taken a little longer than expected. Between the match finals and the whirlwind of excitement after Sukuna’s performance, you both finally found a quiet moment to put it together. The statement would go live at the same time, both on your accounts — a simultaneous declaration that would make waves.

[ Sukuna's Instagram Post : ]

The caption was simple, a few words that carried so much weight. He posted it with a picture of the two of you from the day after the World Cup finals.

The two of you standing side by side, laughing, relaxed, far from the intensity of the courts and the public eye. Your smile was soft, his grin was wild and carefree.

“Hello, this is the Japan National Volleyball Team Captain, Ryomen Sukuna.

For the past several years, my life has been defined by training, by competition, and by a relentless drive to be the best.

But none of that means anything without the people who support you. Without the person who truly makes the journey worth it. 

My incredible and loving wife, who’s been my backbone, my partner, and my everything for almost all of our lives.

Today, I’m announcing the effectivity of my break from the Volleyball field in order to have some adequate rest and focus on my personal life.

A break from the national team, from the spotlight, and from the game I love, to focus on what truly matters — her and us. Our marriage. And of course, our beloved dog.

I’ll be back, stronger than ever. But for now, I’m going to be the husband I promised to be all those years ago.

Thank you for all your support, not only for me but also for my beloved wife. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for respecting this decision.”

[ Your Instagram Post : ]

You followed the post up almost immediately, a little more formal, but still deeply personal. The photo you chose was one taken earlier that morning, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You both were leaning against the window in your shared apartment. The light from the early morning sun illuminated both of your faces, your eyes soft, your hearts content in each other’s company.

“Hello, this is astrophysicist of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, Ryomen [name].

After supporting my husband at the World Cup, it became more than clear that my work, my research, and everything else I’ve dedicated my life to doesn’t matter nearly as much as the person standing next to me.

I’ve spent countless hours in the lab, in meetings, in papers, all for the sake of progress. Doing what I can for our country and continuing my passions.

But today, I’m choosing progress of a different kind in my life. Ryomen Sukuna, my husband, my partner, the love of my life, have decided that we deserve some time for us to build something beautiful with this time.

I will be stepping away from my research and academic work for the foreseeable future to focus on resting and enjoying the beginning of our beautiful marriage.

This is a break I’ve been waiting for, and one I’m so grateful to take. Thank you for supporting me in this decision.”

As soon as you both posted, the world’s attention shifted. The responses came flooding in, and it didn’t take long for the media to catch up to the news. Headlines erupted from every corner of the internet.

“Olympic Star Ryomen Sukuna Steps Away From National Team for Personal Time”

“Breaking: Award–Winning Astrophysicist Ryomen [name] Takes Hiatus to Focus on Marriage” 

“Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen [name]: Power Couple Taking a Break from Their Respective Careers”

It was unprecedented. No one had expected it. No one had ever seen athletes or academics alike step away from their careers at the peak of their success, especially after such a massive season.

Fans were stunned, others were supportive, and some were even more curious than ever about the couple who had kept their relationship so private, so guarded, up until now.

And then the follow–up began. Interviews with close friends and teammates started popping up. The bright eyed Gojo Satoru, ever the wise and eccentric vice–captain, was the first to speak out about the happy news.

“I can’t blame him. The man’s been running on fumes for years. And [name]? She’s been working like a machine, too. It’s about time they take a breath, enjoy life a little. I told him after the finals to take a damn break, and I’m glad our beloved Captain finally listened!” Gojo Satoru laughed in an interview with a sports outlet.

“Yeah, everyone’s talking about how he’s taking a break from the sport, but… he’s been juggling this whole marriage thing for a while.” Itadori Yuuji added when he was asked by a local news outlet. “He’s been way more chill lately. I think it’s the wife effect. Everyone needs balance in their life.”

Meanwhile when the Astrophysics department of the NAOJ were interviewed about this situation at a recent project you had finished together by the press, Keiji was the one who stepped in and spoke for everyone.

"It's important that Ryomen–sensei gets some time to just enjoy being married right now." Keiji smiled, leaning into the microphone. "Ryomen–sensei's worked incredibly for the past few years without any break whatsoever. This is the only time she's asked. Someone with such incredible contributions to the field like herself should get the chance to just relax too. Congratulations to Ryomen–sensei and her husband!"

Hana sent you a message in the middle of all the press: “You two are seriously the most chaotic but adorable couple ever. You deserve this break more than anyone I know. Have fun with it! You earned it. Me, Haruki and Keiji are cheering you on!”

The reporters were relentless, asking about future plans. Was Sukuna leaving for good? Would you ever return to the lab full–time? But you and Sukuna, in your quiet way, just smiled at the chaos from your apartment, reading the headlines side by side.

It wasn’t about what the world expected. It wasn’t about making any more headlines. It was about what you both had decided. To take the time to truly be together.

A few days later, as the media storm began to settle, Sukuna took your hand as you sat together on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “You know, babe, we’ve got all the time in the world now. So... when should we take our honeymoon?”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “When you’re ready to let the press calm down a bit. I think we’ve given them enough for now.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, my lovely wife.” He smirked, his scarlet eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m just happy to spend everyday with you.”

And in that moment, as the world calmed down around you, you realized that this was the true victory. It was not the World Cup, not the research papers, not the games or the acclaim. It was simply being together. And for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

You looked up at Sukuna, catching his gaze. “Let’s take it one day at a time. Together, my love.”

He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Deal, wife. Let’s take it all in.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

aphrodisiac

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, stepbro!rafe, stepcest, drugging, noncon/dubcon, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, female receiving oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v sex, pregnancy, somnophilia, male masturbation, bit of voyeurism?, mention of plan b, reader is 19 (rafe is like 20/21 but its not explicitly said)

“hey, sis.” rafe calls from the bottom of the stairs. you peak your head out of your room, curls swaying as you look at him. “i made you dinner.” “oh, you did!” you squeal, bounding down the stairs to fall into rafe arms, giving him a big hug as he spins you. “you’re the best step brother ever!”

rafe loves your reaction. something as simple as him preparing some food for you has you hugging and thanking him incessantly, a big smile on your face, so appreciated of the little act. 

“no problem, sis. you’ll eat with me right?” rafe asks, having already placed the meal in the dining room, his plate at the head of the table, yours right next to him. he didn’t want to mix up whose was whose, for reasons you didn’t know yet.

“of course.” you nod, letting rafe interlace your fingers together as he leads you towards the dining room. you look at your place already set, another grin coming to your face. rafe made you soup and already got a big glass of water for you.

“thank you so much.” you hug rafe before sitting down, not realizing how much having your body pressed against his is affecting him.

“of course, bunny.” rafe says, leaning over the side of the table to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, not missing the way a blush comes to your cheeks.

you stir the soup before bringing the spoon to your mouth, blowing on it before taking a sip. “oh my gosh, rafey!” you smile at your brother. “this is so good!”

“im glad, honey.” rafe says, patting your thigh under the table before he works on his meal as well, letting out a breath of relief when you couldn’t taste what he had slipped in. “so, tell me about your day.”

“ugh, well i got into a fight with tiffy…” you begin to recount the details as you eat, not noticing that one of rafes hands stays underneath the table, just out of view as he grinds his hand down against his crotch, not able to control his cock when he’s around you, even your sweet little voice just explaining the drama of your day has him rock hard.

you don’t notice as rafes hand starts to jack up and down, his shoulder barely moving, his cock now free from his pants, praying he cums before you finish your soup, glad that you’re guzzling it all down. he wasn’t sure how much to put in, the secret ingredient he added just to yours. he wanted to make sure it took effect, but at the same time didn’t want to make you pass out.

“and then i took a shower.” you shrug. “boring, i didn’t do anything special. just shaved my legs and stuff. i did do a hair mask actually.” you touch over your curls, hoping they look a little shinier than normal.

“looks good.” rafe says, his voice hoarse, like he’s straining, and you make a weird face for a split second, trying to decipher if something is wrong before you shrug it off, immediately returning to recounting your day. “but i did use this new moisturizer all over, and it smells sooo good. like strawberries mixed with vanilla. just delicious.” you let out a small moan when describing the scent, not even realizing that rafe jolts in his seat, cumming into his hand as he bites his lip hard, barely holding back his noises.

“not as good as this soup though, rafey. thank you sooo much.” you reach over, rubbing your hand over his bicep. rafe quickly tucks himself back into his shorts, letting out an awkward cough.

“its no problem, really.” he shrugs. he feels a little guilty. you're so appreciative, and everything he’s doing has ulterior motives, but then you smile at him, and rafes cock pulses in his pants, and the bit of guilt goes out the window.

--

you sway towards the bed, wondering if you are coming down with something, your body warm, skin sweaty. you have already put on a pair of short pajamas, opting to skip the long set you usually like due to how hot you are.

you flop down on top of the covers, fanning yourself. you close your eyes, trying to sleep, but there's so much heat coming from you, especially between your legs.

“ugh!” you let out a groan, tugging your pajama shirt off to leave you in a sports bra, your shorts the next to go. you toss them off the bed and lay back, feeling like you can see your heartbeat through your skin.

you try turning to the side, hoping switching positions would make you fall asleep, but as your eyes close, so do your thighs, clenching them together as you grind back and forth, a delicious amount of pressure on your privates.

you quickly realize what you are doing and flip onto your back, panting heavily. you reach slowly between your legs. you've never masturbated before, but you've heard from your friends and movies what it is, so you cautiously rub a singular finger over top of your underwear when you suddenly press over a part of you that makes your entire body jolt, a moan forcing its way out of your mouth.

you try rubbing harder, focusing on the spot. you aren't even aware of the noises falling from your lips as your hand quickens, gasping out when you realize that your underwear is wet.

you've never felt the weird slickness between your legs before, but it helps your underwear rub easier over your skin, so you ignore it and continue.

before you realize what is happening, a damn breaks and a high spreads throughout your body. you scream out, limbs shaking as you rub yourself, realizing halfway through that this must be an orgasm.

you physically jolt off the bed when you realize that you just screamed out loud. it was only you and rafe in the house, everyone else gone for a weekend trip, but he must have heard you, his room right across the hall from yours, but you have more pressing issues as the orgasm did nothing to calm you down, immediately beginning to rub between your legs again.

you slide your shaky legs off the bed, knowing this isn't normal, the way your body is working. you must be sick, ill. you stumble out of your room and slam your body into rafes door, not caring that you fell into the wood, not when it's so cool and decreasing your temperature.

“sis?” rafe opens the door, and you quite literally fall into his arms.

“some… somethings wrong, rafe.” you pant, hands gripping at his shoulders as he holds you up.

“come in, come in.” rafe says, pulling you further into the room, kicking his door behind you. rafe maneuvers you to the bed, and the second you're sat down on the edge, your thighs are clenched together.

“i-i feel really weird. somethings wrong with my body i don't know, help me please.” you sob, chest rising and falling quickly.

“okay, okay.” rafe says, somehow not seeming surprised about the state you're in. 

rafe places a hand on your shoulder, and you cry out from the touch, feeling like your body is on fire.

“i must have ate something bad or-” you pause mid sentence, realization sinking in. you look to rafe with wide eyes. “what did you do?”

“come on sissy, let me help you out.” rafes thumb sweeps over your skin, forcing a shiver through your body.

“rafe.” you say cautiously, but it turns into a whine when he tugs on the strap of your sports bra.

“it's okay.” rafe says so softly. “im just taking care of you.” rafe brings his other hand to your torso, grabbing the bottom of your bra and pulling it over your head, your arms too weak to do anything but rise up and let him take it off.

you know you should cover your chest, but it feels so good to have your nipples exposed to the cold air as you let out a low moan. rafe pushes your shoulders back, and you fall against the bed without even trying to hold yourself up.

“such gorgeous tits, sis.” rafe leans over your body, hands coming to grip your chest, palms rubbing against your nipples.

“p-please.” you beg. “you're my brother.”

“just your step brother.” rafe bites back. “and i know you'd want me if your mom hadn't married my dad. i just needed to slip a little something into your soup to help you along.”

rafe isn't wrong, of course you find him attractive, but you did everything in your power to set that aside and truly see him as a brother, even if you didn't meet until well into your teens.

“you drugged me?” you squeal, pushing your chest into his hands as he massages his fingers into your plump chest, putting enough pressure to keep you down, not that you’re truly resisting.

“just a little aphrodisiac.” rafe glances down between your legs, your underwear completely soaked. “clearly it worked.” “just… just make me stop feeling like this.” you say quietly, ashamed of what you are asking for.

“yeah?” rafe smirks, immediately starting to move, pulling his shirt off and tossing it away. “gonna fuck you so good, sis.”

