#or taking it painfully surface level

[puhpandas]

I feel like I'm insane why are none of the hw2 update theories talking about the connections of 3 star with mxes and how its plausible they're driving the van pre-ruin it's right there it's not even hidden or hard to piece together its SO obvious. SO MUCH evidence points towards it. itd make perfect sense too. the gift shop and the van are grouped together bc its saying that mxes came from the factory, probably built by Edwin, and 3 star took them to set up ruin, their footprints around ruin where nodes are + Gregory's backpack by mxes + his knowledge about mxes making it painfully clear. it reveals where mxes came from easily. all information it could convey is here.

they all just keep saying "someone" or "they're taking mxes post ruin or it's back in the 70s or it's the van that hit david (SO many plotholes with that)" like oh my god i swear everything has to be about the mimic/tftp and Gregory and vanessa dont exist if they arent actively vanny and ggy in the YouTube theory community. why will nobody actually observe in game evidence. theres so many obvious plotholes that nobody but me sees with it being the van that hit david and it's making me feel insane

[chewwytwee]

Y’all realize having an account on tumblr is giving tumblr money right? Logging in everyday and scrolling through posts gives them ad revenue, posting on their site boosts their SEO and brings in more users, talking about tumblr on other sites and platforms makes it more known and all of this serves to increase the theoretical ‘value’ of the site. I agree that we shouldn’t be giving tumblr our hard earned cash because they do suck, but let’s not get too holier-than-though because you’re still using this site everyday which in very direct terms ‘gives the site money’

[infizero]

you guys dont understand how much splatoon means to me. you will never understand

[anakinsdove]

𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐤𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!padawan!reader

summary: Your master is horny and frustrated, he looks for release at a nasty gloryhole in coruscant… only to find out that that perfect pussy he’s fucking belongs to his padawan.

c/w: gloryhole, p in v, masturbation, power imbalance (very nasty idgf im sorry im horny)

discord - twitter: anakinsdove. -PART 2-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。Love you

𝘄/𝗰: 1,838

He’s frustrated, Anakin won’t hide it anymore, he even yelled at you this morning, but as soon as he saw your pretty eyes pout at him he regretted it, it’s not even your fault, you’re learning, he’s your master, he’s supposed to teach you, it’s just… you jumping around and swinging your lightsaber does something to him… and he knows it shouldn’t.

It doesn’t matter anymore, how hard and fast he fucks his fleshlight, how hard he grinds against his mattress trying to chase an unsatisfactory high that leaves him as soon as it arrives, the painful dry orgasms he craves and hates, how painfully hard he grips his cock, nothing is enough, not anymore, he craves something else.

someone else

Someone’s pussy he knows he shouldn’t even think about, but he wonders… he wonders if someday he’ll be able to fuck it… how tight and wet you must feel around his cock… could you even take it? Could his sunshine of padawan handle him? He’ll be gentle, he’ll be rough, he’ll be anything you want him to be

Anakin sits on his bed late at night, however this is coruscant, theres always some sort of party going on somewhere, bars, loud noises and music, flashing lights, even nasty gloryholes, this planet is wild… the Jedi temple is luxurious and quiet on the surface…. But in the lower levels of coruscant there are… some interesting things happening, but he’s a Jedi, he knows it’s not right, he’s not sure what part isn’t right, but there’s something that doesn’t click.. maybe it’s the fact that paying for some services are just not what he wants, he wants your stupid creamy fucking pussy wrapped around his cock… what would you call him? Master? Anakin? And there’s the other fact that it’s avoid being recognized with his Jedi robes and his lightsaber… he must go undercover if he wants to get what he wants.

As anakin prepares himself for an adventure he takes a peek of the empty hallways at the Jedi temple, everyone asleep, everyone doesn’t have the same problem as him… it’s quiet and peaceful… he remembers that place, Obi wan and him tracked a criminal a few alleys away, the discrete yet inviting place hiding beneath the shadows… *is that?* *Don’t even say it Anakin….* Obi wan said with an unamused expression… of course it fucking is.

And now his feet has finally led him here….

The first thing her sees is lady.. well only her hands.. her face is covered by a piece of wood, completely anonymous… great, like this he’ll just have to imagine it’s you… he hope it does the trick, he hands her some credits without saying much… then he takes a deep breathe *Focus Anakin… focus* he tells himself… but the loud slapping noises and moans keep distracting him, he feels some sort of sense of guilt, he knows he’s better than this, but again he’s not… and the last thing he thinks before opening that stained curtain is… Obi wan should never know this… Y/N should never know this….

And finally he sees legs spread and in display… the wood creaks beneath his feet, the loud moans Turing of his brain, men acting like animals as they fuck a pussy, they’re in heat, just like him… he even sees some men on their knees eating out some women… interesting… who said chivalry doesn’t exist anymore?

He stops in front a pair of legs… all pretty and spread wide, inviting, a puffy clit that begs to be touched and rubbed nicely, fuck… those pretty legs look just like yours… just like yours… when you swirl around and he takes a small glance of that set of thighs under your skirt…

But he’s nervous… the consent has been already given right? He doesn’t have to talk to her or even know her name… it doesn’t fucking matter because she’s not you… he holds onto her thighs squeezing softly as the girl adjusts slightly feeling that she’s about to have some company, and just as his touch arrived is gone again as they leave goosebumps, he unbuttons his pants slower that he should’ve, he grasps his cock over his boxers and releases it giving himself a few strokes to get himself rock hard, fuck he’s about to get it… he needs it so so so so so fucking bad, he needs her, he…

He rubs his cock against her clit, slapping his tip against it gently as he hears a small gasp behind… *cute* he thinks to himself… fuck it he deserves this.

He pushes himself all the way in

Grabbing onto her ankles and starting with a relentless peace, the girl cries out, he should’ve given her some time to adjusts but he just couldn’t control himself… he pushes his hips forward trying to get his dick as deep as possible as he throws his head back… “fucking- he’ll…” he hopes he’s not fucking a virgin but this girl feels like one, she feels the way you would’ve feel wrapped around him, you’re so… you’re completely devoted to him, your life is Jedi training with your master anakin, missions with Anakin, free time with Anakin… you’re his, you’re his you’re his and only his… then why is he fucking this random girl? Why won’t you love him the way he loves you so he could be fucking you instead… this infuriates him as he pistons her harder… faster, his fingers digging into her skin leaving marks, he doesn’t know if it’s allowed or not.

He huffs and growls trying to control his anger… sweet moans filling his ears and emptying his thoughts… fuck she sounds just like you

He feels a deep connection to this girl he’s fucking, the force, something? Or it’s just her tight pussy? Gummy walls massaging him so fucking nice, his balls pounding agains her cute asshole, he chuckles as he watches her hips struggle against the hardwood, struggling to stay still, he licks his fingers and starts massaging her puffy clit, rubbing nice and slow… nice and slow, contrasting with his brutal pace

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n… One day he’s going to take you…. One fucking day…

A bead of sweat falls from his forehead, he ignores the noisy looks from people as they see the young hot man fucking the young hot woman like an animal, his hips move expertly against yours, he knows what he’s doing and it shows, and there’s not much to do than to trust roughly to fuck his frustration out, he loves this, the feeling but he wants more, a deeper connection, to look into your eyes as he fucks you, your nails digging in his back as he fucks you so hard it hurts…

He pushes herself deeper as the girl cries out because his tip is kissing her cervix a painful kiss.

This girl is wet… and she’s getting wetter every seconds, he feels the little splashes her pussy is making against his thighs… cute.. she’s squirting, anakin rubs her clit faster, you would arch your back right now wouldn’t you? If it were you obviously… he sees the girls hips raise a little and he knows she’s arching, her pretty feet shake over his shoulders as he keeps pounding her

His hips falteres as he nears his release, cock twitching and pulsating nice inside her velvety pussy

“Keep going!”

Shit, her voice even sounds like yours and he knows he’s imagining it because he’s whipped but this only enhances his experience… he’s breathing heavily, he’s panting as he tries to keeps some noises from escaping but they do.. and finally he cums… she squirts and it’s all fireworks and aftershocks, spasms and pure pleasure, his legs wobble, he put on quite a show….

He pants and pants until his breathing finally even, he feels at peace, what every orgasm should be like, not like those painful and dry ones he gives himself, he sees his cum dripping from the girls pussy, fuck, he didn’t even pull out… his head is pounding and he holds the girls thighs tighter… he feels… he feels a connection…. A big one… a deep one… a nice one… he buttons up his pants and gets on his knees, like an spell has been casted on him, he spread her legs even wider and dives in, he moans at the taste as he gives her a long lick, his lips instantly wrapping around her clit… he licks his cum out of her, he’s possessed, eyes rolling back into his head as he feels the girls fingers tangling on his hair…. Cute little whines can be heard, he’s obviously overstimulating her but… he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care.

He forced his eyes to open and he looks up and sees her fingers now resting over her stomach

And he sees the delicate bracelet around her wrist….

One that he happens to share with you

His eyes widen as he stands up immediately

“Y/n” he says loud enough for you to hear as his words get drowned into the loud sex noises…. The humid air and the smell of sex are prominent.

“Im sorry master” you say apologetic with that little voice of yours, one that indicates that you know you did something wrong but you’re not sorry for it

Now everything makes sense, he told you about this place a few months ago when Obi wan and him found it… the urge the intense craving and the way his legs lead him here, the connection that he felt to this person… why he was drawer to this pretty set of thighs.

It was all you, you lead him here, taking advantage of your connection through the force…

And he fucking loves it

He dives back in savoring your pussy, biting your button delicate and tongue fucking your hole as he tastes himself, his tongue exploring your folds… your fingers tangle around his locks as you cry out again, your legs close around his head and your back arches… perfect perfect, so fucking perfect.

He feels your back arch again and your moans get louder

You’re so close… so so close.

And he’s going to drag you to the edge

And he’s going to make you cum again

Your master Anakin Skywalker is devouring you like a mad man

And it’s okay

“Master master!” You cry out

An hour later you come out of the place as Anakin waits for you in a dark alley, he sees your with your coat and your wobbly legs… the walk back home is quiet, too quiet… no words exchanged, the aura is heavy yet not uncomfortable.. he leads you inside the Jedi temple and you walk to his quarters… a punishment, not in a sexual way, a lecture… something awaits… he pushes you inside and the door locks….

Your heels echoe in the darkness as his arms wrap around your torso… and you breathe in relief.

masterlist 𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗱𝗼𝘃𝗲 © --- all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/ copying will be tolerated.

dividers - @i92-93

TAGS: @espinathena-17 @skywqlkergf

[retiredteabag]

An uninformed narrative

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2

Synopsis: You had lived in Stardew Valley for a year before you met the hunter from the adventures guild, Sukuna Itadori. It did not take long for him to catch your attention but you couldn't help feeling as if his affection resided anywhere but you.

Pairing: Sukuna x reader

This is a Sukuna stardew valley au, heavily inspired by @tearzintheclub's similar series with butcher!sukuna, I highly recommend reading their work, they are super kind and were a big motivation for me to make this!

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Damn it...damn it...damn-

After all the work you had put into your farm, into your skill set, into your friendships, the Dunning-Kruger effect had bitten you where it hurt. And you couldn't help but feel it was all your fault.

The pit in your stomach was sinking. How could you have let this happen? You had been so careful, you had even worn the armor you recently acquired from the guild. Was all this effort for nothing?

There were many thoughts swirling in your head as you frantically attempted to fend off the ghosts attacking you. You were encircled. Yes, the number was weening but so was your health, you knew you didn't have long. And the strongest feeling brewing in your heart was the shame that you had overestimating yourself.

The sword in your hand shook and your knees throbbed as you fell to the stone floor deep within the mines. Your vision was fading and even as you knew there was nothing left for you to win, you swung at the ghost coming your way, missing in your haste, and slump to the ground. Unmoving.

At least nobody would find you here...see you like this.....

-- several hours prior --

Life continued on as usual after joining the adventurers guild. The Stardew Valley Fair had just passed and after collecting your most prized items, you had won. Your heart had been full that night, not for your accomplishments, but for how loved you felt after a day of festivities with your friends.

You had sat and eaten with Penny and Leah, discussing life in the valley. You and Leah both had come to the Valley after living the city life but Penny had been born in Stardew, and that evening she had confessed her hope to one day travel away from town. The three of you decided that one day, you would adventure together.

Penny had cried.

Your heart was warm, watching Yuuji, Jas, and Vincent play in the apple-bobbing bucket and participate in slingshot games. Yuuji bounced up and down when he spotted you and his teacher, begging the two of you to come and play with them.

Life had felt whole.

Despite the labor that went into caring for your crops and animals, you had never felt so fulfilled.

Having just cracked level 50 in the mines that weekend, you grew excited when a day would come when you would have the chance to explore more of the depths.

It was not simply for personal gain, either. Though it was nice to have useful ore and pretty gemstones, you couldn't help but love feeling useful to your friends in town. Hunting the monsters below the surface was never too much work when it meant seeing their grateful faces.

Not too long after the town fair the forecast called for rain. Those days were designated for the awaiting mineshaft as you had little to do around the farm.

Back then, you had never thought it would cause this.

--

Night had fallen when you were found. It was dark, and relentlessly pouring rain, you could hear its aggressive pitter-patter on the ceiling of the cave.

You squeezed your eyes and tried to move but your body cried out against the stretch. You drew your hands down to the earth you were strewn upon. Your fingers traced the dirt below you.

Dirt?

Your eyes shot open. Heart beating as if you had never lost consciousness. Your vision and skull were pulsing painfully with the beats of your heart. You flung your head around dramatically.

You were within the face of the cave, you could just make out the Mountain Lake through the rain...

Your palm finds your forehead, and some kind of inhuman noise escapes you. Your brain was just starting to question how you moved up 55 levels when you opened your eyes again and saw him.

A man is squatting by your side, he looks... furious... to say the least.

Not expecting to see anything but a ghost in the case of your survival, you gasp. Shifting away from his all-too-close glower.

"Stay still you moron." He's gripping your shoulder with a hand, pulling you closer, you hadn't seen or felt it before, but he's got his other hand on your shin.

"Wha-what- how-who- I just-" Nicely said. Very eloquent.

He seems to scowl even more, despite not thinking it possible.

"Are you out of your mind?" His eyes glow red in the dark of the cavern. Though he has brought himself close to the ground in examining you, he is still a looming presence. "How can a damn farmer not have any food on them?"

"I just- I was" It was then that you realize who the man before you is. You had met him this past week, in the adventurers guild. The embarrassment you felt increased ten fold. "I had some...but-"

"What? You used it all and didn't think to head back? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He released his grip on your left calf and a fiery pain shoots up your leg. You gasp.

"No-!" You shake with the feeling.

"Sure looks like you are." The man shoulders his backpack to his front and starts searching for something.

Gratitude is the last thing on your mind. You're already ashamed enough but this man... this Sukuna was it? He was being unnecessarily rude.

He finally brings out a wad of cheese wrapped in parchment, and hands it to you.

"Eat. Your runnin' on fumes right now."

You huff but don't try to hide your desperation. Accepting the cheese and scarfing it down. Once it's settled in your stomach you feel much more alive. The pain in your calf is still very real but at least you have enough energy to make it home.

You push down at the ground, attempting to lift yourself but the weight on your leg causes a dramatic whimper to escape your throat. The pain was blinding. You'd have to see Harvey about this...

"What are ya doing?!" The tattooed man shoves your shoulders once more to keep you from rising.

"I'm trying- I need to get back..." You shake off his grip.

He laughs at you. But there's no smile on his face. It's cruel. "You really must be an idiot." Your brows furrow. "You aint walkin' on that leg." He points, and when you make no reply, he tugs up at the hem of your pants.

It's strange. He is the biggest, burliest man you've ever encountered, to countryman or city man alike, he is... quite large. He has a rough voice too, and a brutal look. Yet the touch he leaves on your ankle as he relives its weight, sliding the pantleg up, is as clement as a kitten.

This gentle juxtaposition throws you and it takes a moment for you to realize his intention to show you the blackened bruise that covers your left leg, ankle to shin. All air leaves you.

"You were fully out by the time I got down there. You're lucky most beasts here aint hungry for human flesh." He tucks your pant leg into your sock, softly settling your leg onto the ground once more.

You stare at his bent form. "Well...I'm- Thank you, you didn't have to get me, but I appreciate it." He's making an incredulous face, insulted. "And-" You speak up, "for the cheese as well, I feel much better."

He scoffs- "Oh, I didn't have to? And I suppose I'm to just leave ya to die? Gimmie a break."

He's stood to his full height just then, as he makes his way to peer out of the cave entrance you roll your eyes. Mentally retracting your thanks.

"Picked a great day to be here. Real nice choice of weather." He's taking off his backpack, then his jacket.

"Well..." You huff, "I guess you can come down here whenever you please but I'm busy with the farm when it's not raining, so actually today was ideal weather." You cross your arms, annoyed. Then work yourself up to try and stand once more.

"Oh yea?" He shuffles in his bag again, "Well I'd imagine if you were so busy with farm work you wouldn't come down here without some food to sustain your travel." He looks at your wobbling form now, and hisses between his teeth, dropping his bag.

"What the hell is wrong with you??!" His voice is frightening, and your eyes shake as you watch him stomp your way. "Couldn't wait one second, huh?"

"I need to get home, it's almost midnight..." You were starting to get fed up with his attitude. He's rolling his eyes and scoffing as if you've done something wrong.

But then he does something strange. He's grunts, squatting right beside you, but he's turned now, his broad back in your face.

"What... are you doing?" You squint at him.

"Thought you needed to get home." He turns to look at you, "Are you suddenly getting patient now?"

"What? No! I can do it myself!" As you say it you become more sure of yourself. There is no way you are letting this pompous prick carry you all the way to the farmhouse.

This time he sounds as if his laugh might be a bit more genuine. "Don't-make-me-laugh." His voice is mean and he turns to face you. "You're dumber than I thought if you're gonna try and walk home on that," he points to your leg, "in this." He directs his finger to the cave entrance, illuding to the downpour outside.

You grit your teeth. Almost wanting to swing at him. "Fine. Carry me then. Since I'm clearly incapable." Some part of your presumes he'll leave you here to fend for yourself. But he just frowns.

Disbelief covers his brows. "S'what I was trying to do from the start." His voice is low, and he turns once more, one arm pulls your own over his right shoulder, the other cradles your wounded leg.

"I'm gonna pull. Don't hoist yourself."

It's annoying. How prominent his lats and lower traps are. He lifts you, his right hand locked on your forearm, holding it to his chest. Now that he has risen, he uses his other arm to swing your left leg across his hip, allowing you to find a comfortable position as his new backpack.

There was a strain in your body as he had lifted you, but still, you're shocked by how effortless he made it look.

Too afraid to make a noise for fear of something stupid like "wow" coming out, you hold tight in silence as he bends down to grab his jacket. As he swings it across your form, the zipper hits your temple.

"Ow!" You grumble in his ear and he chuckles.

Bastard.

He bends once more to grab his bag and with it in hand, starts off through the mountains.

You never asked for his jacket. And you wouldn't have either. But you do feel a little bad that he is getting soaked while your clothes remain almost perfectly dry.

You swing your elbow onto his shoulder and bring your hand to the top of his head to block the rain.

"Enough of that." He swats away your hovering hand, "M' not made of sugar."

"Could've fooled me." You mumble

He reaches up to you with an open hand, finds your head with precision, and promptly flicks your skull with a firm finger.

"Ow!" You whine, tearing his hand from your forehead and tugging his ear like a grandma.

It's silent for a while as he treks past the carpenter's house, and into the path behind the bus station. "I'm just down here." You point. Trying to avoid the awkward silence.

"I know where the farm is." He motions your hand away once more.

Okay. You grit your teeth. Why can he not just be friendly like everyone else in this town?

When you begin to see the lights of your house, your heart starts to pulse. Are you supposed to invite him in? Is he going to lay you in bed? Your mind spins.

Before stomping up your porch steps, he grabs a large stick that your dog undoubtably has been carrying around and leans it against your door. "You good to be dropped off here? Or d'ya need me to tuck you in too?"

Little. Brat.

"I think I'll fair just fine like this." You force out. An attempt at cordiality.

"Alright then." He reaches around, gripping the small of your back, and gently lowers you to a stack of logs you keep for winter. Not allowing you to swing down and fall.

A small part of you wants to thank him. Was he an annoying git? Yes. But he didn't need to go to all the trouble to carry you home. Even so, his irritating remarks still float in your recent memory, so instead of a 'thank you', you say,

"The town is that way!" Pointing to the path he had walked past. His back had turned from you and continued south.

He turns around only for a moment.

"I'm well aware. I've lived here a'lot longer than you." He turns once more, making his way down to the forest.

"That's the way to the CIdersap Forest though?" You shout after him over the roars of the wind.

"Really?" He yells over the storm, not turning back, but moving slowly, "Didn't know."

"Well...." You lean on the stick he brought you to stand, "Where are you headed, it's nearly morning!"

The man turns one last time a grimace on his face. "I live in the Cidersap Forest."

His words permeated your brain now that he's gone from your vision. How could that be? That's where Marnie, Leah, and Jin lived. Could it be that there was a place you hadn't encountered in your year at the Village? Maybe so, seeing as you had only met the Hunter this past week.

The events of the night weighed on your shoulders as you limped into your house, gently closing the door. Your dog was wagging its tail, laying in bed, waiting for you.

It wasn't until you were about to flop on your bed that you realized: he had left you his jacket.

[twilightkitkat]

Almost everyone agrees that both sides of Poolverine have unhealthy attachment styles. A lot of people portray this as Logan having an avoidant attachment style and Wade having an anxious attachment style. But in reality, I think it'd be swapped.

Logan has all of the surface-level factors that make him easy to write off as avoidant: he's gruff, masculine, and has a habit of leaving without much forewarning. I feel like the largest factor that contributes to this portrayal of him is how he's closed-off and wary of people, and how despite getting closer to the X-men he still leaves the second he has a reason to. (And oftentimes, that reason is exploring his past or just needing to get away.)

But the reason he's leaving isn't because he wants to. It's because he feels like has to.

Logan acts like he doesn't care, but he does. And it's so painfully obvious. The second anyone he cares about is in danger, he rushes off to save them even if it goes against orders. His "leaving" isn't him running away from the people he cares about, but running toward them. And the other times, he's trying to uncover his past. Not because he wants to distance himself from the people he loves, but because he needs to know that he doesn't endanger them or put them at risk. So that he can be better for them.

He feels like the only way to keep the people he loves close is to not put everything out in the open. While he comes off as cocky and guarded and gruff, in reality, he's insecure and paranoid that people will leave him. He's terrified of loss, so he tries to prevent it by only showing people the parts of his personality that are "acceptable." The Wolverine can be animalistic and rough, but if he's soft and clingy then people will push him away.

The second he gets a crumb of affection, he clings to it desperately. He sees Jean's attraction to him and relentlessly flirts with her and tries to show off. If she told him no or turned him down point-blank, he would stop. But she only gives weak resistance (the type you give "for show") and so he keeps pushing. He puts himself in harm's way for her and protects her and supports her because he loves her, even if she only gives him a little back.

A scene where this is incredibly obvious is when Jean tells him that girls only flirt with the bad boy, they don't take him home. They marry the good guy. His response? He told her that he could be the good guy. That if she just gave him the chance, he'd change himself for her just to hold her close. He's desperate for her to finally see him and tries to plead his case.

If he were avoidant, he wouldn't lean in so hard to anyone who gives him any semblance of care or affection. Instead, as soon as someone is kind to him, he devotes himself to them. Gives away as much of himself as he can for their sake. He tries to be as close to them as he physically can, but it's hard. It's hard when nobody reciprocates. When he's met with awkwardness and discomfort the second he asks for more.

(He just wanted someone to belong to. A steady home. The second someone opens their door for him, he belongs to them. Until they get tired and kick him back out again. Until they just leave food scraps by the door and expect it to be enough.)

His natural instinct is to cling to someone as hard as he can. To stay on the lifeboat even as it sinks, even as his head is submerged underwater, until he physically can't anymore. But after so many times of trying to stay afloat on debris, he's reluctant to get into the water again.

And yet, the second Wade calls out to him and asks him to stay, he does. There's no room for hesitation. Not when someone finally wanted him.

Whenever Logan was offered a home, he always stayed as long as he could. And he learned that people normally took this as him overstaying his welcome. So he leaves not because he wants to, but for their sake. To not be a burden. Because that's what's expected.

But as soon as someone gives an indication otherwise, genuinely wants him, he holds them so closely he can hear their heartbeat. He's anxious that they'll leave him, so desperately tries to show that he's worth keeping. He'll do anything they ask. He'll push as far as they'll let him, curl up as close to them as they allow, and stay there.

Wade, on the other hand, is more avoidant. It's easy to write him off as anxious and affectionate: he's cheerful, flirty, and wears his surface-level emotions proudly. He isn't afraid to claim that he has a family, and one of his main motivations is his long-term relationship with Vanessa. He's been explicitly shown to be scared to lose the people he loves, and he coped horribly with the loss of his girlfriend.

However, attachment styles aren't about what you feel. They're about how you react to it.

Wade does care, because of course he does. He cares so much that it's painful. But how does he act on the love he feels? By distancing himself from others.

Wade is good at flirting. He's good at joking and being there when times are easy. But he's always had a habit of hiding his deeper emotions, even from the people closest to him. He doesn't let them know about his problems until it's too late. He intentionally hides from them and doesn't let them get involved in his life because he fears hurting them. It's a compulsion to keep them safe and happy and to protect himself and his own feelings.

After breaking free from Francis after unlocking his mutation, what does he do? He avoids Vanessa for years, terrified of how she'll react to this new version of him now that he looks disfigured. He never lets anyone too close to his true feelings, hiding behind his suit and mask. His first reaction when there's conflict that could result in issues isn't to stay and try to work through it, but to leave. Before they can get hurt. (Before they can hurt him.)

This is also shown at the start of the Deadpool & Wolverine movie. The overarching issue in Wade's life is that he feels empty and like he has no real purpose. Like he doesn't matter. Instead of using his relationships as support and sticking with them, he pulls back. He doesn't open up to Vanessa which results in their eventual break-up. He acts like he's perfectly content with his life to Peter and Al even though that's clearly not the case.

His first instinct was to run away. From his feelings, from difficult talks, from the people he loved. He tried to suppress his emotions and avoid intimate or serious conversations. He feels uncomfortable with the idea of being vulnerable with someone. He knows how to be alone. It's easy. Familiar. It's what he returns to the second he feels threatened.

However, as a pair, Wade and Logan balance each other out. Wade can finally feel comfortable being more open because Logan understands the pain of loss and suffering and immortality. Logan finally has someone who doesn't judge him for what he's done and who lets him be himself and still wants him.