“you can’t tell anyone.” you remind rafe, even as your eyes gloss over at seeing his muscles. you sit up suddenly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you kiss him. you moan against his mouth, pulling him onto the bed before flipping so you’re on top. you make out with rafe, truly not sure if you’re even doing a good job, you’ve never taken anything this far with a guy before.

you grind your hips down over rafes crotch, feeling how hard he is beneath his sweatpants. whatever rafe put in your soup makes it for too easy for you to cum as you already feel your high building again, especially when rafe raises his hands to play with your nipples, pinching and flicking at them while you buck your hips into his.

you pull away from rafes kiss with a squeal as you cum, your knees pressing together around rafes hips.

“holy shit, that was hot.” rafe smiles up at you, a toothy grin that has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“just help me, please.” you beg. rafe nods, flipping you over onto the bed. you shuck your underwear off as he takes off his sweats, frowning when he's still covered by his underwear.

“ive wanted to taste you for so long-” rafe says, shoving your legs open as he lays in between them, his eyes on your soaked cunt.

“rafe, what are you gonna do-ooooh!” you shout as rafe lurches forward, burying his head between your legs. his tongue licks long stripes through your folds, lapping up all of your juices.

“never got head before?” rafe smirks, bringing a finger to your hole, teasing it by simply circling around.

“no, never done anything with a guy before.” you admit shyly.

“aww, baby.” rafe pouts up at you. “i didn’t know you were a virgin. that almost makes me feel bad about this.” rafes feeling doesn’t last long as his tongue is quickly back on your cunt, this time flicking directly over your clit.

you bring your hands to his hair, holding his face into your pussy as you grind your hips. rafe sucks your bud into his mouth the same time his finger plunges into you, forcing out yet another orgasm that has you screaming so loud you’re concerned the neighbors would hear.

“so, so good.” you whine, your clit feeling oversensitive but still filled with need as rafe continues licking and sucking, his finger now thrusting in and out of you.

“can make you feel like this all the time, sis. gonna let me fuck you after tonight right?” rafe asks, barely pulling away from you to speak, feeling the vibrations from his mouth on your pussy.

you don’t answer right away. you feel like you can’t truly give an answer, not when you are so turned on that you feel like you could explode, not as his finger keeps pumping inside of you.

“baby sis?” rafe looks up at you, waiting for an answer. you pull your lip between your teeth, trying to formulate thoughts. “or i can stop right now. if you don’t want to keep fucking me then you don’t need me tonight.”

“no, no, no!” you cry out as rafes finger stops moving. “i’ll keep sleeping with you just-just fucking move! make me cum again!”

rafe sucks your clit into his mouth as he forces another finger in, your walls tight around him but so slick he can move easily. rafe has to press his hips into the mattress as you cum again, giving some relief to his cock.

“fuck, how long until it wears off?” you cry out as your clit pulses.

rafe sits back, wiping his mouth against your thigh to clean his chin. “probably will feel better once i fuck you.” rafe says, in truth he’s not sure.

“fuck me then.” you beg, body squirming against the mattress, sweat leaking from your skin.

rafe nods, pulling his fingers out and kneeling between your legs. he pauses briefly before pulling his underwear off and tossing them away. “i can put a condom on but it probably won’t feel as good.” “just… just buy me a plan b tomorrow, okay? need you to cum in me, i think it’ll help.” you swallow nervously, knowing it’s a mistake, not just letting a guy fuck you raw, but your step brother.

rafe nods, draping his body over yours, knowing you are far too weak for any other position, your limbs jelly from the drugs and the orgasms. rafe reaches down, lining his cock up with your entrance. he pushes in slowly, watching your face contort in pleasure.

once he’s all the way seated inside of you, rafe feels your cunt squeeze around him rapidly, another orgasm being drawn out. you pant heavily, worried this will never end as rafe swings his hips out and then back in.

“is it-is it always this easy to cum?” you ask. they’ve all felt so good so far, but you are beyond overwhelmed.

“you’ve never cum before?” rafe asks, grunting as you raise your hips slightly, letting him sink in even deeper.

“not before tonight.” you admit, glancing down your body to see rafes cock entering you repeatedly, making another orgasm rise to the surface as you reach between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit as you cum hard.

“not always, baby. but i promise i’ll make you feel real good, even when you don’t have any aphrodisiacs.” rafe presses his lips against yours, but it’s not really a kiss, not when you can’t stop panting, your jaw slack and unable to close.

“did you take anything?” you question, realizing how hard rafes cock is, how easily he’s pounding into you.

“no, you are just that sexy, sis. i’ve wanted to get inside you for so long.” rafe grunts, making sure he thrusts as deep as possible every time.

“i-i think i’m gonna cum again!” you warn rafe, rubbing yourself to another orgasm, letting out a squeal as rafe struggles not to cum with you tightening around him, needing to get at least one more out of you before he bursts himself.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” rafe groans.

“cum in me rafe, please. i need your cum.” you whine, back sliding up and down the mattress as he fucks into you.

“yeah?” rafe smirks. “need your brothers cum, huh?” you know his dirty words are meant to tease you, but you can’t help agreeing. “yes, brother, please, please.”

rafe shifts his weight to one elbow, reaching down with his free hand to swat your fingers away from your clit, rubbing himself harshly, trying to get you to cum at the same time, hoping that will satisfy you.

“close.” rafe warns.

you let out a scream, back arching off the mattress as you cum, triggering rafes orgasm as he shoots his load inside of you, filling you up completely, rubbing you gently throughout your high before pulling away. rafes cock softens as he pulls out, flopping on his back onto the bed next to you.

you don’t even give him a second to breath, straddling rafes hips and trying to get his cock back inside of you, but rafe winces as his cum drips out of your cunt. “sis, stop. too sensitive.” he warns.

“i-i still need you though!” you argue. “you drugged me rafe, you have to help!” “here, come sit on my face.” rafe tugs at your hips until you are hovering over his mouth. rafe makes sure to only work his tongue against your clit, not wanting to taste his own cum, even as he feels it falling onto his chin and sliding down his neck.

rafe eats you out through five more orgasms until you can’t kneel above him any longer, flopping to the side.

“fuck me again, please.” you beg as rafe takes the blanket at wipes away his chin and chest.

“i can’t, i’m so fucking tired.” rafe wishes he could get it up, but its late, his body is exhausted, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“you can’t fall asleep and leave me like this!” you scream at rafe, tears falling down your cheeks.

“shh, here.” rafe reaches his hand out, sticking two fingers inside of your pussy, squelching in your wetness. he fingers you until he can’t move any longer, passing out. you continue to hump yourself on his fingers and rub your clit until the need lessens, the drugs begin to wear off, and you manage to pass out next to rafe just before sunset.

you wake up with a groan, muscles sore as you blink your eyes open, bed still covered in wetness.

“hey sis.” rafe says, sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, now dressed in his underwear.

“rafe.” you growl out. “you drugged me, you piece of shit!”

“hey, you certainly enjoyed yourself.” rafe argues back, locking his phone screen and tossing it away.

“fuck you!” you shout, launching yourself at your brother. rafe expects you to slap him, or scratch him, but not your lips as you press them against his.

“fuck me.” you ask. “i-i want to feel you when not drugged. you owe it to me. please, rafe.”

“oh baby.” rafe coos, not realizing what he just woke up inside of you. “you don’t have to beg me.”

--

“who did this to you?” your mother screams, ward looking just as concerned. “you’re still a teenager!” “i’m an adult!” you argue back.

“you’re nineteen! you still live at home, you have no job, no money! and now you’re pregnant?” 

“when i find who did this to you.” ward pipes up, an angry expression on your face, completing the rest of the sentence without even having to use words.

“just… go to your room while your stepdad and i talk. i don’t want to see your face right now.” your mother shoos you away.

any other time you would cry at her harsh words, and at disappointing your mom and step dad, but you know what is waiting for you in your room.

“they're pissed.” you pout, falling into rafes arms once your door is closed and locked behind you.

“a little bit longer, sissy. and then i’m getting us out of here. i know it sucks, but i need a couple more weeks to get the money, and then we are gone. anywhere in the world you want.” “tell me again.” you sigh, leaning your head against rafes chest, placing a hand on your stomach, your bump haven gotten to big to hide it anymore.

“just you. me. our baby. no one who knows we are step siblings. i steal the money to get us away, and then we make it legit. find jobs. get married. have more babies.”

you smile up at rafe, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

“i…” you whisper, knowing how dangerous of a time this is for you two getting caught. “i want you again.” rafe smiles. “that baby inside of you has you acting like you’re on that aphrodisiac again.”

“shut up.” you groan, rolling your eyes as you fall back into the bed, lifting your dress up to reveal you aren’t wearing any underwear. “we wouldn’t be going through this if you would have just bought me a plan b that next day like you were supposed to.”

“baby-” rafe shucks off his pants and underwear. “you spent all day riding my cock or begging for my mouth, even when the drugs wore off. i didn’t have any time!” “yeah, yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes. “just get inside of me.”

rafe smiles at you as he lines up with your entrance, sinking in with a quiet groan before leaning forward, feeling your baby bump press against his abs. “i love you, sis.”

“i love you too, brother.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk

[diejager]

I need one of the boys to drunkenly confess to the reader

Cw: getting shitfaced, drinking, alcohol, drunken confession, tell me if I missed any.

“I love you, darling,” he mumbled, his pretty Cupid bow curved into a pout, “You- hic! You know tha-t right?” 

You don’t know how it got to this, his words slurred and voice whiny, his pretty brown eyes dilated so wide that you would have thought he was crying if you didn’t smell the lingering taste of alcohol on his breath. It was supposed to be a short celebratory drink between colleagues before he was dropped home, curling into your arms and smothering you in peppering kisses, but it seemed like he threw away such caution out of the window and went wild with drinks, tequila perhaps. Your pretty boy was shitfaced. 

He slumped into you, leaning his entire weight on you when he crossed the threshold of your home, dragging his feet and mumbling sobbing confessions until the tip of his shoes kicked the curb and his knees gave up. You huffed with a slight strain, supporting him while you waved at Price, wishing him a safe drive after declining his help. All to save Kyle’s dignity after he spent hours whining and singing praises about you to his mates, gushing his deep and unconditional love for the spouse he had waiting at home. 

“I love you,” he moaned, nuzzling your skin, his nose brushing the bruised skin between your neck and shoulder, where he’d covered it with spotted kisses just last night, “Love you s-so much.”

You chuckled airily, shoulder shaking at his small confessions. Dragging him into the flat, his feet unsteadily moving behind him as he tried to walk, failing over and over again despite his persistence in walking beside you and smothering you in love. You found it endearing, his drunken confessions and sloppy kisses on your skin, his wandering hands trying to grasp at you on his shaky feet.

“I know, Kyle,” you smiled against his cheek, kissing the corner of his lips when you rounded the corner of the hall, “We’re married.”

Stumbling into bed, Kyle blinked blearily, staring down at you with an awed gleam. You could see stars dancing in his chocolate hues, wide and starry in such an knee-weakening adoration that made you fall further in love with the man you married months ago. You laughed at him, pushing him to the side and straddling his hips in a soft motion, easily switching your position with a man who was drunk out of his mind to forget you were married. 

“Yeah,” cradling his face between your face, you pressed your lips to his, a soft and tender kiss that made both of you sigh in contentment, “Yeah, we are.”

“My spouse,” he mumbled sleepily, his left hand rising to touch your face, his rough pads gently fluttering over your skin, “My beautiful spouse.”

Your diamond-tipped ring gleamed in moonlight, a brilliant beacon of your devotion to each other, a reminder of your shared vows. Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay; Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.(1)

1: quote from Where You Go(I Will Go) by alittlepunkcock 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[lindsay00000008]

Ghost x Fem!Reader

Part 1 (Next)

CW: panty-thief, suggestive fluff

DownBad!Simon Ghost Riley who just loves handling the frustrating, mundane, mildly-anxiety-inducing issues in JustAFriend!Reader’s life.

For a man who’s been through… everything, nothing phases him. Not the phone call to pressure your old landlord into giving you back your deposit, not the broken dryer and the giant pile of wet laundry that needs to be hung in increasingly ridiculous locations, not the stray cat birthing a mewling litter on your doorstep in the middle of winter, or the neighborhood’s package thief stealing your delivery of what may be something electric and flower-shaped.

If you didn’t know any better (you don’t), you’d say he gets a kick out of it, how easily he handled these things compared to you. His take-no-bullshit demeanor, coupled with the respect afforded to those who earn it, smooths things over fairly quickly with difficult people.

He’s handy and likes taking things apart — he’s sure you won’t miss the dusty lace panties he finds slipped under the dryer’s barrel when he bullies the metal frame open (they were your favorite, where on earth did they go??)