When Logan initially was more closed-off, Wade felt comfortable pushing. When Wade tried to pull away because of his guilt, Logan yanked him back. When Logan was about to walk away, Wade called after him. Offered him a home. Logan answered.

Logan would latch onto Wade like a cat with separation anxiety. He'd give all he has to Wade in return for finally being treated like a person. And this would make Wade realize that he doesn't have to run away. He doesn't have to pull back when Logan can protect himself and wants to stay with him. Despite his mangled appearance and crude personality and shitty morality.

Wade gets used to Logan's presence. To finally having someone who's an equal. (Who won't hurt him. Who can't die. Who won't become overwhelmed because he knows what it's like. It's like he can finally breathe knowing that there's someone who's going to be there no matter what.)

Logan feels less anxious when Wade only acts this close to him, when he reassures him that in a multiverse of Wolverines, he's the one Wade would choose. Again and again. He finally feels like he's the exception in a good way. Like he's someone's first choice.

So Logan lets himself relax, and Wade lets himself finally get close to someone. They both let themselves stay and mean it.

[belovedivies]

Heyyy I love the killer Peter writing that you do it’s amazing🤩

Could I request relationship head canons for Peter like you did for Raphael but this time reader is an assassin like him

peter relationship headcanons

a/n: i'll be taking requests again now that i'm done with midterms (spoiler alert i got my ass beaten :3). this came out a little too long and specific for a hc but i plan to flesh this out on another oneshot- anw, enjoy anon!!! cw: minor spoiler, pre-canon, brief canon-typical cruelty wc: 1.26k m.list

IDEA

You met on neutral ground, mainly because his friend just wouldn’t shut up about this cute girl a few rooms down the hallway. You were three years older than Simon then, with a stature shorter than Peter himself.

Glory Club’s foundation is three things: violence, money, and ego. Assassins were pitched against each other on a daily basis, risking their lives to climb to the top where the Apostles rightfully resided. Where jealousy burnt red hot and became a driving force for success, the flame in you had long died out. Peter stared sometimes, and in your eyes, an ocean of arctic iciness stared right back.

He didn’t think much of it. He couldn’t begrudge anyone for it either. The paycheck was nice, and so was the control, the chokehold over others. Peter had and would play the part of an obedient puppet on strings to this organization as long as he drew breath, and as long it benefited them. Wouldn’t you do the same too? Downed a pill, cracked a skull, tossed and turned in a dusty corner later on because the dried blood felt so uncomfortably sticky on your nape, the scream of agony fresh on your mind. It wasn’t the nicest job out there, but it was for survival. A better cause. And Peter had thought about it rationally; he just owed that much to Father Gabriel.

It did get a little more complicated when you got roped in with them. Peter’s apathy had been evident while you stayed painfully austere, and Simon… was just trying his best to get both of you to talk. Five minutes in and a few hours after that afternoon, he couldn’t fathom why his comrade had thought it was a good idea for them to spar with not just a B-rank killer, but one whom neither of them had ever talked to.

OUTLINE

You really hated your job. Anyone would, at some point in their life.

Solo missions were a norm for Peter—things always worked out smoother and faster for the guy when he was on his own. On the rare occasion, he did get paired up with another person. Sometimes his fellow Apostles, the others a far too prideful assassin who chewed more than they could bite. But today there was you. And there wasn’t anything to go about besides a few surface-level exchanges and the silence in between. He couldn’t begrudge you. It’s only for survival.

A hit to the jugular and the job was done. Once out cold on the ground, the body wasn’t his responsibility anymore. Still, the boy watched with some amount of interest when you picked up the knife and poked around their insides. He left to light up a cigarette, took three brief puffs, and went back to the bedsheets covered in blood with the corpse nailed against the wall.

Sadism wasn’t intentional, but it was a running theme among the ranked Glory Club killers. The only collar made of metal and swine that bound them together by the neck. That you were so deep into the pit of insanity, you either shut off your emotions completely or learned to love the carnage.

Death reeked in every corner of the room, yet it was in you that Peter could tell the scent the clearest. You were there, so strangely out of the place, knees pulled tight against your chest. The look on your face was downright miserable.

When Peter made his way closer to inspect the scene, you tilted your head up to meet his face. The knife slipped, the moon shone, the rain tapered. Then you blinked, which was already so rare in itself. And Peter had blinked too, eyes widened, lips parted open just a fraction in surprise as tears welled up in your eyes. You sobbed and wept your dying heart out all the way until the cleanup crew showed up at the motel. One old lady, grey hair and croaked voice, held you in her arms. Months later when Peter finally asked again, he learned that it had hardly been the first. 

FIRST DRAFT

Just down the road, past the cut of dense trees leading to a lonely seashore, there was an orphanage tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Seoul. The kids always waved whenever Peter passed by during his morning run, a gesture that he had returned with equal warmth. Twice a week, the courtyard was lit up with colorful string lights and music, the mouth-watering scent of food wafting through the night air.

He had seen you outside of the Cathedral before, but not like this. The gentle fluorescents accentuated your features with a certain softness, like marshmallow, like the sea breeze carding through his hair. And you had talked, had smiled, had laughed along with them, had stared at Peter with eyes wide as saucers when one of the caregivers invited him in. You were in an apron with the children clung to your waist, vying for an ounce of your attention. It was a week after the mission and you two had rarely crossed paths. 

Peter wondered if you resented him for it; serving him a rather generous portion of seafood barbecue while dodging teasing comments from the kids through grinding teeth and knife-point smiles. But when your shoulders bumped against him on the bench, the tip of your right ear was burning red.

Simon ended up joining the week that followed, bringing more laughter to the shared space with his horrible singing and playfully flexing his swordsmanship. The edge of your smile grew softer and your shoulders more relaxed as you stuffed everyone’s plates with more food. Peter watched you through the rim of his cup with a tightness in his throat; you had only wanted to be normal. 

EDIT

“The kids are my rock.” You confessed a few months later when the ice wall between you and him finally melted. This late into the night, there wasn’t a wisp of cloud in the sky. The waves hit the shore every second, washing away the footsteps as Peter took a stroll with you along the beach.

You asked him about his dream. He didn’t know how to answer it. Taking away the cruelty and violence that made him the way he is today, what was left of the Apostle Peter? A caring brother to Simon and a good son to Father Gabriel. He might as well have been a husk before and a pretty face after, but there rarely had been anything in between for Peter to define himself. A label. A purpose.

Before he could say it, you gave his shoulder a gentle pat and chuckle, eyes glinting with mirth. “You’ll probably be a bookstore typa guy when you grow older.” And against all odds, the statement drew a chuckle from him too.

Maybe he would. Maybe if there was ever a disbandment order from the Cathedral and Peter had lived long enough to have a hunched back and a head full of grey hair, he would run a small bookstore on his own. Maybe the future Simon would drop by sometimes and tease him for his old-man look despite being older than Peter was.

Maybe the future you, still alive and kicking then, would also visit him, and the future Peter, older and wiser than he is right now, might have had the courage to ask you to stay.

But tonight, there was just the two of you. The moon hung high above the sky, the sea glistened with stars and mysticality. Peter watched as the white moonlight lined up the bridge of your nose and the curves of your cupid bow. The artificial heart inside your chest might not have a pulse, but his own did.

And it was very much beating for you.

[melonsodypop]

H-hi! I hope It's ok if my first request is not a smutty one? Yakuza men and what makes them feel loved? Thank you in advance!

yakuza men and the things that make them feel loved !

❀ pairing -  kazuma kiryu, goro majima, taiga saejima, shun akiyama, y0!akira nishikiyama, daigo dojima, ryuji goda/reader (all seperate)

❀ tags - fluff, angst, gender neutral reader, probably sloppy character analysis, these men all really need therapy, love languages, alcohol/smoking mentions

❀ a/n - of course non-smut requests are welcome!! stares at my college degree on the wall that focused almost entirely on how people's experiences, relationships and environments affect them and their inner wounds/ways they want to be loved... i am so ready to break these down hehehehe (also i learned how to use gradient text are u guys proud of me)

kazuma kiryu ❀ spending time with him

deceptively simple, kiryu feels the most loved when you decide to just exist near him

oftentimes he feels like he's undeserving of company or that his mere presence is a danger to his loved ones, so frankly your insistence on being close to him is going to freak him out at first

he might even start avoiding you in the early stages of a relationship - don't take it personally, it's just that he loves you so much that he's anxious about hurting you

the more and more you stick by him, the more he realizes that he doesn't have to do everything on his own

in fact, he likes not doing everything on his own, a wave of relief every time he remembers that he has someone he trusts and admires deeply at his side

it slowly heals that deep emotional wound he carries that for someone to love him means for them to be hurt

the reason i hesitate to use the word 'quality time' with him is that he doesn't even really need you to be doing something with him

just being in the same room as him, focusing on whatever you both are working on separately

he's never been one to be comfortable expressing himself in words, the silence between the two of you like a warm blanket instead of awkward

i could get into my hc that he's autistic so it's a form of parallel play to him, but i digress

if you look over at him, you'll see that there's a rare soft smile on his lips

wordlessly will walk over to you and pull you flush to his side gently, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead

"i like when you're here," he'll grumble softly to you - which in kiryu-isms, really means 'please stay by my side like this forever'

goro majima ❀ letting him vent/talk about his feelings

oh boy i have so many thoughts about majima and how hard of a time he has accepting love

he's a master at self-sabotage - he doesn't know how to process feelings of love or affection, nor does he really feel that a piece of shit like him deserves it (see: how often he tells others that they'd be better off without him)

so he often chooses to bury his feelings instead of doing something about it

it was much the same when it came to you - he loves you so much, painfully so, but there was always that annoying voice in his head that told him that that you had better things to do than spend time on a mongrel like him

he'll keep his conversations surface-level with you at first, but ask him how he feels about everything and validate what he says

it'll catch him off-guard at first, and he might even try to put up a front and say he doesn't like talking about that sappy shit

but he'll eventually start giving in, going on long rants about all the crap he had to deal with that day or his 'tragic fuckin' backstory' while you listen intently

the more you wrench his ribcage open and force him to expose his real heart to you, the more he starts falling helplessly for you

not only are you letting him acknowledge and let out the emotions he keeps bottled up close to his chest, but you're seeing every ugly, rotten part of him and you still love him

now, that doesn't mean don't hold him accountable when he's kinda being a dick

praising everything he does will just make him feel like you're putting him on a pedestal or seeing some idealized version of himself you made up in your head

which will give his brain an excuse to run out on you before he eventually disappoints you

so don't let him run - from his feelings, from accountability, from you

the mad dog doesn't like to be collared, but for the person who looks past every facade he puts up and lets him just be goro majima - he'll happily put himself on a leash if it's you who's holding it

taiga saejima ❀ giving him physical affection

for most of his life, saejima was treated like a dangerous beast due to his size and that perpetual scowl on his face

it only got worse after the ueno seiwa hit - shackled like a circus tiger as he was dragged from jail to jail, never able to escape whispers of 'the man who slayed eighteen' and 'the stone-cold hitman' that make him sound more like an urban legend monster than a man

saejima has his own pride in his strength, and for the longest time he just accepted that he was the untouchable, scary beast that everyone made him out to be

it's not until you come into his life and start to subjecting him to little casual touches of affection that he realizes how touch-starved he is

grab his hand, cuddle him, catch him off-guard with kisses to his weary face - it makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn't understand just yet

he feels silly that such small, soft things are affecting him this much at first, but every casual little touch you give him makes him feel less like the boogeyman and more like a person

the fact that you trust him enough and feel safe enough to him to attach yourself to him... he feels like he could cry

it takes a while for him to start returning your touches, but when he does he suddenly turns into the biggest teddy bear

every time he holds your cute little face or holds you protectively against his chest at night, he's taught that his hands can do more than just inflicting pain

he'll never, ever admit it out loud but he loves it the most when you hug him, your arms barely able to wrap around his thick torso but trying your best regardless

he can't help but chuckle as he feels your body meld against his, patting your head and wrapping his arm protectively around your shoulders

he knows people would gawk if they saw how cuddly he gets with you, but he can't really bring himself to care

he's not a monster, a beast, stone-cold, or a killer when he's in your arms - just a big, soft tiger

shun akiyama ❀ taking care of his physical needs

akiyama SUCKS at taking care of himself, often relying on other people (i.e. hana-chan's scoldings) to remind him to eat or get his work done

it's not like he's completely helpless, he insists - he at least keeps himself clean and well-groomed

but being homeless for as long as he was, he eventually just forgot how to attend to his needs

even now, with all the money in the world, he's still unlearning how he had to just suppress his hunger pangs when food was an uncertainty and sleeping on a regular schedule when shelter wasn't always guaranteed

his body does it unconsciously now, often attending to his paperwork for hours on end without even noticing that he's hungry or tired

he feels embarrassed when you start slipping him bentos here and there when he's so wrapped up in his work, often giving you an apologetic smile and profuse thank you's

but the fact that you cared enough to notice, and cared even more to go out and get him something to eat makes him remember why he fell for you in the first place

he might protest weakly when you pull him away from his work when you notice his eyes are getting sunken and his body's lagging behind

or roll his eyes with a smirk when you snatch a cigarette from between his lips and smush it in the nearby ashtray, reminding him that he was whining about needing to quit smoking just yesterday

but he's truly, genuinely thankful that you're forcing him to take care of himself, the fact that you're invested enough in his wellbeing to scold him

he'll be damned though if he becomes one of those boyfriends that treats you like his mother, though - he may call himself a bum, but he's not THAT much of a bum

expect to be taken care of in equal measure, akiyama insisting to pay for your meals and run your errands for you to show with his actions, not just his words, how cared for you make him feel

akira nishikiyama ❀ praising him

yeahhh i couldn't not talk about nishiki's inferiority complex and how damaged his self-esteem is

his cool-guy bravado very thinly covers up a mountain of insecurities

he doesn't really feel like he does much of anything right, too pathetic to be a scary yakuza and too cowardly to stand up for himself or what he believes in

so anytime you genuinely praise him and tell him he did a good job with something, the high he gets from it is strong enough that he could probably quit nicotine, he thinks

he preens when you compliment how stylish he looks or how well he styled his hair - he takes a LOT of pride in his appearance, probably one of the few things he doesn't really have insecurities about

he can't help but grin ear to ear when you cheer for him at karaoke, or clap and whoop when he gets a strike at the bowling alley

he admires you so, so much, and that verbal affirmation that you think just as highly of him soothes that little boy inside that never thinks he's good enough for anything or anybody

every time you compliment him, he gets so giddy that he'll grab you by the waist and start pressing kisses all over your face

"i did that for you, baby," he'll claim proudly, his eyes shining with affection

the first time he cried in front of you, he was shocked that you didn't call him a crybaby or told him to man up

you just held him gently and wiped away his tears, whispering that he did the best he could and that you were so proud of him

he absolutely crumbles when he hears that, hugging you close and crying even harder :(

it kills him (in a good way) that even when you see him at his most vulnerable, you don't think he's pathetic or weak, just someone who needs the reassurance and comfort he's been deprived of his whole life

i'm not saying you'll fix him, necessarily - but perhaps the entirety of 1 could have been avoided if someone just told him he was doing a good job

daigo dojima ❀ letting him be weak

from the moment daigo was born a dojima, he was expected to be as strong, proud, and cold as the rest of his family

even when he left the tojo clan after the ryuji incident to not have to carry that expectation anymore, he still had a gang of people who started to follow him and put them on a pedestal as their leader

and now, as the sixth chairman, he has even less opportunities to let his guard down, not with thirty thousand people looking to him as an example and his enemies lurking at all times

daigo's resolve is strong, having long since accepted his lot in life as a leader - but he can't deny that he just gets so exhausted sometimes

so when he can come home to you, who doesn't expect him to be the sixth chairman, a dojima, or hell, even a yakuza, just daigo, is when he feels the most loved

sometimes just lays his head on your lap when it's just the two of you on the couch in the living, the feeling of your fingers threading gently through his jet-black hair and just being able to relax making the stress in his muscles melt away almost instantly

his greatest peace is when you both lay down to sleep at night, holding him in your arms and whispering to him about how hard he works and to get all the rest he needs

he hums softly and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, not saying anything back as he revels in the feeling of your fingernails scraping against his scalp as your digits comb through the tresses of his hair

there's no expectations, no danger, nobody expecting him to make a decision on the spot or suppress his personal feelings for the good of many

just his darling lover who sees him for who he is, feelings and weaknesses and all, and still loves him

he knows that there's a long list of things he has to do tomorrow and put on a strong face again, but for now he lets himself cuddle in your grasp, letting your words and gentle touches soothe him to sleep

ryuji goda ❀ when he gets to show off for you

a very... simple method of affection for a very straightforward man

he's just got some somewhat dated ideas about what it means to be a man in a relationship, and a lot of them revolve around flexing how strong and skilled he is to you

nothing makes him more satisfied than seeing your eyes shine with awe when he helps you move an insanely heavy piece of furniture or when he shows you just how much whiskey he can knock back in one go

it's less of the showing off itself that makes him feel loved - he's confident in his strength and his skills so he needs no reassurance in that department

but your cutely surprised reactions and the fact that you're so openly proud to call him your boyfriend that you'd let him strut his stuff out in public to show the world how cool and strong he is... yeah, that's what makes him happy

he gets so determined to show off for you that he sometimes gets in way over his head about things he usually wouldn't give a shit about

for example, when he tried to get you the cute stuffed animal that you wanted from the ufo catcher

ryuji scoffed and told you to step aside, confident that he would get it first try

until he didn't. and didn't on the second, third, fourth, fifth tries-

he let out a string of colorful curses as he watched the claw uselessly pinch at the round little sparrow, his jaw tensed in concentration as he shoved another coin into the machine's slot

ignores your reassurances that he really didn't need to do this for you, retrying until he eventually gets the damn thing to drop in the hole

he feels stupid until he hands the round bun-chan toy to you, your eyes wide and a smile on your lips

as soon as you hug him with a squealed thank you, he laughs, patting your head and telling you that it wasn't a huge deal

ryuji's not one to usually lie, but your praise and admiration is, unsurprisingly, the BIGGEST deal to him

as he wraps his arms around your waist to walk the streets of sotenbori, showing off both you on his arm and the little plushie he won you, he knows he would move both heaven and earth if it meant it would make you proud to call him your lover

[sacredfire44]

Kinda wanna read/write a post-canon Bingqiu fic set years later, where during some routine, silly wife plot, Binghe somehow finds out that the soul attached to his husband’s body is not, in fact, the original soul.

Like any person, his first assumption isn’t that his husband had replaced the original SQQ. It’s that an imposter has replaced his husband.

A skilled imposter. One who knows all of his husband’s little quirks, who slipped under even Binghe’s watchful eye.

Binghe takes care to not indicate that he’s noticed. His blood parasites confirm this is still his husband’s body, and he refuses to scare them into running before he can get the imposter out.

Binghe spends weeks researching and practicing, until he’s finally certain he can tear the imposter’s soul apart without hurting his husband. Praying, desperately, that it’s a powerful possession instead of a replacement. Praying his husband is still alive in there.

Finally, he slips into the imposter’s dreamscape, clinging to threads and forcing his way as close to the soul as possible, for the surface-level dreams show him in SQQ’s body. Inside, he finds a small man, with big eyes and stick-thin arms, features far too similar to his Shizun. A cheap, pathetic mockery of Shen Qingqiu, he makes sure to tell them.

They are weak outside of Shen qingqiu’s powerful body. It is all too easy to restrain them, to rage and revile them for their crimes, to question what they’ve done, to tear them apart, limb from limb-

“How long?,”He’d snarled, furious, claws digging into the pathetic parasite’s left arm, yanking it just far enough for the strain to burn.

“Years,”The imposter says, eyes wide and wet. Crying.

Years. Years with his husband that this imposter has taken, has stolen from them. Nights spent entangled, lazy mornings spent curled into each other’s embrace, soft evenings spent watching the sunset.

Binghe yanks the arm the rest of the way out, relishing in the way the parasite screams. It will know pain for what it’s taken from him, for what it’s taken from his Shizun.

XXXX

At first, Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, didn’t know what was happening. He’d thought of himself as Shen Qingqiu for years now, so waking up in his original body had been confusing and disorienting.

When Binghe appeared as well, he knew immediately it was a nightmare. It couldn’t be anything but that. Binghe, his Binghe as he was now, would never look at him like this, like he was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe, the scum of the earth.

It was rare to have nightmares nowadays. Binghe was always watching his dreams too closely to let something like that slip by. But the last few weeks, he’d been absorbed in his newest little pet project, exhausted and stressed by whatever it was he refused to talk about. Shen Qingqiu didn’t blame him for having one night of sleep without constant vigilance.

“So the imposter shows himself,”Dream-Binghe said, and ah, what an odd thing to dream up! Shen Qingqiu was just as good as the original goods, and he knew it! There was no way at all he had such insecurities, and certainly not any strong enough to appear as dreams! If he’d had such dreams before, that was simply a coincidence, a trick of the mind repeating the scenario it’d already created to avoid making a new one.

But Binghe doesn’t rant and rave at him for lying, doesn’t call out his betrayal. Instead, his eyes hard and cold, his claws tight where they dig into his wrists, he questions him.

Why?

I don’t know, Shen Qingqiu has to answer. I woke up in this body.

Where is he?

I don’t know, he answers again.

How long?

Here, Shen Qingqiu bites down a cry of pain as his left arm his yanked painfully out, a loud pop as it tugs out of his socket. The pain is real, he realizes deliriously. It’s real the way the Punishment Protocol had been. The thought makes ice pool in his chest.

What had he done to deserve a punishment from the System?

The hand tightens, the bones in his wrist creaking ominously at the strength of the hold.

The look in Binghe’s eyes hurts far more, though. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even notice the tears in his eyes until they’re spilling over, until his voice comes out as a broken warble.

“Years,”He whispers at last, aware he’s hammering the final nail into his coffin.

It’s only as his arm is yanked away, as muscle and sinew tears with a sickening squelch, that it occurs to him. The punishment protocol had worked by sharing his dreamscape with the original Bingge. It hadn’t summoned nightmares out of no where.

This wasn’t Bingge. He’d known it on sight. Had recognized it in the curlier hair, the taller build.

This wasn’t Bingge. This was his husband.

And this wasn’t a dream.

XXX

Binghe watches as the pathetic worm scrambles away from him, gasping and hiccuping through his tears. His remaining arm shakes against the jagged edge of his stump, trying to stem the flow of blood. It won’t do a damn thing. This is a dream world, and that form is just a representation of his soul.

“I’m sorry,”It begs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Binghe forgive me- “

“Do not call me that,” He hisses. This parasite had squirmed its way in, had settled in and gotten comfortable in its place as his husband, but that spot would only ever belong to his Shizun, his rightful Shizun. Everything else… everything else had been a lie!

“No!,”The imposter gasped. Had Binghe spoken out loud? “No, it wasn’t! I really- I really tried to be honest, I- I-“

It gulped, face pale and wan, tears spilling over its cheeks. Its voice dropped to a whimper.

“I loved you. I thought you loved me too.”

Luo Binghe let out a harsh laugh. So that was the plan? Replace his husband and try and make him grow attached? Try to squirm into his heart, when it was already spoken for?

“I could never love a pathetic fake!,”He snarled. “I’ve been planning your death from the moment I learned!”

The imposter sucked in a sharp breath. They stopped scrambling away, simply sitting before him, shaking and curled into themselves.

It didn’t try to run again as he stepped forward. Not even as he grabbed its leg and tore it from its body. It screamed, and thrashed, but made no effort to pull itself away again.

Instead, the insolent wretch began muttering under his breath, a plea and a prayer in one. Begging for forgiveness, for the dream to end, for Binghe to wake him up. Pathetic. Had the imposter really fallen in love with him over the course of its tenure?

He dug his claws into the stump at its shoulder to stop it. The muttering broke into muffled cries, biting their lip as they struggled to hold them back. A habit he recognized from his husband. Disgusting, he thought, holding to the illusion for pity until the very last second.

“You’re just a cowardly weakling, leeching off of Shen Qingqiu. You fell in love with me? Then know this in your heart.”

Binghe dug his fingers in harder, harder, until his claws scrapped against the shattered bone of the socket and dug in. The parasite’s eyes nearly rolled back into its head as it jerked. Binghe lifted it off the ground by the bone, then held still until the worm caught its breath.

“I could never love the man before me. I would never have even looked at you twice had I known.”

Binghe expands his awareness to the dream world around him. From a greater distance, the soul of the imposter is more like a small flickering flame, a little glow between his hands, than a man.

It takes almost no effort at all, to close his fist around it and smother the flame.

XXX

Binghe wakes up in the morning, ecstatic to finally be done with this journey and desperate for love from his husband who he’s apparently not seen in years.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wake up with him.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wake up at all.

XXX

Anyway now that I’ve officially written a short version of it I want y’all to know that Shang Qinghua would be the one to tell him, after rushing over when he gets an alert that the account of User 002 was deactivated.

Binghe gets to metaphorically self-destruct, realizing everything he said and did was to his own husband and not an assumed imposter. The world shapes itself to Binghe’s wishes, and he still has access to the holy mausoleum, so he manages to bring back Shen Qingqiu. I debated having him bring back Shen Jiu instead but I love the protagonist of any book I read, and that includes Shen Yuan, so instead he brings back his husband whose heartbroken and runs off, with a new level of instinctive terror to go along with it. Binghe really does try to give him room, but that does neither of them good because Binghe drowns in his guilt and the confirmation of his husband’s fear, and Shen Yuan drowns in his heartbreak and confirmation of his husband’s rejection.

The happy ending comes after a slowburn of binghe groveling and breaking himself down(a la Lost and Found in Limitless Clarity) with a side of both being left with new insecurities to add to the existing ones post-canon.

(And if Binghe now dreams of the delicate flicker of a soul between his hands, now jolts awake to the reminder of how small it was, how easy to smother, well-

-it’s the least he deserves, isn’t it?)

[reidmania]

let the grass grow | spencer reid

summary; you love spencer too let him stay while your world falls apart at your own hands.

warnings; hurt x comfort w no comfort, exes, angst w no happy ending, self depricating thoughts, insecurities, self sabotaging, avoidant attachment reader, fem reader, early seasons spencer, mentions of not eating, scars but never says whats from, arguments, but u guys love each other. its just sad tbh. 1.7k words

an; this is purely for my own sake and i wanted to make it a comfort but i genuinely couldn't bc this is a very real and relevant issue that no comfort seems to comfort so.. enjoy the pain?? song is let the grass grow by ruel, my man my man.