When the kittens are a few weeks old and Simon comes to visit with more supplies, they snuggle up under his chin as he slumps on the rug, the furious blush from your earlier teasing (“Daddy’s home!”) warming him from his cheeks to his toes and making him the most cozy spot in the room. He waves off the offer of a hot drink and tells you to “Open a window or sumin’, the lil’ bastards are smotherin’ me”.

When he catches the package thief red-handed on his way up to your door — a fourty-something woman who talks at him louder and meaner than anyone has in a long while — he gives his best impression of a bull at the edge of an unmarked field, making his territory known with a wild look rather than words. When he sets the package down on the kitchen counter, along with the ingredients for tonight’s Thursday Dinner Experiment, he prompts you to open it. “Wanna see what my hard work has earned ya.”

You slice the tape and pop open the cardboard before you remember — and slam the flaps back down. That has his attention. “Whatcha got there, lovie?” He crowds in behind you, looking over your shoulder and grinning, lopsided so you can only see the smirk on the left of his mouth when you turn your head to stammer, “uhh n-nothing, just this stupid book someone recommended me. Can’t let the gang know I fuck with hockey romance, haha.”

“Hockey, huh?” He huffs and leans his elbow on the counter, half of his body still behind you somehow. You pull the box close to your chest, hands shifting to best keep it closed.

“Lemme just take this to my room and we can start making-“

“You’d deprive a man of valuable literary experience?”

“No, nuh-uh,” you dance away as he grabs for it teasingly, fast enough to make you panic but not too fast you can’t get away. A play fight. Your pulse thrums fast in your chest, like it always does when he gets that calculating glint in his eye. It’s thrilling, the way his shoulders shift and settle low, and his touch comes gentle and fast, his face a terrifying mask with that piercing glint of playfulness just barely hidden. You usually love this game. But he cannot see this.

His hand rushes towards you as you skirt backwards into the living room, his fingers tangling in the tape hanging from the box. It tears away and you shriek a laugh at his efforts, leaving him with nothing but another opening as you twist to run to your room. But you don’t count on another opponent entering the ring: the rug — trundled up the stairs by the man himself, the previous one sacrificed to the God of Foster Cats — still new and curling at the edge.

He must not expect it either. Before you’ve fully turned you’re falling into the couch, catching his arm in a bid to save yourself. He goes down too, landing atop you. Your “Oomph”s mingle together in the suddenly still air. His big body makes it impossible to breathe until he lifts up on his arms and takes stock of the situation. He eyes snag on the box where it’s fallen, the shiny inner box and red packing grass spilled out on the rug. You attempt to wriggle out before he sees. Your legs are firmly pinned between his own. You wait for him to laugh.

“Well that,” he breathes, not a giggle in sight. He settles his eyes on you with a look of hot reproach. “That is not a book.”

He hopes it’s broken. That’s a problem of yours he’d love to have a hand in solving.

(Next)

[jayniks]

hii!! im the same anon from the jongseob yandere req!! I loved your writing 🥺

could you do something nsfw with cnc roleplay? jongseob being the submissive one...

(can I be bunny anon? 🐇)

Sure, i'll do my anon list ^^ hope you like it, I tried my best (1st fully smut i do)

WC . 0.9k

PAIRING . Idol!jongseob x fembody!reader

WARNINGS . Cnc, tied up, sub!jongseob, wet dream, sleep, lmk if i'm missing something, not so heavy smut but it has smut so MDNI!!

MASTERLIST . soon . . .

ANON LIST . soon . . .

🌊 ⏝⠀ ⚓️ ㅤ५‌ ۟ 𓂂 ꒰੭

"Fuck baby, slow it down" Seob said as you bounced quickly on his cock. You stopped for a moment to caress his chest and take advantage of grinding a little on his pelvis. You heard a growl come out that he had been suppressing since you started riding him. He tried to move so he could caress you back but his hands were tied to the bed frame.

You ran your thumb over his lips so he could suck on them as you slowly rocked on his already overstimulated cock. You started to speed up your movements to tease him a little, but you were surprised that──

You woke up quite agitated and sweaty. The overexcitement made you sit up suddenly on the bed, while you tried to regulate your breathing so as not to wake your boyfriend. Oh, right, your boyfriend. He lay sleeping peacefully, unaware of what his perfect girlfriend was dreaming about. He looked very hetereal sleeping there, his skin glowed from the faded rays of the moonlight that filtered through the window, he looked like an angel.

You caressed his soft cheeks (those on his face, but also those on his lower back), you could feel the warmth of his sleep. You began to wander your hands over his naked torso, touching every lump there was. Well, since we're on the subject of bulges, it didn't take you long to reach the bulge inside his boxers. It was hard, yes, but not as hard as an erection due to horniess, it was just from something in the morning, a morning wood. You began to slowly pump him inside the thin fabric while you watched his face, which was still intact. You licked your lips and got inside the sheets, going down a little until you reached his crotch.

There, you tugged his boxers, freeing his cock that was still a little flaccid. You licked from his balls to the tip, which you spit out before putting it in your mouth. You started to bob your head up and down slowly to look his expressions. His eyebrows had drawn together a little as his mouth opened in an 'o' shape to release small, weak hoarse moans. These were music to your ears, one that you didn't mind listening to all night.

Once his cock was erect enough, you climbed on top of him. There was so much you could do to that innocent face and body, you didn't know where to start, so you decided to get ready to take his cock. You grabbed his hand delicately and inserted 2 of his fingers inside you, pumping them from the inside out. After a while, you got tired of moving his hand so you positioned it in a way that allowed you to bounce on top of it. Which you started doing, and because of the way it felt you had to start doing it more often.

When you felt lubricated enough, you grabbed a condom and slid it over his cock, jerking him off a little. You looked at him one last time before jumping his cock inside you. Maybe it wasn't a good idea, you let out a scream and he grunted as his body spasmed(? Idk the word) a little. You rocked slowly on his cock, biting his boxers to keep from letting out a moan. It was being quite difficult though, his cock was making its way inside you, opening your walls as if he were trying to push them away from lunging at him.

The difficulty increased when Seob didn't stop moving from the stimulation, after all, he was a sensitive boy. You didn't want to wake him up, you just wanted to relieve yourself, so you couldn't think of a better idea than to tie him up. His hands were tied behind his back, giving you the perfect view of his chest rising and falling as he breathed. Well, let's continue. You continued bouncing on his cock, but this time you were sitting with your knees resting on the bed while your elbows rested on Seob's knees.

Everything was going well, until Seob started to be more vocal. "Shit love, more, jump faster...", you immediately stopped, had he woken up? You snapped your fingers in front of his face to see if he would respond, but no, he was still counting sheeps. You sighed in relief and continued jumping, you knew Jong talked in his sleep but not at this level. You were already getting tired, so you decided to rub yourself, rubbing your clit with his pelvis.

Your boyfriend was letting out increasingly voluminous moans. You felt that knot in your center, you couldn't contain your moans anymore, you were praying that Seob would forgive you if he woke up because of your own sounds. You fell apart the second his tip collided with your cervix, giving it a kiss before you released your fluids, wetting his entire lower abdomen. That orgasm left you breathing hard, but your heart raced faster when you saw that your boyfriend was looking at you with teary eyes and his mouth slightly open.

You felt guilt course through your veins and immediately wrapped his head in your arms as you repeated "I'm sorry love" over and over again. You kissed his forehead repeatedly, the post-nut clarity had hit you pretty hard.

"Honey," Seob spoke, with that agitated tone, "why did you stop? I wasn't finish yet."

[sleepy-wyvern]

His Hummingbird (Miguel O'Hara x female!reader smut)

{Angsty smut oneshot}

Available: here on Tumblr and AO3

WC: ~2.2k [oneshot]

Synopsis: You're a human female who has a boyfriend from another dimension; Spider-Man 2099. Miguel visits your apartment late at night as a surprise after not seeing him for a week.

I HAD TO GET THIS IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD BEFORE I COULD FOCUS ON OTHER FICS IM SORRY ;-;

Inspirations: the song Hummingbird by Metro Bloomin and James Blake and you know the fang scene… man definitely bites 👀

A/N: If y’all want/request more I may write more, otherwise this is a one shot ❤️ leave a comment or reblog if you liked. 

Warnings/tags: Angst, Smut (18+ Minors DNI), hickies (lotsa biting), fingering, light begging from reader, p in v (condom), light male whimpering

Disclaimer: I borrowed my spanglish friend for some of the translations here. Feel free to send an ask or comment if something feels off.

Enjoy!

The moon shone bright through the heavy clouds as you wondered where your spider was. 

Fighting crime, defeating evil, saving lives, all nothing you could complain about. Another universe, another day, another “business trip.” He used that phrase to try and make you feel better but it couldn’t take away from the fact that one day he may not return. Perhaps if things went bad enough you wouldn’t ever be able to know what happened to him, just spending the rest of your life waiting for someone who would never return. You tried your best to shove the thought away as you fiddled with the window latch.

You pushed open the window widely to get whatever cool night air you could in your little city apartment. As the hot summer days neared closer you took solace in the cold rainy night. The sound of the rain and the city traffic was oddly comforting.

You turned and walked toward the kitchen sink opposite of the room figuring you'd at least try to get some chores done. It was a small-ish apartment the size of a hotel room really. The biggest room was the merged kitchen and living room. Still, it was familiar enough space for you to sense the presence behind you.

The moment you turned your back you heard the window blinds gently tap against the window pane; anyone else would’ve thought that had been the wind. Anyone else without a spider person lover anyways.

“Do spiders ever use the door?” You spoke without turning around, instead you turned the faucet on to do the dishes.

“You should start locking that window at night,” his gruff voice was directly behind you.

“Miguel,” you sighed, twisting the tap off before turning around.

It had been a week since his last visit, the longest ever since you started “seeing” each other. You hadn’t put a label on anything yet, what could you call a lover from another dimension that could never stay with you?

Every time you saw him after a prolonged period you were intimidated by how he stood over you. He hadn’t meant to be intimidating as his mask was already removed, yet it was hard to ignore his height and size of his build especially when he had to look down at you.

“Nobody can enter a 4th story window,” you smiled. “Just you.”

Despite that you were angry he was gone for so long your heart melted at the sight of his brown locks falling gracefully over his forehead. He wore his blue and red spider suit as he always did when traveling.

He wrapped his large arms around your waist, pulling you close into his hot embrace. He planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Te extrañé…” He trailed off as he pulled back to look into your eyes. 

He held his hands against your face when you eyed his bracelet; the thing that let him stay here with you without “glitching out.” It was a grim reminder of what could never be. Despite the comfort you got from his rough hands against your soft face, it made you sad. 

“I missed you too,” you sighed, overlapping his hand with your smaller one.

The bracelet was cool to the touch as you frowned. “Where have you been?” You scolded, “You told me you’d be back by Monday. It’s Friday!”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed furrowing his brows. “It’s work.”

“It always is,” You turn around putting your hands on the smooth countertop.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he offered, sounding sad and hopeful.

You knew he didn’t mean to make you worry or make you sad. You both wished things were different. It would make it so much easier. You knew though that if he could change things he would and you didn’t want to hold what was out of his control against him. It wasn’t his fault you were born in different worlds, different universes. It didn’t help that you weren’t a spider person either.

You felt his hands gently against your waist as he moved closer to you.

“I'm sorry." He sighed. "Mi pequeña colibrí…” he whispered into your ear. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck sending shivers down your body.

“Oh stop, you can’t use the español to make me feel better! No fair!” You laughed. 

He placed a kiss on your ear that tickled before you spun back around, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

“My spiderman,” You giggled as his look of concern melted into happiness. "I'm not mad at you. Just try to let me know if you'll be late next time."

The corner of his lips turned upward ever so slightly in relief. "I promise."

Another thing that was likely yours only; Miguel’s smile. When Jessica met you she was surprised you were even real. She warned you to not mention much of Miguel’s personal life activities to the other spider people but it was hard to remember. Once you accidentally mentioned the flowers on your table were from Miguel to Gwen she nearly fainted. You adored the way he treated you special even if you weren’t sure why he chose you. You could never be mad at him for something he couldn't control.

He brushed his thumbs in a circular motion against your waist as he held you. His dark eyes were full of love as he looked down at you. 

You ran your fingers back through his brown hair. He seemed to sigh beneath your touch, it was thrilling in a way to know he was comfortable enough around you to let his guard down. Nobody else could see Miguel the way you did.

“You need to stop being so stressed. Relax more.” You sighed bringing your fingers to his forehead. “Grumpy wrinkles.”

He chuckled low as he held you tightly. He brought his face down into your neck to inhale the sweet scent of your perfume that he loved so much.

“I know what helps with that,” his voice was deep and silky and fuck it made your body melt. 