‘so I'll leave before you go, ‘cause there's no tears when it's my fault this self-sabotage, all of our other scars don't compare. take the river to the sea, drown myself, so I don't sink, find my peace there, underneath the hurricane, break a promise, so I can leave, burn a forest so i can sleep. lay my head stone and let the grass grow over me’

You could feel eyes on you everywhere, constantly throughout the entirety of the day. Even though deep down you knew no one was really staring at you the amount you built it up to in your mind. Constant judgement and quiet questioning from the gaze of your co-workers made your stomach fill with an overwhelming sense of sickness, it made you want to crawl into a hole and remain there in a foetal position for the rest of the time life offered you.

Quiet whispers of worry bounced around the building from your co-workers to one another, each one who had asked if you were okay throughout the day – multiple times, every to which you’d reply with a nod of your head and a forced smile on your lips that left indents on your cheeks, when your eyes remained the same distant and sullen that caused their worry in the first place.

It wasn’t until you were leaving the building you heard the same question after a whisper of your  name, but from Spencer.

Your head turned towards him faster than you meant it to, you swore any faster and you would’ve ended the day with not only a worse mood than you woke up in but also whiplash. Your eyes met his and you wished they didn’t. The care is held and balanced evenly in his eyes, causing a slither in the walls you had built up around yourself and everything that fell below surface level.

“Are you okay?” His eyes studied your face as if he would find any hint of truth in your expression since he knew better than to believe the lie that fell from your lips. Spencer Reid wasn’t an idiot, anyone and everyone was painfully aware of that, you were painfully aware of that. He hadn’t asked the question the same amount everyone else did, he hadn’t even talked to you today until now.

You nodded in response, casting your eyes away from his and back to the elevator you wished would hurry up. Two weeks, it had been two weeks since you broke up with Spencer, it had been two weeks of Spencer everyday asking you why, and it had been two weeks of you being unable to provide an answer that seemed good enough for him. Nothing you said seemed to help him understand why you would break off something that was going so well, that made you both evidently happy, everyone could see it, everyone watched you both pine after one another for years.

“Talk to me” He begged for what felt like – and probably was, the hundredth time.

Your head shook, because what were you supposed to say? What did he want you to say? You didn’t know and for you that meant you were better off not saying anything, maybe because the truth you fought to keep away from the open air seemed so pathetic and embarrassing it was better left unsaid. He was asking you to show him the deepest and worst parts of you and you were refusing and he just wouldn’t let it go.

“I don’t have anything to say” You replied, the same response as every other time he asked. It wasn’t enough, not for Spencer because he knew it wasn’t true.

He frowned, and it broke your heart. 

“I just want to understand,” He pleaded with you, reaching out for your hand. You pulled it away, what you were doing was mean, you knew that, it was unfair and mean to both him and yourself. Depriving you both of what you both wanted and yearned for so deeply all because you constantly felt like the world was closing in on you and things fell apart under your touch, it was just mean – but you weren’t cruel enough to allow Spencer the touch of your hand to pull it back all over again.

“I wish you would” You mumbled out, muffled enough you could convince yourself he didn’t hear even though you knew he did. You didn’t intend to be mean with your words, you wished he understood that you were physically incapable of what he was asking from you, it wasn’t something you could bring yourself to do.

The elevator dinged and the door opened and you were thanking the world, until Spencer got on next to you and now you were left in a confined space with the one person who seemed to break through the box of self deprecation you would bury yourself into, time and time again. You didn’t want him there, you didn’t want him in your space, in your mind and in the middle of your emotions that took you down day in and day out. 

You wanted him, that wasn’t something you tried to hide, just something you deprived yourself of because you didn’t want him to want you, you didn’t even want you. The fact someone else could, someone like Spencer, was overwhelming in a number of ways and it only furthered the insecurity that consumed you.

“I’m here, I know there’s more than what you’re letting on.” He said, you wanted to appreciate his effort of reassurance but it didn’t help. You loved Spencer, and you were now certain he was the sweetest person to ever exist. How could you allow yourself to indulge in something so sweet and so pure when you deemed yourself the opposite. You fell apart and buried yourself in your own issues, you spent days lying in the darkness of your bedroom body starved and scarred, you’d mull over every mistake you ever made and everything in your life that should have belonged to someone more deserving.

You didn’t answer him, so he spoke again. “I have been and I'm going to be here until you’re ready to talk about it” his voice was gentle and dripping with reassurance you wish you could accept because his words were suppose to be reassuring but they left a bad taste in your mouth and just made your heart clench tighter in your chest to the point you thought it might’ve stopped beating.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” You said, not turning your head to face him but you were sure enough that they best portrayed what you were feeling, too much.

He let out a breath, a sigh of a sort and shook his head as he spoke, “I never said you did, I don’t mind waiting for you–”

There it was.

“I don’t want you to do that.” You snapped slightly, guilt instantly infested your gut but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t need him to wait around for this feeling to go away because it never did, your entire life, it never had and you didn’t imagine that changing. “I don’t want you to wait for me, Spencer. I don’t want you to just wait around for something that’s never going to happen, this won’t change. I made my decision” you huffed out the most you had said to him since that night you ended things which consisted of a teary eyed argument.

He dragged his hands through his hair as he tried to figure out what to say, then the elevator came to a stop and you were moving off it quicker than his brain could process and then he was following you and he was reaching out for your hand, even though he knew better by now. “You said you loved me, you said that while you were breaking up with me. You said you loved me and that you were sorry, you couldn’t do it anymore and then gave me nothing else” He stated, his eyes pleading for some sort of answer, something he could blame himself for.

That's not what you wanted, you didn’t want him to blame himself – that was almost a part of the whole point. If he blamed you for this, if you ended it now then there was no chance it would happen any other way. You could live with him blaming you with this, much better than you could live with getting hurt or inevitably hurting him. “I do love you Spencer” You said, you weren’t going to lie about that. 

Your arm pulled away from his touch but he only reached out again, “I’m trying to respect your decision, but I don’t understand. You love me but you don’t want me to wait, you love me but you broke up with me – I just- You’re doing this thing where–  you like to shut down and shut everyone out and I don’t want you to do that. If you don’t want to be with me then I’ll respect that but If you think I can stand around and watch you fall apart you don’t know me, and I would really prefer to think you did because for the longest time I thought I knew you and now finding out that maybe I don’t is– Well it sucks.”

You huffed out, you knew it was unfair and contradicting and you almost wished you had never gotten involved in the first place because you hated the fact you were hurting Spencer right now because your emotions were confusing. It was unfair. “I’m sorry” You started. He was right, you knew him and he knew you, on the slightest of a deeper level.

“Don’t do that. Don’t apologise and then brush it off. I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be honest. You keep everyone at arm's reach, on surface level– I want more than that, I want to know you, and understand you, I want to understand this. Tell me what you need and I'll do it, but I need to understand why first.” 

How were you supposed to tell the single handedly most sweet, kind and perfect person that you were unable to provide him with the one thing he wanted – to know you. How were you supposed to admit that something as simple as that was too much to ask for. 

“There's this expectation that I can't reach, that I never have, never will and I love you, Spencer, that's true – but I'm not going to let you sit around and watch me fail time after time again to reach the expectation of basic human existence.” You shook your head as you pulled your hands away from his grasp, your body turned as you walked away.

He stood calling out your name but his feet stayed glued to the ground, and there was no response from you.

[kazumist]

ALL THESE AND MORE .ᐟ

☆ — includes: wriothesley x gn!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 538. pure word vomit so this probably doesnt flow very well. just hoping to get back into the writer vibe again T________T

☆ — note: guess how many the ridleys songs i referenced in this + the one over october track i also referenced. reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated !!

wriothesley is not a gentle lover—and he knows that fact very well.

but when he thinks about it on a deeper level, he has noticed that something changed. or to put it another way, he has changed. everyone around him has noticed, especially sigewinne, to be specific. it’s hard to not notice it—the way it’s painfully obvious that he tends to be soft towards you.

yet wriothesley is not a gentle lover—he is anything but a gentle lover. he tends to close himself off when things get too personal for him, making himself unreachable when the time comes. love is certainly scary for him, since he doesn’t believe that someone could love the rough edges that he has. but at the same time, love is all sorts of things. 

perhaps it’s the smile that you give him whenever you two have tea together in his office during his vacant hours. or perhaps it’s the way that the sun hits your face perfectly during the rare times wriothesley ever comes up to the surface. or perhaps it’s the way his heart softened at the sight of you slumbering on the small table near his desk in his office. (perhaps love is all these and more.)

falling in love is not what he had in mind, yet when you came along, it was like his whole world was turned around. despite the gloominess of working in a place such as the fortress of meropide, you somehow make things just a little bit brighter for him.

but wriothesley doesn’t know what love actually is. if someone were to ask him what love was, he would say that he’s still figuring it out. however, if he could be candid and tell the truth? he’d love to figure out love with you.

he never really expected it. when he told you that he loved you, he never would’ve guessed

that you'd end up loving him, too. it scared him at first to let you take his heart to be only yours—even worse when you let him take every part of you to be his. what if he messes it up? he isn’t like everybody else who knows how to love properly.

but at the same time, who even knows how to love properly?

everyone has a first time for everything, love included. vulnerability included. no one actually knows how to love properly because everyone has their own preferences for being loved. every individual is unique, which means that the way to love them is unique as well. love is a diverse concept.

he has his flaws—plenty of them, in his opinion. and he doesn’t deny that you two had your disputes due to his stubborn nature at certain times. however, he realizes that recently, he has changed for the better and you’re the one to blame. you need to take action if you want to improve—so he did. he works on his temper, while you learn to speak your mind some more.

he’ll be more of a shelter and less of a storm.

wriothesley isn’t a gentle lover—but he wants to be with you every single day for the rest of your lives.

(may you all find a gentle type of love. ♡)

[zamiecmunson]

scooby snacks

eddie x reader

you accidentally eat some of eddie’s very special brownies

i love edibles. i love scooby doo. i love eddie. can you tell. warnings: weed obviously, vomit but no graphic description, wrote this a long long time ago been sitting in my drafts so not too sure what else sorryyyyy 🫶🏻

‘voila!’ eddie whispered to himself, beaming down with pride at his creation. he passed on doing a taste test as he knew the guys would get pissy if they turned up & he was already stoned. plus he didn’t know exactly just how strong they were. that was the purpose after all, stronger than usual. gareth had been complaining for weeks that he was ‘building a tolerance’ and wanted to ‘trip balls’ without taking the hard stuff. eddie scoffed at that of course but came through with some pretty sweet brownies anyway. he left them out to cool on the kitchen counter before jumping in the shower.

after knocking on eddie’s door and getting no answer, you let yourself in.

‘eddie?’ you called out clocking that the weird fuzzy noise was water running.

‘in the shower baby, i’ll be out in a sec’ he called back. both a pro and con of living in a trailer: thin walls.

‘ooh!’ you raised your brows excitedly at the freshly baked batch of brownies on the side. eddie bakes? who knew! you helped yourself to a small corner slice, after taking a bite you sorta understood why he’s never baked for you before. it tasted kinda funny. but the kind of funny where you had to keep taking another bite to figure out if it actually did taste funny or not. two and a half brownies later, eddie surfaced from the bathroom.

‘hey!- oh. oh god, babe!’ his face switched from a sweet smile to deer caught in headlights as soon as he locked in on the face full of brownie.

‘ ‘m sorry they jush looked shoh good and i’m tryna figure out what the shecret ingredient is’ you mumbled through heavy chews.

‘that would be pot’ his eyes stayed at full screen as he gently pressed his hands to the brownie, lowering the rest of it from your lips.

‘oh, i’ve had these before it’s fine! i thought they tasted kinda funky, i should have guessed’ you stayed blissfully unaware and calm, wiping the crumbs off the side of your mouth while eddie’s heart was going at 100 mph. his eyes darted from the tray, to your face, to the tray, to your face then back to the tray.

‘and you’ve had three of these?’ his nervous voice matched his face.

‘two and a half, technically’ you continued to grin innocently.

‘do you, by any chance, perhaps recall gareth complaining about how the usual stuff just wasn’t touching the sides for him anymore?’ eddie did this thing where he used a lot of unnecessary words when he was nervous. you chuckled at his little habit peaking through and answered with a subtle eye roll ‘yes’.

‘well… these were made with him in mind. extra strong. like, should probably just start with a quarter of a slice strong’ he delicately placed his hands on the side of your arms. there was silence for a while. a painfully long while. you focused on the feeling of it sitting in your stomach.

‘well this isn’t good’ you responded with a straight but calm face.

‘no, no it’s not’ you both continued to stand very still. you couldn’t tell if it was kicking in already or if you were just prematurely paranoid.

‘i should probably sit down’ you broke the statuesque silence, eddie guided you to his sofa as if you were his 89 year old grandmother.

‘i’ll get you some water’ he immediately sprung up again after sitting you down.

you probably should have been more nervous than you were. not eddie’s level of panic but somewhere in the middle. weed had only ever given you a slight buzz and the giggles, surely there couldn’t be irredeemably dire consequences. eddie was running around looking for a bucket just in case you were sick and anything else you might need while you stared into space.

after a while, you could hear eddie talking to you… but every other noise in the world appeared just as loud and 10x more important.

‘oh fuck here we go’ eddie caught onto your darkening eyes and droopy muscles. he’d looked after you when you were sick, drunk and stoned. this was about to be his ultimate test.

‘you know,’ you started but got cut off by how dry your mouth was. ‘your place has always smelled good. it smells like boy, but YOU boy. good eddie boy you’ you blinked what felt like 900 times but it really really wasn’t.

‘oh yeah?’ eddie smiled slightly, his panic dying down a smidge as he was amused. he handed you a glass of water recognising the signs all too well.

‘thank you that’s brilliant’ you took the glass and chugged.