You giggled as his sweet kisses turned into loving nibbles. He was careful to not hurt you with his fangs but he knew how much you loved his gentle biting. You had a hunch he loved it as much as you did. On top of that it’s been a week without it and damn you missed him.

You let his touch overwhelm you as he held you, softly biting against your delicate skin. His body tensed against you the moment you let out a small pleasurable gasp.

“Hm,” He huffed deeply as he pulled back. “I forgot my strength. I’m sorry, mi colibrí.”

He brought his fingers up to your neck, wiping away the wetness before examining the hickie left behind.

“That’s what makeup is for,” you reassured. “Now, you have a week to make up for…”

“No better time to start than now,” he knocked off the stack of papers that were laying on the countertop.

Before you could react he grabbed your hips, lifting you into the air. You let out a faint gasp as you wrapped your legs around him.

“Miguel!” You scolded as he smirked at you, placing you on the empty countertop space. “Naughty, what has become of you?” You teased him.

“You have become of me,” he pressed his hot lips against yours hungrily. 

He brought his hands around to the back of your head holding you close so he could kiss you deeply. It wasn’t long before you could feel his cool tongue against your lips. You opened your mouth letting him in, his cold mouth meeting your warm one.

You brought your hands to his shoulders feeling the fabric of his suit. Eagerly you moved your fingers to his back, grasping for the zipper. You rotated between feeling the muscles of his back and fumbling with the damn zipper making your kisses turn sloppy.

“Eager aren’t we?” He laughed low and deep in his throat, it wasn’t a mocking tone. In fact you knew he loved it. 

He shimmied his shoulders out of the suit and it took all of your power not to basically drool over him. You wasted no time bringing your hands to feel his hot skin, tracing your fingers lovingly over the scars on his chest.

You buried your fingers in his hair as your lips met again. The man loves to kiss you, almost as much as he loves to bite you. He took the opportunity to switch to biting your neck whenever you pulled back to breathe. 

He slowly brought his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, running his calloused fingers along your silky smooth torso. You separated from him only long enough to remove the pesky fabric of your top before diving back into him again.

You could feel the bulge in his underwear against your leg as he leaned forward to undo the clasp of your bra. He brought his large hands to your breasts lovingly cupping and massaging them. Goosebumps rose against his skin at the sound of your soft, lustful moans.

“More baby,” you whispered.

He brought his lips to your nipple, his hair tickling your chest. You tilted your head down letting yourself get lost in the scent of his shampoo while he planted wet kisses against your stiff nipple. His grabs on your body slowly turned more rough as you felt his teeth against your skin.

“More,” you demand. It’s been a week and damn you wanted him more than anything. 

He hooked his fingers underneath the soft fabric of your leggings and panties as you shimmied to help. Your body shivered as the fabric pooled to the floor. Miguel looked at your body with a mixture of awe and hunger- a deep lust filled hunger.

He brought his index and middle finger to your entrance, smiling when he felt how wet you were.

“You really did miss me huh, mi pequeña colibrí?” 

You nodded “mmm’, yes I did. Need you, Miguel.” You whined feeling him circle your entrance.

He wasn’t cruel to make you wait as he plunged his fingers in. Your back arched as you gasped, spreading your legs desperate for him deeper. Feeling his fingers arch against your walls and watching the movements of his wrist as he pleased you was intoxicating.

Still you wanted more.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered.

Your body whined when he stopped and pulled his fingers out. 

“What is it, cariño?” His voice purred. He brought his fingers to his lips, rolling his tongue over your sweetness.

“You,” your lip quivered as you shuddered from the cool apartment air. “Please.”

You knew this was a game he could normally play for a long time. Not today though, neither of you could handle it. Instead your heart raced as he nodded to the kitchen drawer where you kept the condoms since counter sex had become a more regular activity.

He brought his large, hard cock out of his boxers, stroking lightly. You swallowed at the sight wondering how you could ever take him.

He smirked at your expression “are you afraid?”

You shook your head, reaching your hands out to his broad shoulders trying to bring him closer. You fumbled with the condom, bringing your hands to his hot cock. He gasped lightly as your hands held him him, rolling the condom down over him.

He lined his tip against your entrance, soaking himself in your juices and teasing you just a little. 

“Are you ready?” He whispered and for the first time tonight you heard his voice start to shake.

You bit your lip as you nodded “I am.”

He slowly slid himself in as you let out a moan of tight, firey pressure. The moment he was fully inside you both let out a gasp; you both waited so long for this moment. You wrapped your arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck while you got used to the feeling of all of him inside. 

He waited for you to nod and give him the okay to continue. He planted a kiss on your cheek as he pulled out slightly before thrusting in again. You spread your legs further apart, moaning at the next deeper thrust. You grasped at the muscles of his back for an anchor.

“Just like that, cariño,” He whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He thrusted against, harder and faster as you felt your pleasure start to build. He kept a lovely, steady pace and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you reached your climax.

“Oh Miguel,” you moaned, making him shiver. “Baby, I’m close.”

You grasped at his back desperate to have more of him. His heavy breaths and grunts sent electricity through you while his cock pressed lovingly against that sweet spot.

“Don’t move,” his voice was a quiet whimper while you held him.

Fuck, hearing him whimper always sent you feral but you did your best to keep still while he pounded into your tight cunt. Your back arched as the waves of pleasure crashed down into a lovely orgasm. 

“You feel so good,” he whispered in your ear. 

You knew he was close and you wrapped your legs around him not letting him go. 

“I’m, I’m-“ his voice broke off as you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

His arms held you tightly to him as you were wrapped around him lovingly. The heat of your bodies, the feeling of his heart beating and the rise and fall of his chest as he heavily breathed through the pleasure… Despite that soon he’d have to leave again these moments are what make it worth it.

"Te amo," his voice was a husky whisper as he held you.

For now, you got to enjoy the warm embrace of your spider. 

===

💙💙💙💙

Thanks so much for reading, let me know if you enjoyed with any comments/reblogs, I appreciate them all!

-Wyv

[f1-disaster-bi]

Roy/Jaime fic idea: Jaime is super late to training one morning and everyone is annoyed because a huge game is coming up. Everyone is already out on the pitch when Jaime finally appears, but all anger goes out the window when he emerges from the tunnel still dressed in his street clothes, with a tiny little bundle cradled in his arms. Tartt Sr. had shown up just as Jaime was about to head in, unceremoniously presenting Jaime with his new baby sibling, paperwork signing over custody, and a hospital bag of baby essentials before he fucked off back to Manchester without a glance back. Needless to say training is cancelled that day, as everyone basically falls over themselves to help Jaime and the new little Tartt, especially Roy who falls into the role of protector and partner in the span of a breath.

Anon, I love you for this. I'm absolutely I'm love with this idea.

I have so many thoughts and emotions about it but for now....please have this little drabble I wrote about it (and that @f1-birb is trying to make me write a fic for)

"Is that Jamie?" "Fuckin finally man" "Wait...whys he dressed normal like?" Roy growls, turning away from where he was leading the second team through a drill to look towards the tunnel and sure enough, Jamie is there at the opening. He's dressed in street clothes, but that's not what catches Roy's attention. No. Jamie is holding what looks like something small and swaddled and Roy is moving in an instant. As he gets closer, out pacing Ted and Beard despite his knee, he can hear Ted calling for him to stop but Roy doesn't. He doesn't stop until he's standing in front of a very tense, very distraught and confused looking Jamie who can't tear his eyes off the baby in his arms that can't be more than a week old. "Tartt, oi, Jamie", Roy calls softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping baby, "where'd'ya get the kid? Is it...." "Is not mine...well he is, but he isn't", Jamie stutters, eyebrows pinched together, "Me dad, yeah? Showed up at me 'ouse and he...he had this babeh and he just left 'im to me. Says he's my brother and just leaves. Left me some papers, legally he's mine, but Coach...Roy....I can't" Jamie is on the verge of a panic attack, his distressed making the baby in his arms start to wake and Roy can hear the team murmuring behind him. "Jamie", Roy drops his voice low, knowing it'll catch Jamie's attention as he gently grabs the back of Jamie's neck, "breath" The touch has Jamie melting. He's stepping closer to Roy until his head hits his shoulder, and both him and the baby are shielded by Roy as Jamie's shakes. Roy keeps his grip gentle, thumb soothing the tense muscles in his neck as Jamie sniffles. "What's his name?" "Charlie"

"How old?" Roy asks, peering down at little Charlie as Jamie lifts his head from Roy's shoulder, and Roy pretends he doesn't miss the weight of it. "Ten days, his mum don't want 'im and me dad....well he'd rather drink than spend moneh on his kids," Jamie replied, adjusting his hold of Charlie and rocking him softly. "Ten days old and he's already better looking than you, that's a good start to life", Roy hums, watching as the joke gets a smile off of Jamie and little laugh. And that laugh is all the team need to come closer. Dani reaches them first, his grin so wide Roy is genuinely worried the kid is gonna split his face in half as he almost vibrates with joy. "Oh, oh, it's a baby. How beautiful, our Jamie is a dad!"

[specialinterestshows]

Hey there!

The Samijey anon again here. I saw you post requests are open for WWE characters, thought I'd shoot my shot again. But obviously no pressure at all. In case you forgot..

https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/750101779991183360/hey-there-im-not-usually-that-much-of-a-finn-x?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/750138178539831296/thats-sweet-of-you-to-reply-looking-forward-to?source=share

Anyway if at all, I was wondering if you could please do a Fic about them. You can do whatever you like, although if there is smut, I'd luv it if it were bottom Jey. Although as mentioned last time a bit of Jealous Jey would be fun too. Anyway thanks for indulging me and being so nice to me last time. Won't be offended if you say no to this as its not your usual ship. 💕

Happily!

The following is a Sami Zayn x Jey Uso fic that has turned into a three-parter. Enjoy!

Warnings for this section: Jealousy, depression, alcohol/intoxication, excessive drinking, throwing up

-

Gimme Another Shot (Part 1/3): Then

Jey Uso hated seeing Sami Zayn anything less than happy - it almost physically pained him. So when he informed Sami that he had arranged for the two of them to meet up with Kevin Owens, the grin forming under the bushy ginger beard and tackle of a hug he received in response was a relief. Sami’s warm embrace was returned immediately, making Jey’s heart soar - until it ran into the clear, glass window that was Sami’s verbal response as the hug ended:

“I can’t wait to see Kevin! I miss him already.”

That’s why he was happy: to see his old tag team partner. Never mind the thought and effort Jey had put into this, keeping it a secret until the last minute. But tonight was about Sami, so Jey’s smile never faltered the entire walk to the bar - though his eyes now lacked a certain spark.

Once the two of them were in sight of the place, Kevin was easy to spot. Sami practically ran up to the man and jumped into his arms, the two of them laughing and exchanging a few words. Jey felt a bit awkward, following behind the two as they entered the bar.

“Hey, thanks for setting this up, man,” Kevin told Jey as soon as the three of them found a good place to sit, “I wasn’t sure about you after everything with the Bloodline and all, but this really means something. Drinks are on me tonight.”

With that, K.O. flagged down the bartender and ordered a round of beers.

Despite Kevin insisting on paying, Jey had been running a secret tab of his own so he could sneak a shot every now and then - when the sight of the two men joking together happily was just too much.

Sami and Kevin finishing each other’s sentences?

Take a shot.

Nostalgic story about them as a tag team?

Take a shot.

Kevin putting his arm around Sami?

Take two shots.

It was better than giving into the urge to punch Kevin Owens in his smug fucking face.

The men he sat with seemed to be too wrapped up in each other to notice anything was off, until Jey narrowly avoided falling out of his seat trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“I don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” Sami commented, one eyebrow raised.

“Took some extra shots,” Jey admitted, refusing to look Sami in the eye.

Sami sighed.

“C’mon, you’re staying with me tonight,” he said, throwing Jey’s arm over his shoulder as he moved to stabilize the man, “Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

Jey ducked out from under Sami, insisting, “Psh, I’m good-“ before losing his balance and falling to the ground.

This time it was Kevin that leapt to Jey’s aid; but the moment he touched the other man’s arm, Jey pulled away as if the contact was physically painful.

“Fuck outta here!” Jey almost shouted, “You got the guy, now you wanna act like a hero too, huh?”

The accusation seemed to come out of nowhere; Kevin turned to Sami, looking concerned, but mostly confused.

“I got him,” Sami said reassuringly, giving Kevin’s shoulder a gentle pat.

The two said their goodbyes and a moment later, Jey felt a kinder, more familiar touch helping him stand steady.

“Place I’m staying is just around the corner,” Sami told him, “I can walk us both there.”

Good, Jey thought, ‘cause I ain’t never gonna get tired of your arms around me.