‘slow down sailor you don’t wanna make yourself puke’ eddie suppressed a grin, pushing the bucket closer to your feet just in case.

‘do you think sailors get land sick? like, if they’re so used to being at sea would that make them get sick from not wobbling about on a boat?’ your brow knotted with concern as eddie’s shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘wobbling. wobble. wobbly wobbly wobble’ you started to amuse yourself with a slight slur of the pronunciation while eddie’s giggles turned into hearty laughter.

‘that’s an amazing question that i unfortunately don’t have the answer for’ he rubbed a brewing tear of laughter from his face and stared adoringly at your hazed state.

‘since when do you not know everything? you know everything ever, actually. you always have an answer’ you responded with upmost seriousness. on a normal day, that might have come off as condescending. but weirdly, it gave eddie a huge confidence boost as he could tell you were being completely genuine.

‘i know what goes on in your brain, not sailors i’m afraid. i’ll try do better in the future’ he petted your head like a dog and ruffled your hair. god, it felt amazing. like a head massage worthy of 10 million dollars.

‘what am i thinking right now?’ you continued to slur, smiling into his touch.

‘mcdonald’s probably, though it might be a bit early for that stage’ he continued to massage your head, fantasising about how good it probably felt from your perspective. you may as well have been purring like a cat.

‘mcdonald’s…’ you whispered not even almost comprehending what that word meant. until approximately 15 seconds after it sunk in. ‘MCDONALD’S!’ you attempted to spring up but in real time just un-slumped your shoulders and opened your eyes wide. eddie did his biggest grin yet and handed you back the glass of water.

‘i’ll get the guys to pick some up on their way over. stay right here’ he kissed you on the forehead and made his way to the phone.

‘uhhh gareth i’m gonna need you to bring one of everything from mcdonald’s on your way here’ eddie didn’t even wait for gareth to say hello when he picked up the phone.

there was a sigh.

‘…how many did she eat’ gareth’s spidey senses tingled.

‘enough. too much actually, i’m in for a long-‘

‘HIIIIIII GARETHHHHH,’ you appeared out of fucking nowhere. ‘NUGGETS?’ why use a full sentence after all? just saying NUGGETS at the man would obviously do the trick.

‘coming right up scoob’ eddie could hear his smirk through the phone. ‘and what would you like shaggy?’

‘drop dead’ eddie responded through a smile. ‘…cheeseburger and fries please’

by the time the guys reached eddie’s trailer, you were in silent mode. your vision was fuzzy, skin felt like velcro, cotton mouth was in full swing, there was a constant ringing in your ear and blinking was becoming an actual task. eddie was starting to get concerned but found comfort in knowing food was on its way. unfortunately eddie opened the door to an unwelcome surprise.

‘no’ was all he said when he met eyes with dustin & mike.

‘what?’ jeff asked holding 2 bags of mcdonald’s, slurping from a straw sticking out of one.

‘they can’t be here, they’re 12’ eddie spoke about the two as if they couldn’t hear.

‘we’re 15!’ they said in unison.

‘no!’ he said again, using his body to block the doorway.

‘nuggets?’ you attempted to shout from the couch but it came out as a dry whisper. only eddie heard.

‘hand over the food’ he compromised the barricade by putting one arm out.

‘idiot!’ gareth barged through the small opening using his bag of food as a battering ram.

‘nuggets!’ you said just as quietly but with a smile this time.

eddie clambered onto the couch you were sitting on to place the brownies on the top shelf before swiftly turning to dustin & mike, gripping their shoulders tight.

‘i’m not supplying class b’s to a bunch of freshmen. its bad enough that she’s out of action,’ without looking, he pointed behind to your melting body. ‘i actually wanna get out of this town alive and not shot dead by mrs wheeler, okay?’ dustin and mike stared blankly, wide eyed but blankly.

‘you do know i’m taller than you-‘ mike broke his gaze to point to the brownies on the shelf.

‘ARE WE CLEAR?’ eddie interrupted, gripping them tighter.

‘yes eddie!’ they stuttered together.

‘good’ eddie smiled, brushing them down.

‘NUGGETS?’ you actually shouted this time behind them, still slumped on the couch. eddie did an almost balletic 180 turn to face you, face softening immediately.

‘coming right up princess’

dustin & mike got a slap on the back of their heads for giggling at the pet name.

15 nuggets, a large portion of fries and half of eddie’s burger later, everyone was starting to loosen up a bit. gareth & jeff saved their food for later so they could feel the full effect, eddie wouldn’t even consider getting stoned before you’d got through the worst of it and the freshmen were just happy to be there. they thought eddie was soooooo cool, yet here he was. babysitting you. being responsible… he thought his street cred was over. but they admired him more, deep down.

‘feeling better scoob?’ gareth was starting to get giggly and watching you devour a milkshake without breathing definitely fuelled it.

‘who..’ you remembered to breathe. ‘is scoob?’ back to slurping with no remorse.

‘i don’t know lets ask shaggy’ he threw the screwed up bag at eddie.

‘does that make you velma’ eddie threw it back in return.

‘dustin is velma, i’m daphne’ he flipped his imaginary long ginger hair. dustin and mike shared a confused yet amused glance.

‘does… does that make me… fred?….’ jeff skipped giggle phase and landed straight in deep thought mode.

‘aww they’re girlfriend boyfriend!’ dustin and mike teased, making kissy faces at them.

‘OHHHH, SCOOBY DOO!! i get it now…’ you nodded into your milkshake. everyone laughed. you didn’t understand why. ‘dustin is totally velma’

everyone was arguing about lord of the rings when eddie noticed you’d gone quiet. not just staying out of it quiet, but not even going to laugh at how silly the situation was quiet.

‘hey sweet,’ eddie said quietly so only you could hear. you tried to move your head up to look at him but it didn’t work. ‘too many scooby snacks?’ he gestured to all the empty food boxes at your feet.

‘mmh’ was all you could manage. he then noticed you’d gone green. without saying a word he picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom, telling dustin only with his eyes what the situation was. dustin suggested they all go to the park, gareth & jeff too gone to realise eddie had carried you across the room. eddie placed you down in front of the toilet and held your hair in a makeshift ponytail, rubbing your back. you were there for a while. eddie was impressed it took this long, he thought you were hard as fucking nails. when it was all out your system he hooked his arm under your shoulders and propped you up on the sink. taking your special eddie’s trailer tooth brush he cleaned you up with a smile. he always did everything with a smile when it came to you, no matter how gross it may seem from the outside. he knew you’d be mortified when you properly came round but seeing you this vulnerable, being your sole caretaker, was weirdly his happy place. you did it for him all the time, he loved, ADORED returning the favour.

picking you up bridal style once again, he carried you to his bedroom. after placing you down as carefully as possible and moving you onto your side, he ran back to the couch to fetch the bucket & water.

‘ez’ you attempted to call for him for the 0.5 seconds he was out the room. that was “ed’s” in your mind.

‘i’m here, i’m here’ he crouched down to face you after placing everything down.

‘ar ou g wa?’ you weren’t even sure what you tried to say then. but eddie deciphered it.

‘i’m not going anywhere sweetheart,’ he swiped his thumb over your sweaty brow. ‘close your eyes’ he whispered before kicking off his shoes and gently getting in bed behind you, tucking you into his frame.

‘ove ou’

‘love you too’ he kissed your ear and stroked your hair until you fell asleep.

the next morning you woke up to the smell of coffee right under your nose. opening your eyes, you discovered a steaming cup on the bedside table and a distant clatter that can only be eddie getting frustrated in the kitchen. rubbing your eyes you sipped from the mug and shuffled closer to the noise.

‘morning’ you muttered, feeling very groggy.

‘good afternoon!’ eddie popped out from behind a cabinet door, hair in a bun with a wooden spoon in his mouth. ‘do you know how many times i’ve reheated that? i kept having to check you were still alive!’ he giggled to himself, removing the spoon from his mouth to give you a big kiss on the forehead.

‘how long was i out?’ you grabbed eddie’s wrist to check his watch. ‘IT’S FOUR THIRTY?’ you tapped at his watch thinking it would tell you something different if you kept attacking it.

‘gareth woke up in the park today, you should be grateful you had a bed to sleep in!’ eddie tucked your hair behind your ears, laughing. ‘shit!’ he noticed his mac & cheese burning.

‘i’m never eating mystery baked goods ever again’ you thousand yard stared over the brim of your coffee

‘serves you right, doll!’ he winced at the too hot mouthful but continued to shovel more in. ‘anyway,’ placing the saucepan down, he climbed onto the couch to retrieve the brownies. ‘it’s my turn’ he grinned.

[dandelionjack]

after nearly a decade of trying to Be The Bigger Person, Take The Higher Ground, “love trumps hate” and Kindness, the democrats have realised that nothing beats the dependable old art of ad-hominem jabs

that’s the thing with conservatives and other breeds of fash. you can’t get to them with civility. if you go on and on (with legitimate concerns, let it be said) about their human rights violations, their power-hungry scapegoating of minorities, their warmongering and hate-stirring, their ceaseless desire for control, they’ll keep taking it as a compliment. they LOVE being told that they’re successful oppressors. it means they’re doing their job right, it means they’re powerful, they’re strong and they’re winning. it’ll fall on deaf ears

that’s why the “weird” line of attack sent them into a tailspin. it’s so surface-level, so painfully middle-school-bully, targeting some kind of primal insecurity that everyone possesses, but nobody more than a conformist. they can deal with being called dangerous, accused of being a threat to democracy — that’s what they crave to hear, a testament to their power. but weird? that’s the worst possible insult — comparing them to us.

when you’ve been “weird” for your entire conscious memory, allegations of abnormality slide off your skin like water. if you call a queer man a fag, he’ll laugh in your face. he’ll take it in stride and get it tattooed. but call a man who makes his masculinity the focal point of his existence a fag — that stings. for the very same reason, that fashion critique guy on twitter riles right wingers up so much: they base their sense of self-esteem on the absolute conviction that their values, behaviours and aesthetics are correct, that anything else is a deviation. they pride themselves on being “straight” in all senses of the word: everyone else is a “pervert”, i.e. twisted and bent. so getting told “um, actually, your shoes are a size too big and your shirt doesn’t fit” shatters their resolve.

spot a rightoid in the wild? don’t call him an authoritarian misogynist. tell him instead that his wife left him for a woman and took the kids. spread a rumour about him fucking a couch. remind him that his nieces and nephews collectively know him as the “creepy uncle” and avoid him at family gatherings. find a photo of lookalike wearing drag and tag him in it.

be petty. because it’s not like they’re ever going to be nice to you

[babybatss-blog]

DOMESTICS

Sirius black x reader, 1100  words

summary: all you wanted to do was cook Sirius some chicken for dinner, but perhaps things don’t always go your way.

c/w: established relationship, alcohol consumption, swearing and crying, argument between Sirus and Reader. Practically just tame, basic relationship angst that turns into fluff :)

The classic casual Friday night is always a big step in any intimate relationship. Stepping out of uncomfortable outfits and delicate table foods into comfy hoodies and junky snacks creates a whole new level of intimacy with a partner, and can be quite nerve wracking for at least the first few instances. 

But you and Sirius are way past that.

On the first date, you stayed the night at his for two whole days. You met his best friends on that second day, and he met yours just four days later. James said you were funny, and Lily said Sirus was smitten. He admired your comfortableness with him while you appreciated his lack of care towards your groggy state every morning, and a week in you both shared your deepest traumas with each other. On some random Wednesday your parents turned up unannounced in your apartment, which is when he met them both shirtless and slightly hungover (though he concealed the latter expertly).

So, two months later it is entirely expected to have Sirius lounging on your couch, watching some Netflix overproduced action show and as you cook dinner. Usually he prefers taking control of the kitchen because he “likes to spoil his girls”, but he did not impose when you insisted it was your turn to give him some love. The kitchen smells like a variety of spices and mouth-watering flavours, and despite the simple dish you are preparing the kitchen looks like a professional chef is making a world-famous meal. Plates, pots and pans are spread around, ingredients spilled on any and all surfaces and your state decreased to completely dishevelled, huffing and puffing at every slight inconvenience to come your way. “This needs to be perfect for him.” You think, anxiously managing every element with not a moment to spare. Unbeknownst to you Sirus has now snuck over, and softly places his chiselled chin on your shoulder as you peer over the cooking meat.

“Looks raw.” He states nonchalantly, arms creeping around your waist. “I know. It’s not done yet.” You explain bluntly, words leaving your mouth slightly more harsh than you intended. But you don’t take them back, as your focus is entirely taken up by the meal in front of you.

Wait, I thought it was done? What’s it meant to look like if it is done? What does it taste like? What more does it need?

He soon releases you, walking away to the bathroom as he calls out. “Sorry for not wanting to be poisoned I guess!” You huff, opting to not fight back in fear of putting too much energy into something that doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things. You and Sirius are both painfully stubborn when you want to be, and are often laughed at by your friends for getting in ridiculous arguments. Once, you needed to go on a walk and clear your head after the two of you debated which Barbie movie is the best.

As he returns from the bathroom he subtly side eyes the chicken, seeing you have now placed it on a plate ready for serving. Against his better judgment, he calls out, in a half cough half word amalgamation which complains “still raw”. Would it be smart for you to reply? No, of course not! But do you do it anyway? Obviously!

“WELL WHY DON’T YOU COOK THEN MR PERFECT?!” You snap, eyes erratic and wide as you face him. He scoffs, hands placed on the kitchen counter opposite you.

“I’d be happy to, but you didn’t fucking let me!”