“So, what made you drink so much in the first place?” Sami asked once the two of them were walking through the city.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you ‘n… Kevin,” Jey admitted, gaze fixed on the sidewalk, “S’been a while, but… I felt sick when he held you today, same as he did after I hurt you. I ain’t never wanna hurt you, uce, but you leavin’ the Bloodline… I took that personal. I mean, I called you my brother. You know what that meant to me?”

Hearing those same words again ignited something in Sami; imagined arguments with Jey that he played in his mind over and over started flooding back.

“Respectfully, I don’t think you realize just how difficult it was for me,” Sami said through gritted teeth, doing his best not to scream it from his core, “Do you really think I didn’t care about you when I left? That it was easy for me to move on? When I was with the Bloodline, I woke up every morning, looked in the mirror, and couldn’t recognize the man staring back at me. I couldn’t live like that anymore.”

“I get that, but… it took so long for me to trust you. And when I did…” Jey’s voice became a whisper, “I ain’t trusted no one like that since.”

Jey paused, then suddenly leaned away from Sami before dropping to his knees and throwing up in a nearby bush. Sami knelt beside him patiently, pulling out an extra napkin he snagged at the bar and offering it when Jey seemed finished.

“I “unno how many times I cursed my own hands for beatin’ you down,” Jey admitted, words running together as he used the napkin to wipe away a few tears, “But even on the worst days, thinkin’ ‘bout you givin’ me another shot kept me going.”

Unsure of how to respond, a wash of melancholy seeping into his core, Sami decided to play it off.

“I think you’ve had enough shots for tonight,” he joked, rising to his feet before helping Jey do the same, “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

A few minutes later, the two stood in front of Sami’s room.

“You stayin’ in a place like this?” Jey scoffed, stumbling into the dingy motel room, “You deserve better. Like you always deserved better’n… just me.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my guy like that,” Sami said without a second thought, “You’re better than anything I could ever ask for.”

Jey looked surprised and almost touched for a moment - before crouching suddenly and throwing up into the small trash bin near the door.

[end part one of three]

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/757086910737956864/gimme-another-shot-part-23-now

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@domripley

[mana-jjk]

tw: lisa frankenstein spoilers, jjk implied spoilers, violence, implied suicide, horror themes, im not kidding this is a hilariously violent movie, bullying, non-explicit loss of limbs, you know the works

I AM THE SPIRIT OUTSIDE RATTLING YOUR WINDOWS

i watched lisa frankenstein and immediately thought of inuokko because i am entirely not normal !! the greatest part is that this story would work both ways so just sprint with me right now

my preference for insane yuuta is entirely prevalent btw

option 1:

yuuta’s entire family moves after the sudden death of his childhood friend to give him a fresh start. he struggles to find a place to belong in school, and struggles even more in the bad relationship with his parents. his little sister is one of his last positive relationships and tries her best to keep him included. he spends most of his time in an abandoned ceremony, at a grave of a boy who died at his age, accused of witchcraft.

he has a parasocial relationship with him in that he’s absolutely obsessed with the concept of a loner, rejected by society, just like him. and spends hours just talking to him, taking care of his grave, and staring at his statue like a weirdo !

after a party gone wrong, where he drank spiked punch and after being pestered about a girlfriend, he goes back to the cemetery in time to see the beloved grave get struck by lightning. hence toge rising from the dead, confused but recognizing yuuta’s voice from being the only person to talk to him. his throat is damaged from being hanged, some of his skin has been damaged enough to see the bone, and he’s missing an arm.

yuuta hides him in his room, and toge hears everything. one night, after a particularly bad one-sided argument between yuuta and his father, toge thought he was going to hurt the only person to be kind to him. so for the first time since he died, he used his abilities and killed the man. immediately after he was remorseful and afraid yuuta would hate him, but he got the exact opposite reaction. yuuta was so touched that someone would go to such lengths for him, and strangely delighted by the gruesome scene. enough to where he wanted to recreate it.

so yuuta starts picking off the people who bullied him, harvesting what toge needs to be put together again. they diy a lab with lightning and every time toge looks more and more alive until you couldn’t tell him apart from any other person. he gets more confident in school too, becoming friends with maki and panda who see him as a little weirdo. in the process, yuuta falls in love with him beyond the parasocial relationship of before, especially when toge accepts his new murderous habits so easily.

eventually they’re found out after yuuta ends the second parental figure and his sister walks in on him. she’s devastated, traumatized, and runs out of the house covered in blood. he decides then to join toge and so they can start a new life together. a few months later, they’re not even a thought in anyone’s mind, except for his sister who keeps their existence a secret, living with their uncle gojo.

option 2:

toge has just moved in with a distant relative after the last of his immediate family was murdered. the trauma of witnessing their deaths led to his already selective mutism to complete silence. he is bullied at his new school, especially since he doesn’t defend himself. his classmates maki and panda take him under their wing, but he spends most of the time at the cemetery.

it’s quiet there, abandoned and full of greenery. there’s also a grave of a boy who died of a broken heart after a life of sadness. he spends a lot of time there, just sitting alone and keeping company to this lonely boy. he leaves behind a handmade charm, hoping to give him a little peace. it’s something he hopes someone might care enough to do for him someday. he’s already planning to request his very own burial at this peaceful place.

panda invites him to go to a party, but after being harassed about his voice and separated from his friends, he ends up stumbling home, half-drunk from an awful concoction. it’s there that he finds yuuta, fresh from the grave. he’s missing an eye, ear, leg, and covered in cuts that crisscross across his face and chest. in his hands, he holds the charm toge made for him. after a mini freak out, he cleans him up and hides him in his room. yuuta talks in slurring words but his eyes are full of wonder at the kindness he gives him. he follows him like a hobbling lost puppy, nearly getting him caught several times.

it’s when one of the biological, older, slightly bum kids who has been harassing toge since he came that he moves to protect him. he doesn’t even hesitate before he’s bursting out of the closet to strangle him. afterwards, they take his leg and toge sews it onto yuuta, who almost looks up at him like he’s waiting for approval. toge knows it was wrong, should tell him not to do it again, but part of him couldn’t help but feel protected for the first time in his life. and yuuta, who was so kind to him, was still suffering, wasn’t he? so maybe he couldn’t help but notice that one of his bullies has striking silver eyes.

it’s not hard to lure them, and yuuta takes care of the rest. diligently, toge replaces the lost parts until yuuta looks just as alive as he does. in return, yuuta encourages him to stop hiding his face, enough to where others begin to notice him. the moment yuuta is complete, he swings toge around until he laughs and then kisses him.

they aren’t actually caught before they leave, they both want to start over, and hearing that toge is a suspect is enough for them to book town. he decides to join yuuta, it works as now everyone thinks he’s dead. the only person with their suspicions is maki, who visits his grave with panda regularly, and sees the charm she knows toge made.

listen to me very carefully when i tell you we NEED more dark inuokko, and by that i do not mean sadness. i physically cannot read angst without a happy ending. i mean unhinged, crazy, mutually obsessed inuokko that don’t burn each other, they just burn the world around them. THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT !!

also please watch lisa frankenstein, scream about this with me in my asks, and share your dark inuokko fic ideas !!

[fwtomura]

Breathe Into Your Hungry Appetite

cw: modern au, ghostsoap, mentions of drugs, alcohol, ghoap drug dealer au, smut

CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2

haiii guys i’m back :3! sorry this chapter took so long, i’ve been busy as hell!

Simon wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep the night before, but he knew that he’d gone to bed pretty soon after he’d finished himself off. It wasn’t the first time that he’d gotten stoned, jerked off, and passed out. He was almost certain that it wouldn’t be the last time either. He’d made himself dinner the night before, the dishes still set on his bedside table. He’d take care of them in a moment. He also needed to find his phone, but that was still a problem for later.

He went about his regular routine of brushing his hair and his teeth before heading downstairs for breakfast. He’d been debating buzzing it and it seemed more and more appealing as time went on. He brought his dishes downstairs and left them in the sink and placed his breakfast dishes in the sink along with them after he’d finished eating. The fridge was looking more bare than it normally did, and he knew that they’d need to make a grocery trip sooner rather than later. Yet another problem that he’d deal with later. At the very least, it would have to wait until he had a shared day off with Roach. 

He trudged back upstairs to his room, shutting the door behind him and heading back towards the attached bathroom. He quickly gave the piece he’d left soaking the previous day a decent scrub and dried it quickly with a few paper towels, making sure to blow out any residual water and rubbing alcohol still left in the pipe. He left it out to air dry the rest of the way as he opened up his stash box. 

The pungent smell of flower immediately filled his nostrils as soon as the box opened, and Simon couldn’t help but to deeply inhale the scent. It was nearly comforting at this point, bordering on nostalgic. 

He loaded his pipe as soon as he was sure that it was dry, still using the strain that Soap had given him a few days prior. He sat back in his beanbag chair and lit the bowl, sitting up and leaning forward until he could get the bowl lit up properly. The first hit was harsh just like it had been, but he’d grown to adore the almost burning feeling in his lungs. He did end up coughing a few more times than he’d like to admit, however. He finished his bowl in silence before cracking his bedroom window open.

His phone chimed from somewhere in the tangled mess of blankets in his bed, reminding him that he still hadn’t found it. He’d apparently forgotten to put his phone on do not disturb before he fell asleep. He shook out one of his blankets and his phone immediately tumbled out onto the mattress. He had… twenty two missed texts from Johnny. The first one he’d gotten from him had been a couple hours after Johnny had left him on read.

Johnny🧼: fuck im so fucking sorry

Johnny🧼: my phone died at the worst time

Johnny🧼: I would’ve been coming over as soon as i saw it

Johnny🧼: sweetheart, im sorry

Johnny🧼: i really did want to come over

Johnny🧼: i still can

Johnny🧼: i can be on my way over right now

Johnny🧼: i can be there in 10 minutes, please si

Johnny🧼: do you still want me over, baby?

Johnny🧼: i can’t get you off my fucking mind

Johnny🧼: those pics n vids you’ve sent me are driving me insane

Johnny🧼: simon?

Johnny🧼: please tell me you’re still there..

Johnny🧼: I promise i didn’t mean to leave, si

Johnny🧼: I fucking want you so bad

Johnny🧼: please

The messages trailed stopped for a moment after that, and Simon almost felt bad for falling asleep early the previous night. Almost. The messages did however continue at around midnight the night before.

Johnny🧼: fuck, i keep looking at all the shit you sent me

Johnny🧼: i can’t stop fucking thinking about you, si

Johnny🧼: im dying to get my hands and mouth on you, touch you and kiss you all over, make you mine

Johnny🧼: do u even know how badly i want you, how much you fucking turn me on?

There was a picture attached to the last message, It was Johnny seemingly sprawled out on his bed, laid back fully. He was only visible from the chest down. He was wearing his staple white tank top that he always wore, his chain lazily draped over the collar of it. The hem was pulled up just slightly, leaving the dark trail of hair leading down towards his boxers fully exposed. Simon nearly thought his heart stopped as he continued looking at the picture. 

Johnny’s hand was resting on his hip, his thumb hooked into the waistline of his boxers and pulling it down just enough to expose his adonis belt. There it was, clear as day even in the dim lighting of the picture. He was fully hard. It looked almost painful. The thin fabric of his boxers left almost nothing to Simon’s imagination, a clearly apparent damp spot visible from his pre-cum. Fucking hell.  

Johnny🧼: can’t you see what you’re doing to me, love?

Johnny🧼: i want to fucking ruin you.

Simon knew fully well that Johnny found him attractive and had known that for quite some time now. He didn’t exactly try to hide his attraction, but that wasn’t the point. He hadn’t entirely expected to wake up to Johnny sending him a suggestive picture, but he liked it. Seeing just how deep he was under Johnny’s skin, how badly he wanted him… it had more of an effect on him than he’d openly admit.

Simon💀: sorry, fell asleep

Simon💀: good morning to you too

He wasn’t at all surprised to see Johnny immediately starting to reply, plugging his phone in as he waited patiently for his response.

Johnny🧼: jackass

Johnny🧼: “fell asleep” FOR 14 HOURS?? more like a fuckin coma!

Simon💀: call me names all you want

Simon💀: you started typing as soon as i texted you

Johnny🧼: I thought u fuckin blocked me or smth idk

Simon💀: and u still tried to hit me up late as hell??

Johnny🧼: u miss 100% of the shots u take idk

Simon sighed softly as he rolled onto his back, not entirely sure how to respond for a moment. John’s ego hadn’t really taken much of a hit, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t knkw for a fact that he wasn’t going to apologize again for falling asleep.

Simon💀: if your phone didn’t die, i would’ve let you come over, John

Johnny🧼: yeah?

Johnny🧼: if my phone didn’t die, you wouldn’t be able to fuckin walk rn

Simon💀: cute that you’re so sure of yourself.

Johnny🧼: i know what i’m capable of.

Johnny🧼: i could just come over n show u

As much as Simon wanted to invite him over right then, he didn’t feel like he’d earned it quite yet. it wasn’t the worst idea. Plus, Roach wouldn’t be home until much later that day anyways. He still wanted to see how much he could push Johnny before he’d snap.

Simon💀: you could. 

Johnny🧼: i haven’t been able to get u out of my head

Johnny🧼: i keep looking at everything u sent me

Johnny🧼: you’re driving me fucking crazy, simon

Simon💀: cute

Johnny🧼: i kept thinking about you last night

Johnny🧼: came in my hand wishing it was inside you instead

Simon💀: and you didn’t send me a video?

Johnny🧼: you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

The mental image of it was still just as appealing as it had been the day before, and Simon almost did wish he’d gotten to see a video of it. He wanted to hear how Johnny would sound just before he released, to lick the sweat dripping down his forehead and watch the crease in his brow worsen the closer he got. His hand had slipped into his boxers before he’d even realized.

Johnny 🧼: show me what you’re up to, doll

Simon 💀: is your phone gonna die again?

Johnny 🧼: fuck off that happened ONE TIME

Johnny 🧼: it’s fully charged.

Simon sat up fully, getting onto his knees and arching his back down towards the mattress. He dipped two of his fingers inside himself briefly before starting to slowly stroke over his cock. He made sure that his hand being in his boxers was visible in the picture before sending it off. The slight hesitation before Johnny started typing again nearly made him giddy. He knew that he’d be saving that picture and that sent a zip of arousal down his spine.

Johnny 🧼: fucking hell i just want to ruin you

Johnny 🧼: i want to take you just like that, have you sobbing into the mattress

Johnny 🧼: have my hand on the back of your neck, keep you pinned just like that. exactly where i want you

Wouldn’t that be nice? He knew that the angling of that would be brutal and deep . He’d have no choice but to lay there and take it, pinned down with nowhere to go. It certainly sounded like fun at the very least. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been like that. He needed it more than he wanted to admit.

What the hell did he have to lose? He hastily kicked his boxers off and tossed them to the side, sitting up properly to face the mirror at the foot of his bed. He lifted his legs slightly and spread them open as he corrected the angling of his phone. He reached his free hand down and spread himself open with two fingers, knowing that he was already soaked from arousal. Once he was happy with the picture, he sent it off along with a brief message.

Simon 💀: come over?

Johnny 🧼: be there in 10.

Knowing Johnny, he’d be there in a bit less than ten minutes. He had a tendency to drive like a bat out of hell if there wasn’t anyone in the car with him. Simon grabbed his boxers and put them back on along with a pair of joggers. He doubted he’d have them on for very long, but he wasn’t going to open the front door half naked.

While he was at it, he managed to send a text to Roach so that he knew not to head home right away if he finished his shift early. He knew that he’d get an earful about it later, but Simon didn’t want to get cockblocked two days in a row if he could help it.

As he expected, he could hear Johnny’s car pulling into the driveway roughly eight minutes since he’d received his message. He left his phone on the bed as he walked downstairs. Johnny was standing right outside as soon as he opened the door. He was wearing his typical ensemble; a white tank top, his usual gold chain, gray joggers hanging low on his hips, and slides. Simon could just barely smell his cologne from where he stood. It was strong.

“You got here quickly.” He stepped to the side and motioned Johnny in, closing the door behind him. He could hear Johnny shuffling out of his slides as he turned back around.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He stepped in closer, bullying Simon back against the door with his usual cocky smirk on his face. Despite Simon having nearly a head’s worth of height on him, it didn’t seem to diminish Johnny’s confidence one bit. “Why? Disappointed I got here so fast?”

“Didn’t say that.” He watched as Johnny pressed further into his space, tilting his head slightly as Johnny rested his hands on his hips. He wasn’t guiding him in any direction, but his grip was sturdy. He placed his hand over Johnny’s mouth as soon as he tried to lean in for a kiss. “I don’t kiss for hookups.”

He let his hand fall back to his side, fighting the urge to laugh at the pouting expression on Johnny’s face. “Not even for me?”

“You’re not my fuckin’ boyfriend, Johnny.” Simon hummed softly when Johnny’s second hand slid beneath his hoodie, gently gripping onto his waist. “Marks are fair game, just no kissing.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice…” His touches were gentle at first, slowly rocking his hips against Simon’s and sweet kisses placed along his neck. Before Simon could complain about it, Johnny’s hand slid up the back of his neck. His head was tugged back harshly before he could process that Johnny’s fingers were in his hair. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth and could feel Johnny chuckling more than he could properly hear it.

The kisses to his neck quickly turned to more teeth than lip, Johnny’s tongue barely soothing over each mark before he made a new one. He kept Simon pressed against the door, not allowing him to move anywhere other than exactly where he wanted him. His hands wandered back towards Simon’s hips as a thigh slid between his legs. His lips didn’t move from Simon’s neck for even a moment as he pulled Simon’s hips closer to him, encouraging him to grind down onto his leg. Who would Simon be to say no?

He slowly rolled his hips against Johnny’s leg, panting softly and biting back a whine at a particularly harsh bite to the side of his neck. Normally he’d be appalled at the idea of rutting against someone’s leg like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop. Johnny’s hand stayed planted on his hip, the other sliding beneath Simon’s hoodie. His nails gently dug into the skin of Simon’s lower back, pulling a soft sigh from him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax for me.” He spoke in a near growl against Simon’s jaw, gently pressing his thigh up further each time Simon rolled his hips down. “You look so good riding my thigh like that.”

The pressure was absolutely divine, making him feel pleasantly dizzy as he leaned back further against the door. Johnny’s touches felt burning against his skin. Each squeeze to his hips and gentle scratch against his back felt maddening. He hadn’t been with anyone in a while, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d craved more from someone this quickly. He could feel Johnny panting against his neck, nearly fully hard against his hip. Each biting kiss placed against his neck felt maddening. He needed more.

He pushed Johnny back just slightly, separating him from his neck and making him take a few steps back. He looked almost shocked, concerned that he’d done something wrong.

“Quit looking at me like that. I’m not letting you fuck me in the entryway. I have a flatmate.” Simon hooked a finger around his chain as he spoke. “Come on.”

He kept his finger loosely hooked into the chain around Johnny’s neck as he walked towards the stairs. He swapped to be guiding Johnny by his wrist towards his room as they went up the stairs.

As soon as they’d made it to Simon’s room, Johnny was back on him like a magnet. He could feel Johnny untying his joggers as he was walked back towards the bed. He barely managed to shuffle them off before Johnny was pushing his sweatshirt up and off of him.

“Didn’t realize you were that fuckin’ desperate for it.” He mumbled softly as he tossed his hoodie to the side. Simon did enjoy watching as Johnny took off his own tank-top and joggers, however. The picture he’d gotten didn’t do his appearance justice. Johnny was well built, a dark layer of hair trailing over his abs with a defined trail leading down towards his boxers. Johnny was incredibly well built, and he knew it.

“Forgive me for not bein’ patient. I spent all night thinking about you. Can’t exactly blame me for being eager.”

Simon sat down on the bed and leaned up on his elbows, tilting his head to the side as he watched Johnny crawl between his legs. He looks even better on his knees , he thought to himself. He lifted his hips as soon as Johnny grabbed onto the waistband of his boxers. What he didn’t expect was the almost pleading look on Johnny’s face as he leaned in closer.

“Can I?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring at me like that, jesus christ…” He spread his legs a little more as he laid back fully against the bed. “Yes.”

“Thought about doing this all night.” His looped his arms beneath Simon’s thighs, tugging him just slightly closer before trailing kisses down his inner thigh. “I’d spend all day right here if you let me.”

He couldn’t tell if Johnny was being serious or exaggerating, but any complaints he wanted to lodge at him died in his throat as soon as he felt Johnny’s tongue against his cock. He panted softly as he let his head fall back against the bed. He felt Johnny’s tongue trail along the underside of his cock as he took it fully into his mouth, the metal of his tongue piercing teasing along it as he suckled onto it. He didn’t pull back to breathe until he absolutely needed to, his tongue trailing down to lap between his folds before two fingers slid inside of him with ease. He crooked his fingers just right and pulled a soft whine from Simon.

Simon panted softly, reaching down and tangling a hand into Johnny’s hair. He rocked his hips up slowly as Johnny continued moving his fingers, alternating between teasing drags and slowly working him open. He was good. Much better than he expected him to be.

“Fuck, Johnny…” Simon lifted his head briefly, his heart leaping into his throat as he looked down at Johnny. His eyes didn’t leave his face for a moment, his head bobbing slightly as he worked his tongue over Simon’s cock.

He pulled off just briefly, his lips slightly glossy from spit and Simon’s arousal, as he slid a third finger inside of him. “Good?”

“Do you have to fucking ask?” His voice was more strained than he wanted it to be in that moment, but he forgot about it as soon as he felt Johnny’s mouth back on him again. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Yet another thing he hadn’t expected.

He let his head fall back with a broken moan, tugging harder on Johnny’s hair as he kept rocking his hips up. His head was nearly spinning, his limbs feeling heavy as the coil in his stomach wound tighter with each passing moment. He could feel Johnny staring at him even though he wasn’t watching him. Knowing he was watching only made everything worse. Knowing he wanted to watch him fall apart, committing that image to memory just to replay it later sent him tumbling over the edge with a soft whine. Johnny didn’t pull back until his thighs started quivering from overstimulation.

“Jesus fucking christ…are you trying to kill me or something?” He leaned up as Johnny was standing up, his stomach fluttering as he watched Johnny meticulously lick his fingers clean.

“Can’t help myself around you, sweetheart. Didn’t hear you complaining about it either.” To Simon’s surprise, Johnny was still fully hard in his boxers. “What? You can take it. I know you can.”

“Never said I couldn’t.” He watched hungrily as Johnny dropped his boxers, his eyes staying for a moment too long before trailing back towards Johnny’s face. “Didn’t think you’d get much out of that.”

“You thought wrong.” He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on top of Simon’s thighs and gently rubbing them. “You still want to keep going? I brought condoms, I’d just have to find my pants to get them.”

“I’m fine without. I’m not seeing anyone else.” Simon could see just how much Johnny’s eyes lit up as he spoke.

“Was hoping you’d say that.” His hands shifted and grabbed the underside of Simon’s knees. He pulled him closer before flipping Simon over onto his stomach, turning him to be facing towards the foot of the bed before coaxing his knees up beneath him. He quickly kneeled behind Simon, his hand bracing on his lower back as he slid his cock between his folds, teasing across his hole and against his cock. “The pictures you sent just don’t do you any justice, doll. Looks like you’re fuckin’ made for this.”

He pulled his hips back briefly, the head of his cock just barely catching against the rim of his entrance before he rutted forward against Simon again. Of course he’d be a fucking tease. “Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me?”

Johnny’s hand tangled into Simon’s hair and he pulled hard , forcing Simon’s back to arch further as he got pulled up. “Just knew you’d be fucking mouthy. You’ll take what I fucking give you.”

This side of Johnny wasn’t something that Simon expected, but it didn’t entirely surprise him either. If anything, he’d hoped for it. He kept his head lifted up, holding eye contact with Johnny in the mirror as he slowly rocked his hips back against him. “I’m not gonna beg for it.”

Johnny gripped harder onto his hips, leaning back for a moment before lining himself up. “Not gonna make you. Not this time, at least.” He slowly pressed inside him, stopping for a moment as soon as he felt Simon tense up. “Breathe, sweetheart. Relax for me.”

Simon nodded, leaning his head back down and pressing his forehead against his forearm. He rocked his hips back as soon as he was ready for more. The stretch was intense, still just barely burning despite being worked open earlier. Johnny’s hands were soothing over his hips and lower back as he kept slowly pressing in. He swore he could feel Johnny up against his fucking lung.

“There you go, take all of me. Good boy.” He whimpered as soon as Johnny bottomed out, feeling the head of his cock just barely nudging against his cervix when he hadn’t even properly moved yet. “Do you need a minute?”

“Quit– stop being so fucking nice to me. Move. ”

Johnny’s grip on his hips tightened slightly as he started making slow, shallow thrusts into him. He was gentle and cautious at first, still wanting to give Simon time to adjust. Simon rocked his hips back in time with him, but he was quickly growing impatient with his pacing. With how Johnny had texted him, he didn’t expect or want princess treatment. He lifted his head up for a moment.

“Fucking hell, Soap, fuck me like you mean it.” He locked eyes with Johnny in the mirror, the look on Johnny’s face sending a zip of arousal down his spine. He knew he was practically poking a sleeping bear, but he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that he’d get what he wanted if he pushed just enough .