”Didn’t let you? I’m not your mother, I’m sorry I wanted to do something nice for you!”

“Well it isn’t nice if I’m too sick to go to work tomorrow!”

“Relax hard ass, you start work at three!” The argument quickly escalates past the point of reasonable, as Sirius’ arms flail widely about and the vegetables are left to burn in the oven.

In a closing statement you call Sirius a “spoilt brat” and he storms off, slamming the bedroom door behind him so he can no longer hear you if you try to apologise. Tears well in your eyes as you look around, realising what just happened truly as your brain finally processes. How can your worst argument be about some stupid chicken? You rush to repair the damage of your distractions to the meal, pulling the vegetables out of the oven as your salty tears fall within. You can barely see through your exaggerated sobs, mad at yourself for all manner of things.

Why did you let his simple comments go to your head? What if he’s right, and the meals a disaster? Will he despise you now for going so off the handle? Is this the last night of your fleeting romance?

You quietly serve up the food as these thoughts run through your head, wiping away gushing tears and snot as you go. Once it’s done, you tentatively go over to the closed door of the bedroom and knock a few times. You hear some shuffles, and the door is opened to reveal an unimpressed Sirus. “Sorry…” You mumble, eyes glued to the wooden floor between you. He pushes past you in silence, grabbing his plate and sitting down on the plush couch. As much as you would like to beg for forgiveness and list all the reasons you should stay together, you don’t deem that important when he pats the space next to him to sit down, handing you a sympathetic yet weak smile. “I know you didn’t mean it.” He finally gets out, eyes drilling into your still shy figure. “I just was trying to help.” “I know. But I didn’t want you to have to worry. I wanted to spoil you; you know?” His hand falls onto your thigh, the other placing the chicken in his hungry mouth. You join him in eating the meal, and reluctantly admit what you wished wasn’t true.

“It’s not fully cooked.” You pout, tears still glossing your eyes. He chuckles, placing his plate down and enveloping you in a hug. “That’s fine gorgeous. UberEats it is.” You pull back and quickly peck his lips, a smile forming on both your faces as you respond.

“Only if it’s Mexican.”

“Deal.”

[tojivu]

# OFFICE HOURS ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i feel so guilty bc gojo is literally the only character i write for LOL anyway this is an old draft from months ago. idk why this is so long im so horrendously down bad for this fucking snowman.

✰ — cw / tags arrogant ceo!gojo x secretary f!reader, sfw, not rly enemies to lovers bc gojo has fat feelings, gojo satoru being a billionaire playboy

✰ — playing death & taxes by daniel caesar.

✰ — word count ~3k LOL

nothing about gojo satoru really strikes you as the serious type.

even in a professional environment, your boss always has a carefree demeanour. his laugh is so nauseatingly loud that you can hear it from outside the office, and you wonder how someone as busy as him manages through his day; much less with a positive attitude. you take one look at his schedule, and you want to vomit with the way you hardly see any gaps between appointments.

you suppose you could learn that from him. it's his only good quality.

you admit that he's likeable, on surface level. there's a reason why you detest him, though: as his closest colleague, you know him way more than you would prefer. most people would think such a well to do man like satoru would have a wife by his side, but that's unfortunately not the case. you almost feel more miserable than him—because now you're forced to be the listening ear and comforting hand at his beck and call.

you think he'd be just fine if he was just a little more humble. he has a nice face. it's his fault for being so stuck up. you know how many women ask him out—painfully aware, actually.

'they just aren't suited to my taste,' he would say to you. 'i need someone that makes me feel alive.'

one time, gojo even asked you to bail him out of a date—something about the way she held her fork and knife disturbed him, and you were expected to show up at the restaurant and act as if there was an emergency.

'i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i have to go, duty calls.' his disgustingly charming tone made you want to slap him then and there.

she called him again the following week, and he completely forgot who she was. he didn't even save her number.

the sheer number of people asking him out had stroked his ego so hard that gojo firmly believes no woman is deserving enough. he rambles on and on to you about how snobby some of them seem, and it takes everything in you to bite your tongue when he does. 'takes one to know one,' you would say, if not for your job at stake.

you think gojo satoru is full of himself. you are a strong believer of that. a witness, as well—it's not like he didn't try his way with you, too. unlike the women he ranted about, you turned him down every single time.

it's been a long while since any of that has happened, though. the most recent ordeal was months ago, but that didn't inherently mean that people stopped asking him out: it just meant that he was rejecting every single offer.

it's a thursday morning when you find yourself eating a sandwich you purchased on the way to work, at your desk—wondering when the big boss will finally arrive. the clock read 9 a.m., and you're expecting an extravagant "good morning!" to surprise you any moment now.

just then, you notice mr. conceited walk in: except something is different. he has no stride in his step. there was no good morning. there was no playful teasing directed at you as he walked past your desk and into his office, not that you were complaining—it was just strange.

you stand up, a mouthful of your sandwich still being chewed. you take a big sip of water and fix your skirt and blouse, making sure your hair is presentable—before swiftly making your way into his office.

──────

"i cannot believe this." he mumbles. you're standing in front of his desk, but he's not facing your direction.

gojo's chair is turned to the giant window that overlooks the business district, and he's gazing out of it thoughtfully. you think this is the cheesiest thing you've seen him do.

you can see how disheveled his hair was, even from where you were standing. you don't want to irritate him further, in case teasing you was still on his to-do list that day.

"what is it, mr. gojo?"

he swivels his chair around, and he is a mess—just what could have he been up to?

"i woke up late today."

"you're the boss, mr. gojo. you can come in any time you want—"

"not the point." he interrupts you. "i forgot my lunch. i was in the car, with the driver, on the way here already. . . and then i realised i left my donuts at home."

gojo's face is absolutely distraught. he looks like he's gone through a divorce and had his house set on fire with how he stands up dramatically—his hands now on his desk. you open your mouth to speak, but he shuts you up by talking again.

"i didn't want to inconvenience him. i'm too thoughtful, miss y/n."

you want to scoff, but you bite your tongue and hold back.

"so i got out of the car and ran back for it," gojo recounts. "i arrived home after the treacherous journey—only to discover that my donuts are gone."

you feign an expression of shock, just to humour him; he gives you an 'i know right' look, and continues his nonsensical story.

"the maids threw them away, miss y/n."

you can't help yourself: you let a small giggle slip through your lips. you quickly use your hand to cover your mouth, thinking of a quick excuse.

you cough. you pretend to, at least—but gojo satoru is not stupid.

no, maybe a little. though, not enough to be convinced of your terrible acting.

"nothing about this is funny."

you nod, looking down at the floor. "i apologise, mr. gojo, but it's just a few donuts. i'm sure someone in the office could fetch some for you."

"yes, i agree." he says, and you shift your gaze from the marble tiling of his office to his face. his hair is a mess, yes—but he still looks revoltingly handsome. his eyes are piercing through yours, and pieces of hair cover his face in just the right places.

you're staring a little too long and gojo finds his pulse quickening with the eye contact—but the spell he has you under is soon broken when he clears his throat.

you quickly look away, embarrassed that you were caught staring at your boss, by your boss.

"you'll pick some up for me, yeah?" his smooth and silky voice echoes through the empty space of his office.

you look at him again, and there's a gentle smile on his face; one you're all too familiar with.

you're aware of satoru's charismatic nature, his playboy-ish attitude, and all sorts of tricks he uses to make women fall head over heels for him. that didn't mean you were completely resistant to them, though—you find yourself playing with the sleeves of your blouse, your ears beginning to redden. "of course," is all you manage to say.

at least you were self-aware.

your mind was rational. should gojo satoru try to hit on you for the nth time—all it took was some self discipline to say no, and you'd like to think you had plenty.

you think the conversation is done with the way he doesn't speak another word, so you turn on your heels and make your way out of the office.

just as you touch the handle of the door, your boss adds: "i'll come with you."

you turn back to him, confused. you didn't need your boss babysitting you for a donut run, you knew his favourite flavours—it's all he ever insists on buying for lunch. "there's no need for that, mr. gojo."

satoru shakes his head in disapproval. "you don't even know my favourite flavours, miss y/n."

that was a blatant lie. he knew you knew. you were his personal donut grabber for a few months up until august, and it was only october. you suppose that it would've continued on if not for your complaints about the long lines in the morning.

nevertheless, you don't argue with him. gojo satoru was the type to get what he wants, when he wants, if he really wants it.

you smile at his disregard for the months you spent as his errand runner, and how idiotic the excuse he just used was. satoru knows he's lying through his teeth, and your smile makes him more nervous than your eye contact.

so nervous, in fact, that he takes back what he just said. "unless. . . you're fine by yourself."

you're surprised that gojo's confidence is dissipating, or that it could even fade at all. you can tell with the way he's avoiding your eye contact, exactly how you evaded his earlier—the red on the tips of his ears are much too obvious in contrast to his hair.

"i don't mind," you respond a bit too quicker than appropriate. "mr. gojo."

gojo curses himself mentally, thinking about how stupid he must sound. he's usually the one making people nervous, but he doesn't know why it's different when you look at him like that.

──────

the atmosphere is deafening in gojo's favourite bakery. you always knew he had a sweet tooth, so you expected his choice to be a spectacular one—and you weren't disappointed.

you had personally visited this bakeshop before, and the confectionery was truly as good as people made it out to be; it proved evident in the amount of people crammed into this small establishment. though, you can't tell if it was for the food or for your boss, with the way most pairs of eyes are turned in his direction.

you two spend a good five seconds looking at the menu before gojo states his order, which was exactly what you thought it would be—the lady at the cashier smiles a bit too long at satoru, before asking: "eating in?"

you want to open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. "of course."

it was still very well your work day. he (or maybe you and him, considering you helped him plan seventy percent of his appointments) had a meeting in 3 hours to prepare for. you think this donut adventure is already unnecessary enough—but here he is, suggesting to waste even more time eating the donuts in the bakery itself.

"we have a meeting in a bit, though. you could eat it in your office."

he looks at you with a confused look, as if he forgot that there was a meeting at all—because he did forget. gojo gasps, turning back to the lady and retracting his previous statement.

──────

gojo eats his donuts agonisingly slow and no conversation is initiated.

you're alternating between staring at both your laptops and the swirls on the wooden desk, unable to say anything because you didn't plan for such an occasion: an eating donuts with your admittedly handsome boss that makes you nervous while simultaneously planning for an important meeting occasion.

"miss y/n, you should try some."

you shift your eyes from the table to gojo, and he's holding a small piece of his donut to your lips: the powdered sugar practically calling your name.

"it's fine, i ate earlier," you decline his generous offer. "you should eat."

"i'm not asking you to eat all of them, miss y/n." he smiles at you. "just a bite. it's really good, y'know."

you sigh, reaching for his hand to take it from him—but he swiftly pulls it away and shakes his head. "open your mouth."

you feel the tips of your ears burning, blood rushing to your cheeks and you wonder how the girls he takes out manage themselves when he's like this—you've worked with him for so long, yet you can't recall a time when his gaze wouldn't make you shudder.

you think you'd stutter if you spoke one more word to him, so you save yourself from the embarrassment and bare with his request.

he feeds you the piece of sugar-coated donut, and you're sure you have powder on the corners of your lips with how it's width barely fits into your mouth.

you chew and swallow, feeling the residue of sugar on your skin.

"do you have any tissues?" you ask him, a serious expression plastered onto your face.

gojo tries to suppress the chuckle itching to escape his throat—the sugar on your lips and cheeks catch him off guard, and after a few seconds he can't help but let a small laugh slip. you stand up from your chair, scanning the room for any boxes of tissues you could lay your hands on.

he stands up as well, shaking his head—still giggling.

"it's not funny," you frown, and the smile on his face only grows wider—you're too cute for your own good when you sulk. "stop laughing."

you're not sure if you want to punch him or let him giggle to himself. for some reason, seeing you embarrassed is a great cause of joy to him. you can't bring yourself to tell him to shut up; you always imagine doing just that, it's strange how you couldn't muster the courage just when you needed it most.

"it's quite funny," gojo's laughter eventually calms down.

he leans closer to you and his right hand gently holds the side of your jaw—he uses his thumb to gently wipe the sugar off your cheek, and then your lips. "i got it."

his thumb stays on your bottom lip after dusting the sugar away. his pupils are locked onto the surface of your lips, which were glossy in the harsh light of his office: they looked so soft.

before long, they trail up your face until he's looking directly into your eyes: and this time you're not nervous, you don't look away, and your heart is completely calm.

satoru's fingers are easy on your skin. he handles you like fragile glass, as if he doesn't want to break you: and it's the same for the way he looks at you. gentle.

you're reluctant to speak because the way satoru has his thumb on your bottom lip sends shivers down your spine. you feel breathless.

you don't want this feeling to leave, not just yet.

a few seconds of tension pass. his hand moves back to your jaw, and your nervousness returns when gojo satoru leans his tall figure even closer to you; his head tilting ever so slightly.

it's a random thursday morning when you discover a few more good qualities gojo satoru possesses: his lips and his hands. maybe the way he kisses, too—it's slow and precise, unlike his attitude. he tastes sickeningly sweet and it makes you want to savour this moment even more.

you promised yourself you wouldn't fall victim to gojo satoru. yet, you just can't pull away: instead finding yourself slithering your arms around his neck and your chest pressing against his.

gojo's hands are wandering down to your waist and he's desperate to have you as close to him as possible, showing in the way he tries to close the already small gap between you two.

it takes only a fraction of a second for a small thought to form in your mind: just how many women have been in this position?

you quickly forget about that thought, though—you think it's pointless to regret it now, gojo satoru kisses you too good to be full of remorse.

gojo thinks he could stay like this: kiss you all morning, afternoon and pay you overtime if it meant he could be this close to you for just a bit longer.

there's hints of neediness in gojo's touch—as if he'd been waiting for this forever, wanting to relish it before it ends. his few seconds of bliss don’t last very long though, because you're soon pulling away—gasping for air.

he sighs mockingly, his hands sliding down from your waist to your hips. "can't last longer than 10 seconds, miss y/n?"

of course he would say some cocky shit like that—you'd forgotten for a minute that this was the same, arrogant mr. gojo you always knew, and no kiss (however heavenly) was going to change that.