“Couldn’t be patient, could you? If you’re that fucking desperate, I’ll give it to you.” He pulled almost all of the way out before slamming back in to the hilt, forcing the air out of Simon’s lungs in a rush. “Is that what you wanted? Want me to treat you like a slut? All you had to do was ask, doll.”

Simon arched his back further towards the bed as soon as he felt Johnny leaning over him, nearly moaning as soon as he felt his hand at the back of his neck. He kept his face hidden in his arms and the mess of blankets at the foot of the bed. It muffled him just slightly, but he didn’t mind that.

He could hear Johnny panting heavily behind him, the hand still on his hip gripping him more than hard enough to bruise. He maintained the brutal pacing of his hips, not faltering for even a moment. It was almost suffocating. He was deep, almost too deep, but Simon didn’t want him to stop. He let himself get lost in the feeling, reaching his hand back and slowly starting to stroke himself off. He stopped as soon as Johnny leaned back, lifting his head up as he got pulled up by his hair.

“You had all this talk about wanting me behind you earlier…” He leaned down slightly, licking a bead of sweat off Simon’s neck and nipping at the skin as he held eye contact with him through the mirror. “Said all that and you won’t even watch?”

He’d slowed down significantly, his thrusts becoming much more shallow. Each movement rolled the head of his cock against Simon’s cervix, his jaw falling open in a silent cry. Johnny’s hand moved down, keeping his face held up by his jaw instead of his hair. It wasn’t comfortable, but Simon could deal with it.

“Driving me that fucking crazy and you won’t even watch.” He tapped his fingers against Simon’s jaw, still slowly rolling his hips against him. Simon could hardly think straight, his eyes growing hazy. Each roll of Johnny's hips hurt but he wanted more. It was suffocating. He had nowhere to move, trapped and pinned with Johnny slowly grinding against his cervix. He could easily get off from this if Johnny asked him to. “Look at me.”

Simon obliged, holding eye contact with Johnny until he pointed towards the mirror.

“I want you to watch. Can you do that for me?” He nodded quickly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment on a harsher thrust. “Use your words, doll.”

“Y-yes– fucking hell-–” Simon looked as wrecked as he sounded, a dark flush stained over his cheeks and down his neck. His eyes were blown out and watery, he was fighting to keep himself held up properly. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer, but it didn’t look like Johnny would be able to either.

He was panting hard, his mouth slack and open as he picked up his pace again. His chain was dangling over Simon just out of reach, swinging slightly with each thrust. Simon almost wanted to bite it, but wouldn’t be able to move to do so.

Johnny’s hand left his jaw after a few moments, trailing back to his hips, but he kept himself propped up with one of his arms. His free arm trailed back underneath himself, slowly jerking himself off. Johnny’s thrusts were growing much harsher and out of rhythm, his breathing just as shaky.

Simon came with a soft gasp, but was sorely disappointed as he felt Johnny pull out just to cum on his back. He let his chest fall down onto the bed once again as soon as Johnny stood up. He wasn’t going to be moving until he came back in with a towel. He could faintly hear the water running in the bathroom, feeling Johnny’s weight causing a divot in the mattress a few moments after it stopped.

“Fuckin’ asshole. If you got it in my hair I’m gonna fucking kill you.” The washcloth was cool on his back. He let himself relax a bit more as Johnny cleaned him off.

“Back to complaining that quickly?” He teased softly, giving his back one final wipe down before easing Simon down onto his side. “I don’t think I did.”

Simon tensed for a moment when he felt Johnny laying down behind him, his arm gently resting over his waist. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it. He just hadn’t expected it. He relaxed and leaned back against Johnny after a few moments. “Didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.”

“Didn’t think you’d let me either.” He could feel Johnny pressing his face against his shoulder. He was used to his hookups leaving once they’d finished up, but Simon could get used to this.

“I normally don’t. You’re the exception, I guess.” The silence went on for a moment, but Simon didn’t feel awkward or like he needed to say anything. It was comfortable. Different.

“I had fun, but was that good for you too?” He looked back over his shoulder when Johnny spoke, almost confused.

“If you’re trying to ask if I want you to come over again, the answer is yes.” He rolled over onto his back, still staying close to him but not directly cuddling against him. “I had fun.”

The silence lapsed between them for a while longer, neither of them saying very much. They split a joint Johnny brought before cleaning up properly and getting dressed once again. For once, Simon was almost disappointed when he realized that Johnny needed to leave. He didn’t miss the disappointed look on Johnny’s face as he walked him out of the house. He stood in the window, watching Johnny’s car speed off until he couldn’t see it anymore.

—

thanks for reading :333!!!?.!!!$:/88384$

[salehasposts]

Another short fanfic of Alice and Tarrant:

i did this, just before i went to sleep, so please dont mind if i have done anything wrong in this fanfic, i was very tired, but enjoy! ;)

now this is after through the looking glass, 1 year and alice mother has died, shes missing tarrant, as she wants to go back to him, as there is nothing for her to do in her world, so absolem helps her to make a decision...

alice; oh mother, what shall i do? there is nothing for me to do here

alice stares out on the window sill, looking at the stars, suddenly reminds her of her hatter, her heart aches.

alice; oh tarrant

tears form in her eyes, slipping down on her cheeks, she hates it here, everyone has isolated her since her mother died, but she knows her mother is with her father now

she thinks of her mother last words

alice mother: im going alice, im going to be with your father once again, please be happy, find a man out there you love, if its that hatter guy please go back to him, make me proud alice that you have done that, goodbye i love you.

alice; oh mother, how i wish i could go back and make you proud, then who would i be if i wouldnt be here anymore?

absolem: you're alice

alice; absolem?

absolem; dont cry alice, if your world has made it hard for you to live here, then why dont you go to underland? but remember alice, you can either stay or leave this time the underland wont give you any choices

alice: then i shall go back, do you think i want to stay in this dirty shallow place, where everyone has aboanded me, since my mother died? and for this time only, i will stay.

absolem; come on then, but you have to go through a mirror like last time, do you have one here alice?

alice; yes i do

she walks to the bathroom mirror, to see absolem behind her.

absolem; now go through this mirror and i will see you there in a couple of days

alice walks through, only to falling down once again, her heart happy that she is home once again never leaving.

she lands in a pile of roses, the animals, the twins greets her, except wheres mirana? shes wondering

alice: hi everyone

tweedle dee; alice

tweedle dum: youre back

mally; alice, youre back already, planning to leave already?

alice; no im planning to stay actually, does anyone know where tarrant is?

bayard: tarrant is with mirana, in his house, mirana is discussing something with him

alice feels suspicious, a jealous feeling comes into her, shes thinking why is mirana with tarrant, and in his house?

she walks up to his house, only to hear giggling very loud outside, she slowly opens the door, to find mirana and tarrant laughing, she then sees mirana put a hand on his shoulder.

she feels her heart breaking, her hand slowly making up to where her heart is, clenching it so tightly, a anger boiling inside her, her fists clenched, tears coming to her eyes, tarrant turns around, immediately stands up, and runs to alice, mirana walks gracefully to alice

tarrant; alice youre back!

mirana: alice, youre back

alice doesnt say anything, she looks away from tarrant face, tarrant sees this, he tries to touch her cheek, she runs from his house

tarrant: alice! my alice?! whats wrong?

he then runs after her

mirana: oh no! she must have seen me and tarrant

alice runs, tarrant runs following her, telling her to stop, the animals sees this and go up to alice and tarrant

alice stops and turns around to face tarrant, tarrant looks at her, confused, he then tries to go up to her, to grab her hand gently, she then grabs his hand and swats it away angrily

everyone, the animals, the twins, watching.

tarrant: Alice, my lass, whats wrong? why are ya so angry?

she shouts at him, saying

alice; you know my mother died, i came back for you tarrant, i was going to surprise you until i saw you with mirana!

tarrant: oh but alice, my dear you have got it wrong?

alice; oh really? doesnt seem that way to me!

tarrant: oh alice

mirana comes

mirana: alice! Tarrant! whats wrong?

alice: you should know whats wrong, you and tarrant

tarrant: she thought you and i were together

mirana; oh dear me, no alice, me and tarrant are not together, time and i are, we are getting married

alice: are you sure because i saw you put a hand on his shoulder and i thought...

mirana: i only came because tarrant was missing you alice, i was comforting him then you came, and time wanted tarrant to be his best man for me and time wedding

Alice looks at Tarrant, embarrassment on her face, tears forming in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks once again,

Tarrant walks up to her, gently cupps her face in his hands, looking into her eyes

alice: oh tarrant!

she then sobs on his waistcoat, tarrant puts his arms around her, stroking her face, wiping her tears.

alice: please forgive me, you must know im in love with you

tarrant: oh alice? My dear Alice, I do know and for that im in love with you too, how i waited for you, yearning for you to come back

alice: im so sorry tarrant, making you wait for me, im so stupid

tarrant; its okay, youre not stupid, you’re my Alice, mine only, you’re here now and thats all that matters

he then leans in towards her, alice feeling shy, she runs shyly away from him, looking at him, giving a face to him to follow her, he wont get that kiss so easily, going to the place she first met him at, tarrant smiles and runs after her, knowing she is shy, but he knows where she is going

mirana says to everyone to give them privacy.

alice comes to the windmill, she then feels tarrant shadow behind her, turns her around, her hair flying in his face, hands gripping her waist tightly, holding her gently

tarrant: now is there any reason why you ran away and brought me here?

alice; yes, i wanted our first kiss to be memorable, so i brought you here, the place we first met

she looks at his eyes, strokes his face gently, his eyes changing to emerald green, alice feels shy, gently puts her head down, he lifts her head up to look at him, they lean in towards each other, and finally have their first kiss, nothing stopping them, her above land or underland

the kiss gets quite passionate, alice hands flying to tarrant hair, gripping it tightly, his hat falling off, but they dont seem to care, he picks alice up, and gently puts her down on the tea table, he then works his way to her neck, giving a kiss on her neck, to which alice moans. alice grips his hair tighter, and he holds her waist tighter

they then break the kiss, hatter gets down on one knee, takes one of alice hands of his own, presenting a ring

alice; tarrant is that what i think it is?

tarrant: alice, my dear, why yes it is, i loved you since you came for the second time, and saved me and my family, i love you with all my heart, will you marry me alice and become my wife?

alice; yes i will hatter! oh tarrant!

hatter puts the ring on and they both kiss again

alice: i love you, my tarrant

tarrant: and i love you, my alice

he picks her up and hugs her while he spins her around, they both laugh and tarrant grabs his hat to put it back on, they both set off hand in hand to tell everyone the great news!

in a few weeks, alice and tarrant meet his family, they have an engagement ball, they get married, they quite enjoy their married life, alice annoying him, tarrant never minds it.

(hoped you liked it) :)

[hanniesverse]

when we fall apart

an: okay this is my first time ever posting something on tumblr and im not sure how start really. but i got motivated to make a book so i guess this is the first chapter. I hope anyone who reads it likes it!

GENRE: Romantic drama/ psychological fiction

A slow-burn romance laced with tension, exploring mental illness on both sides of a relationship. It’s about two people who’ve convinced themselves they’re better off alone, learning to sit in the quiet with someone who sees them fully. It's messy, painful, and intimate—a story about what it means to stay, even when it hurts.

TW: DEPPRESION, ALCOHOL ABUSE, PAST ABUSE, PAST SEXUAL ABUSE (hinted at but not gone in depth about) PAST SELF HARM MENTIONED...(im still writing so if i see more i will add)

Chapter One 

Aria 

Some days, it feels like I’m breathing underwater. 

Today is one of those days. 

The sky outside my apartment window is the color of old bruises, gray smudged with purples, a storm on the edge of becoming. I watch it unfold as I sit curled in my threadbare armchair, knees tucked beneath me, the ceramic mug in my hands cooling fast. The tea has long since gone cold, but I can't bring myself to care. My hands are shaking anyway. 

I tell myself it’s the caffeine. It’s not. 

It’s the email I haven’t opened yet. It’s the voicemail I can’t listen to because I already know what it says. It’s the appointment I skipped this morning because the thought of leaving this apartment, of breathing the same air as other people, sent me into a quiet kind of panic. The kind that starts in your belly and ripples outward, tugging at your ribs like barbed wire. 

Another missed deadline. Another client disappointed. Another reason to hate myself. 

I dig my fingernails into the soft cotton of my sweater sleeve and focus on that tiny pain, grounding myself in it. Lena would tell me to breathe, to focus on the feel of my body against the chair, the warmth of the mug in my hands, the weight of the blanket on my lap. She’d say, “Five things you can see, Aria. Four things you can touch. You know the drill.” 

I do. I really do. But knowing and doing are oceans apart. Sometimes I can’t swim that far. 