"i'm sorry that i don't go on dates with every man that breathes."

gojo smirks at you after you say those words. "come on. just because i go on dates with people, doesn't mean i kiss them like this."

"sure you don't." your jealousy shows a bit too much in your reply, and he finds himself smiling even harder.

"is someone jealous?" he teases you again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the flesh of your hips.

you feel flustered, knowing that you're definitely done for now—he saw right through you. "nobody is jealous, mr. gojo."

"stop it with the formality. just call me satoru."

"it's still office hours. it's only polite."

gojo rolls his eyes, sighing in the process. you grin a little at him, knowing that this was the first thing you denied him of today—complying with the donuts and the kissing was already spoiling him enough.

"then i suppose there's only after work," there's his nauseatingly charming voice again—low and smooth. he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you know it too. "i'm off after 6."

you think long and hard about whether you want to be mean and add this to the list of things you've declined to do for him. the ratio was starting to get really unbalanced—but you remember the way his hands touch you and how his lips greet yours so lovingly: and you think that there's no point turning back now.

"my boss doesn't let me off until after 8, though." you try to poke at his buttons—you put on a fake pout, knowing you’ll accept his invitation anyway—but gojo satoru is eternally patient when it came to things he sincerely desired.

"fuck your boss." he says, "he'll be fine with it."

you laugh at his response. you never thought you would see the day gojo curses at himself, after all, he's so self-obsessed: but you suppose you've seen—and tasted—parts of him that you never knew existed.

"then i'll see you at 6, mr. gojo."

what was the harm in discovering more?

230323 — i kinda hate this but.. wtv… anyway i couldn’t be bothered to proofread have my brainrot of gojo in a suit Mmmm yumyum

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 17

Moniker: Ghost, Nikto

Risk Level: Medium-High. Both are permanent residents of the Kennel.

Brief: Knifeplay, body modification

Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Ghost will stop Nikto if he has to, I’m only 30 seconds away. Do not try tough out discomfort, you need to safeword and you do it sweetheart. That’s an order - Price

While you didn’t have near the amount of scars that the rest of the people in the Kennel did, you were not a stranger to violence. Usually you were bunkered down, but you had been in firefights before. It was medical and comms that the enemy went after if they were being smart about it.

You remembered tactical questioning training, the fancy term they used for your own trainers torturing you to make sure you could take it and keep your mouth shut. It was mean and they’d opened you up, shallow cuts, nothing that would scar. But it did not feel like this.

Nikto was in his mask and gear. Ghost was in only grey sweatpants that did nothing to hide the weight of his cock on his thigh or the scarred expanse of his torso. They were so different even down to the violence simmering just beneath the surface. It was much like how they were dressed really, Ghost wore his violence openly, twirling a knife in his hands. You didn’t think he would surprise you with anything. Nikto though? You had no idea what the hell he was hiding, how bad it might be.

The room was sort of like a clinic, clean and sterile. The gurney you were on wasn’t comfortable, but that seemed like the least of your worries with your naked body being appraised by the two of them.

“Flip for it?” Ghost asked, as if slicing into you was no more severe than who got the first slice of cake.

“Blade” Nikto replied, his eyes shockingly bright against the eye black surrounding them beneath the mask.

Ghost flicked the knife up in the air over the plush arm chair in the corner (wildly out of place in this room in a way that made you nervous) and there was a thud as it embedded itself in the cushion. Shit, you assumed that meant blade.

“Was it on purpose pirzrak?” Nikto asked with some dark amusement as he ripped the knife from the chair and approached you.

You were not tied down, the thing keeping you still was the oppressive atmosphere the two of them created together. You hardly felt you could breathe never mind squirm. And yet… there was something erotically charged about it all. There shouldn’t be, not in this setting with what you knew was coming.

But the fear, the anticipation. Adrenaline was adrenaline, your cunt wasn’t entirely sure if it should be spiking in arousal or not with the rush it was getting. It didn’t help that it was Nikto coming towards you with that knife, the man already jumbled between fear and sex in your memory.

“Maybe I’m just a nice guy” Ghost replied with a chuckle, eyes on you.

He had done this before, kept his eyes locked to yours. It was something to focus on, something that calmed your racing heart ever so slightly.

“Breathe” he ordered.

“Or don’t. You’ll cut just as well unconscious” Nikto said as the tip of the blade met the flesh over your rib cage.

You were fully sure he was serious about it, but Ghost gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Thank fuck. Nikto might want to keep carving you up if you passed out, but Ghost wouldn’t allow it.

“Krasivyy.”

Beautiful. Nikto was enraptured by the bright red blood that followed the trail of the knife. The pain was… exquisite.

The knife was so sharp, was gliding so smoothly against you, that it almost didn’t feel like pain. It was such an intense burst of sensation at the start. Pain followed after, but you were so overwhelmed by that initial feeling.

“Hm, pain slut” Ghost said with fond amusement.

Unbelievably you were sure you smiled and stuck your tongue out at him. Even while your whole body was on fire and your cunt was clenching painfully along with the rest of your muscles you were playing.

Then the screaming started. Nikto mustn’t have liked that little bit of playfulness, maybe it was jealousy, because he jammed his thumb in the wound. This was not that intense sensation from something so sharp slicing almost delicately into skin. This was horrific pain, the kind that emptied your mind of anything else but ‘get away, get away, get away.’

You tried, you tried to move away from the pain. He pressed harder, one thumb against your ribcage managing to hold you in place because anytime you moved it felt like your entire body would turn inside out.

“Nikto.”

You weren’t looking at Ghost. Fuck you weren’t even aware he was in the room anymore. You weren’t aware of anything but the thumb digging into you. Your eyes were locked to it now and all you could process was how much fucking blood there was. How had you been so loopy with sensation that you hadn’t realised that he had sliced four lines across your torso following the curve of your ribs?

You could taste blood and feel the give of flesh beneath your teeth. You were biting down into his forearm. Hard.

Just his name, said calmly. Not a yell or vicious, but a warning from Ghost none the less. His thumb left you, your jaw unclamped from his arm and you lay boneless and in shock, your body flopping around against your will as it tried to figure out what was happening.

“Hey, pay attention” Nikto grunted.

He slapped your face hard and that got your brain back online. You glared up at him.

“Going to safe word?” he asked, sounding disgusted at the concept.

You held his gaze, tried to get a read on this psycho. This was the heart of what the Kennel was you thought. There was something behind that need for violence he had. Something almost vulnerable. He needed this. He needed someone to willingly give their body over like this.

There wasn’t something self-sacrificing here when you gritted your teeth and shook your head. The pain was a dull, horrid thud now, but you could handle it. If he tried it again, you would still safe-word out, you would not completely destroy yourself for him. But you would give him what you could.

Fuck. The rush you got from the surprise in his eyes. How demented a thing that the pain was almost worth it to see how he looked down at you like he had just seen God.

“Good. Good. Sheath pirzrak.”

He did not take his eyes of off you as he held out the knife, blood dripping from it. You looked over and saw Ghost secure a thick leather sheath on the blade, the blood squeezing up and out of the end. He glanced at you, raised an eyebrow in question and you responded by sticking your chin up. You were not some shrinking flower, this was not about to break you and you were strong enough to call a stop if it was.

“Where did Price find you?” he said, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the camera. “Tricky old man.”

You near jumped out of your skin at the first swipe of the sheathed knife on your slit. Nikto had went to the end of the gurney and gave your knee a push to get you to open your legs more. It was impossible to tell as he started lazily playing with your clit with the tip of the knife if you were getting wet or you were getting bloodied.

Not to be left out Ghost started to play with one of your nipples.

“Think this would look pretty with a bar through it princess. Maybe a hoop, something to put a chain through. Think you liked being leashed.”

You wished that your nipples didn’t pucker, that your clit didn’t fucking throb. Your body was terrible at keeping secrets.

“Sick in the head princess. She creaming up down there?”

“Da” Nikto replied with a chuckle that seemed almost light. “Going to take my knife so easy.”

Jesus. You knew there was a thick sheath on the thing but a knife fucking you was still terrifying. Fear, anticipation, adrenaline, arousal. Which one was which right now?

“And she’s going to stay still while she does. Don’t want to fuck this up” Ghost said, unveiling a tray with what you very quickly realised was piercing equipment.

“Y-you can’t be serious.”

“Hm. Is that right? You not seriously going to fuck her with your knife Nikto?”

Your hand shot out and dug into Ghost’s thick forearm so hard you were sure you would break skin when the tip of the knife pushed at your entrance. You couldn’t breathe properly as it was worked inside.

It wasn’t the right shape. It was too narrow but wide, your poor pussy not able to stretch evenly as it should. Nikto was mumbling in Russian, concentrated on his task.

“Stay still now.”

When Ghost brought the needle to your hard nipple and it pricked the surface you felt it shoot straight down to your clit. You couldn’t scream properly, no oxygen, you could only silently open and close your mouth in any attempt to make some sort of noise.

The widest part of the knife finally got passed your entrance and then the rest of it slide home easily. Too much, too fucking much. The stretch, the wrongness of it, the sharp pain on your nipple that was pounding through to your clit and finally, finally the absolute riot of sensation when Nikto flicked that swollen bundle of nerves as hard as he could.

You shattered into pieces entirely. Finally your lungs took in oxygen and you howled through it, howled as Nikto started really fucking you with that knife as your cunt tried to squeeze unevenly around it, as Ghost scraped the needles surface across your nipple again and again without ever piercing into it.

When your body was spent the knife was pulled out and clattered onto the floor, Nikto tossing it almost in a daze that you really had cum on it.

You blinked at your nipple. It was red and hard but there wasn’t a bar through it. Ghost just put the needle back on the tray and grinned at you.

“Only day 17, can’t have your nipple out of commission for the rest of the month now can I?”

“You… you asshole! I really though you were going to pierce it!”

“Aww you disappointed princess?”

“Oh fuck off.”

You were and you weren’t. You didn’t actually know anything about nipple piercings, although if you had you’d have absolutely called safe word at the idea of getting one when you still had half the contract to go. Although the idea of him giving you one was still sort of titillating in theory. A permanent reminder of the Kennel pierced into your skin.

The smile was weak but you did smile none the less. The cuts weren’t so deep that you were at serious risk of catastrophic blood loss, but it was probably best to not tempt fate and get them seen to quickly given that you were feeling a little woozy. This had been unexpected. It felt unexpectedly good right now, body thrumming with dull pain but so rinsed through of adrenaline that you felt like you were liable to float away any second now.

“What…?” you asked softly, seeing Nikto with something in his hand.

Ghost did a double take.

“Nikto…”

There was the smell of hot metal and you froze.

“Red.”

You were not letting him fucking brand you. The electric brand had Cyrillic on it. You weren’t fluent, but you could guess at it being Nikto’s name. He did not put it down.

The next few seconds felt like hours. He rushed forward, looking manic as he aimed to press that burning metal to your skin, right between the still oozing slices on your ribs. You were slow to scramble, still on the gurney and so weak and light headed that you knew you weren’t going to make it in time.

There was the sizzle and the smell of cooked meat with the acrid tang of burning hair.

“Bastard!” Ghost yelled in pain as he muscled his way in front of you, the brand bubbling against the skin of his side, right up at the top of his ribs.

A fight ensued. Price came bursting in and sunk a needle into Nikto’s neck while Ghost tried to restrain him. The electric brand clattered on the floor and settled against the arm chair, the wood of the foot starting to burn.

You tried to stand and your legs just went from under you, but there was another body that caught you.

“What a mess.”

“Valeria…” Price warned, clearly not having expected her to be here.

“Calm down” she tutted. “Blood is not my thing is it little lamb?”

Your still sore nose would disagree, but honestly you didn’t feel that unsafe right now with her. Valeria was a danger but only when she chose to be. You imagined she was the rare breed that had complete control over what she was doing and just chose to do awful things rather than losing control and doing them.

“Is Nikto ok?”

The three of them looked at you a little strangely. Nikto was now slumped over on the floor.

“He tried to brand you” Price said, almost a question.

“Well yeah, but that’s why Ghost was here and you were watching. In case he sort of lost it?”

You didn’t get why it would be strange you were checking he was ok, but then your vision was sort of starting to fuzz out at the edges so you weren’t really at full brain capacity right now. Valeria was laughing while she held you up and the jostling hurt like a bitch.

“Fucking tricky old man” Ghost said with affection.

“Right. Get him in his room, maybe send Velikan in to calm him down” Price said. “Come on sweetheart, let’s get you patched up.”

Valeria squeezed you and it hurt and it could almost be considered possessive. Still, she did not fight handing you over to Price’s care.

You drifted off as he cleaned you up, were somewhere between awake and dead to the world when you were fed. You think maybe you had visitors? Familiar faces who came to check in, to give you little snacks and cuddles.

Tomorrow would be hard you thought. You were so tired. So so tired as you drifted off to dreamless sleep.