The phone buzzes again, loud against the wooden table. My breath hitches in my throat. I stare at the screen until it goes dark. It’s probably Lena, checking in. She always checks in when I disappear for too long. Part of me loves her for that. Another part of me resents it. I want to be left alone until I don’t. I’m a contradiction I can’t untangle. 

And then, just to spite myself, I open my laptop. 

Because there’s work to do. 

Because distraction is better than this bone-deep emptiness. 

The photos on the screen blur together. Faces, places, things I don’t remember shooting. I scroll through them anyway, my fingers moving on instinct. A child laughing at a park. A couple walking hand in hand, their smiles soft and private. A crumbling building with ivy threading through broken windows. Beauty in the decay. That one makes me pause. 

I zoom in. 

Click. 

Adjust the lighting. 

Sharpen the edges. 

Breathe. 

For a few minutes, the world narrows down to pixels and color correction, and I’m fine. Not good. Not okay. But fine. 

Fine is good enough today. 

By the time I look up again, the light has gone murky outside. The city is a watercolor of buildings and streetlights bleeding together. My stomach growls, but the thought of food makes me nauseous. Instead, I stand, stretching out stiff legs, and wander over to the window. 

I live on the fifth floor of a walk-up in a neighborhood that’s equal parts charm and decay. The buildings are old, the bricks chipped and the paint peeling, but there’s life here. Kids playing on stoops. Someone playing a guitar badly from an open window. I watch them all, safe from behind the glass. 

I’m always watching. Never participating. 

That’s when I see him. 

For the first time. 

He’s standing across the street, in front of the little used bookstore that’s never open after six. It’s later than that now. He’s got his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a dark coat, his head tipped back slightly like he’s looking at the sky or maybe just the way the streetlight turns the raindrops into gold as they fall. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t seem to notice the way the world keeps spinning around him. 

And there’s something about him that makes my chest tighten. 

Not in a good way. 

Not in a romantic, butterflies-and-daydreams kind of way. 

No, this is something else. 

Recognition. 

Like seeing a wound that mirrors your own. 

I press my fingers to the glass. 

As if that could make a difference. 

As if it means anything. 

When I finally pull myself away from the window, it’s almost ten. 

I shower in silence, the water scalding hot. I let it burn the back of my neck, my shoulders, the curve of my spine. I scrub my skin until it’s pink and raw, like I can wash away the hollow feeling in my chest. It doesn’t work, but I’m clean. Clean is something. 

I crawl into bed with my laptop, half-heartedly scrolling through submissions for a gallery opening I agreed to shoot next week. It’s stupid. I know I won’t go. But I tell myself I will because sometimes lies are easier than truths. 

And then I dream. 

Of dark water and heavy skies. 

And a man standing in the rain, looking for something he’s already lost. 

Morning comes slow and heavy. I’m tangled in sheets and sweat, my mouth dry, my head aching. I get up anyway. 

Routine. Lena says routine helps. 

Coffee. Toast. Check email. Ignore calls. 

Repeat. 

Except today there’s a message I wasn’t expecting. 

From Evan Cross. 

Editor, literary critic, and minor celebrity in the world of niche memoirs. 

I frown, clicking it open. 

Ms. Hale,  

Your work was recommended to me by a mutual contact. I’m looking for a photographer for an event next week—private, but potentially high profile. Please let me know if you’re available. It’s short notice, but I believe your style is exactly what we need.  

Kai Mercer’s book launch is Wednesday. Discretion is important.  

- Evan Cross  

My stomach knots. 

Kai Mercer. 

Even I know that name. 

The reclusive architect-turned-author whose first novel tore people to pieces. The man who disappeared from the public eye years ago, rumored to be living somewhere on the edge of nowhere. There’s something almost mythic about him. His writing is sharp, painful, beautiful. 

I’ve read every word. 

And I shouldn’t take the job. 

But I type out a reply anyway. 

That’s how I find myself at a gallery downtown three nights later. 

Camera slung over one shoulder. 

Anxiety coiled tight in my gut. 

The room is all polished wood and muted lighting, the kind of quiet elegance that makes me feel like an imposter just standing here. I adjust my lens, focus on the task. 

People. 

Details. 

Light and shadow. 

It’s fine. 

I can do this. 

And then I see him. 

Standing near the back wall, half in shadow. 

Kai Mercer. 

And I realize, with a jolt that makes my breath catch— 

He’s the man from the street. 

The one in front of the bookstore. 

He’s watching me now. 

And I don’t look away. 

I should look away. 

But I don’t. 

I can’t. 

His gaze is steady, unflinching. Not curious, not interested—just… aware. Like he’s seeing something he’s not sure he wants to understand. And for one sharp, breathless moment, I wonder if he can see all of me. Not just the photographer. Not the careful, curated version of myself I bring to these things. 

But the mess underneath. 

I lift the camera to my eye to break the stare, fingers cold against the shutter button. The familiar click of the lens is a comfort. I focus on the people milling around the room instead, snapping shots as they sip wine and murmur in soft voices. Everyone here looks polished, expensive. Their skin glows in the flattering gallery lights. Their laughter is practiced. 

I wonder if any of them are falling apart quietly underneath it all. 

Like I am. 

Like he looks. 

I make my way through the crowd slowly, methodically, doing the job. When I check my watch, twenty minutes have passed. Then thirty. I haven’t taken another picture of him, 

 though I’m aware of where he stands at all times. Like there’s a magnet in my chest and he’s the point it’s drawn to. 

At some point, Evan Cross approaches. 

"Ms. Hale," he says warmly. 

I force a polite smile. 

"Please, call me Aria." 

He nods. "The shots are exactly what I hoped for. Thank you for coming on such short notice." 

His gaze flickers past me toward Kai Mercer. 

"And thank you for being… discreet." 

I know what he means. No press. No questions. No invasive angles. I’ve done events like this before, but there’s a different energy tonight. Everyone keeps their distance. 

Especially from him. 

"I understand boundaries," I say simply. 

Evan gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Good," he murmurs. "Because Mr. Mercer doesn’t have many left." 

Later, I’m repositioning near the far wall when I sense him before I see him. 

Kai Mercer. 

He moves quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb the air around him. 

Or maybe he doesn’t want to be disturbed by it. 

He’s closer now. 

A few feet away. 

And then closer still. 

I lower my camera slowly. 

My pulse hammers in my throat, loud enough I’m sure he can hear it. 

"You’ve been watching me," he says. 

His voice isn’t what I expect. It’s rough, yes, but not harsh. Low, quiet. Like a secret passed between strangers in the dark. 

I think of lying. 

I think of telling him I’m watching everyone. 

But I don’t. 

"Yes," I admit. 

There’s a long pause. His gaze is darker up close, something stormy trapped behind his eyes. 

"Why?" 

I open my mouth. Close it again. 

Why? 

Because you look how I feel? 

Because you’re an echo I wasn’t ready to hear out loud? 

Because I’m curious about how a man who writes about brokenness so beautifully survives it? 

Instead, I say, "Because you remind me of something I lost." 

His brow furrows faintly. Not anger. Not confusion. 

Recognition. 

"And what was that?" he asks quietly. 

"Myself," I say before I can stop it. 

It slips out raw, unpolished. 

I feel exposed. 

But he doesn’t look away. 

And neither do I. 

We stand there, suspended in something thin and taut. 

And then he shifts, just slightly. 

"You’re the photographer," he says. 

It’s not a question. 

He’s already memorized me. I can feel it. 

I nod. 

"Aria," I say. "Aria Hale." 

His lips press into something that might be a smile but doesn’t quite make it. 

"Kai Mercer," he replies. 

As if I don’t know. 

As if everyone in this room isn’t orbiting around his gravity. 

But the way he says it… 

It’s like it tastes bitter in his mouth. 

"I read your first book," I say before I can think better of it. 

His gaze sharpens. 

"I figured," he says. 

I wait for him to turn away. Most people do when they figure me out. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he says, "Which part did you hate?" 

It’s not the question I expect. 

I blink, then answer honestly. 

"The ending." 

He tilts his head slightly. "Why?" 

"Because it didn’t end," I say. "It just… stopped." 

There’s the faintest glimmer of something in his eyes. 

Maybe surprise. 

Maybe relief. 

Maybe something he’s not used to showing anyone anymore. 

"It’s hard to end something when you’re still living it," he says. 

And I understand. 

God, I do. 

I could walk away. 

I should. 

But I don’t. 

"Are you still writing it?" I ask. 

He shrugs. "I’m still surviving it." 

His honesty is sharp enough to cut skin. 

I grip the camera strap tighter. "Me too." 

And that’s the closest thing to truth I’ve said out loud in months. 

Evan’s voice calls him back to the circle of people waiting for him. 

But before he leaves, he says, 

"Will you send me the pictures before you submit them?" 

I nod. 

"Of course." 

And then he’s gone. 

I exhale. 

Realize I’ve been holding my breath. 

Realize my hands are shaking again—but this time, not from fear. 

Something else. 

Something like… recognition. 

Like I’ve seen something I wasn’t supposed to. 

Like I’ve been seen. 

I stay another hour, though I don’t take many more pictures. 

When I get home, I download the photos onto my laptop and go through them in silence. 

His face fills my screen. 

Unsmiling. 

Tired. 

Beautiful in the way that old churches are beautiful— 

Worn down but still standing. 

Still sacred. 

I don’t sleep that night. 

Instead, I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, thinking about the way he looked at me. 

And how I didn’t look away. 

[a-username-required25]

Your eyes are so intoxicating.

Your smile is to die for.

Your touch is so gentle.

Your laugh is like the birds singing their praise and gratefulness that a new dawn has arrived.

Feeling my head rise and fall on your chest with each breath you take, giving me a peace and relaxation better than any sleep aid.

Feeling your fingers run through my hair like the wind on a sunny day bringing me a wonderful tranquility.

Listening to you sing you songs in my car, looking out the window when you mess up a line, but looking at me when you’re hitting every lyric and note perfectly.

Watching you run your fingers across your lip when you were focused on your game or trying to figure out what to send in a text message.

Seeing you smile when I would send you a text even though I was standing right in front of you.

Watching you giggle as I would be goofy.

Listening to your “Hmms” with your corner of the mouth smile when I would compliment you.

The way your eyebrows would just barely raise while we locked eyes with each other.

The kisses at the red lights.

The hand holding while driving.

The tone of your curious questions.

The little random southern twang that would come out while talking to me.

The FaceTimes and phone calls.

The constant nose boops.

The face flicks.

Stealing my vape.

Telling me you miss me.

Telling me that I’m always on your mind.

I miss it. I miss all of it. Every moment I sit here and reminisce. I contemplate. I bask in. I yearn to experience again. I love. I want to continue to experience.

I miss it all. I want it back.

I miss you. I want you back.

No I’m not sleeping right, no I’m not eating right, no I’m not okay, no im not fine, no I don’t want to stop and let someone else have your time. No I don’t want to sit back and wait.

I want you. I want your time. I want to hold you in MY arms when I go to sleep. I want to take you in MY car to places. I want to be on the phone with you always. I want to see your face always.

It’s MY hand that I want on your cheek. It’s MY hand that I want lifting your chin. It’s MY words of affirmation I want you to listen to and want.

It’s ME that I want you to take back and continue to love.

I don’t want to sit back in silence… I don’t want to wait because my fear is that while I’m waiting, I’ll be left behind. And the space that you take will grow too far from me and so close to him. I can’t bear the thought of losing you after all I’ve had to fight through.

I don’t see life without you anymore. But I don’t want to be your friend. I fought so hard to win your heart. From the first day until the last I have fought and I WON.

But now im so conflicted. Do I keep going? Or do I risk giving that space and ending up too far away?

I don’t get to see you every day. I don’t get to spend hours with you on end. I have no influence when it comes to you deciding me like I used to.

Im at a loss, im stuck, and im forced to live in this fear. And I don’t want to move on from it. I want to wait. Because to me you are worth every second of the pain im going to face. Every second of the anticipation I feel. Every second of the heart wrenching moments when you don’t say that you miss me or you love me back. Every second of the pain when you ignore my attempt of being cute.

God it sucks right now, but I swear I won’t move until told otherwise.

And I wish that this was something I could tell you, something you could see. Instead I’m writing for just me to forget about.

I feel so conflicted… do I be upfront and tell you all this? Or do I just sit back and wait? Give you that space?

I’m going to, because that’s what you want. And because I love you, I will swallow my pride and I will hide my pain as best as I can.

I’m not perfect, but for you I would do my best to achieve it because you deserve it.

God I hate this. I hate not being able to just let you in on this. I hate that I’m going to write this and then just let it sit and not be seen.

But what else can I do?

Fuck em. Feed em cheese. That’s the best I’ve got because buddy, you can’t do much else.

Expect the worst. Hope for the best.