#source memories be damned

[somesmartsmarties]

I am once again asking the ninjago writers to remember Neuro exists + to add more depth to his powers because Jay has amnesia and Neuro was RIGHT THERE DURING THE TOURNAMENT and could probably be able to take a look at what's going on in his head to maybe see if some old memories are still there but hey what the fuck do i know 🙄

[quirkle2]

more zombie au :] (1.2k words)

The odor of rot has joined the damp growth of life from pots. Even if some things die off without human aid, there are always stronger elements that thrive in their absence.

The aisles are overgrown. Ritsu brushes past the vines as gently as he can, wooden floor groaning under his worn soles. There’s a gap of empty space in the middle of each aisle that he slots through, eyes roaming the shelves of largely useless things. Stronger stems snag onto his backpack and he tugs distractedly while perusing the labeled pots along the tables.

The barn is quaint, and Ritsu thinks he would love to stay. Moss eats at the boards under his feet and bugs swarm around him in the hot air incessantly, but it’s peaceful and there’s a constant sprinkle of sound to his ears that have grown so used to silence. Whoever owned this place beforehand put up a few wind chimes indoors—they must’ve always had the front entrance open for customers.

It’s a quiet little homemade garden center, or something similar, on the side of the highway. It’s an overgrown property with something dead in the backyard that Ritsu refuses to acknowledge or let Shigeo near. The shingles and boards in the roof have been replaced with polyethylene sheets—a barn-turned-greenhouse, uprooted from the hay and cattle it likely used to house and settled back into the Earth to be a paradise for plants.

There’s a large branch hanging through a hole poked into the plastic overhead. It sways with the wind and the chimes that follow, and Ritsu whistles with the leadless melody and gives it a direction while he studies old seed packets.

They didn’t stop here for any particular reason—a garden center doesn’t have much for apocalypse survivors, but Shigeo has always liked overgrown things. He’d always enjoyed taking care of their mother’s plants back home, and then Reigen’s at the office. His brother likes the humidity of greenhouses and the smell of soil and dirt and must.

He sees the top of Shigeo’s head over the aisles, across the barn. He walks past a shovel hanging on the wall and yelps out a grunt when it clangs to the floor behind him. Ritsu shakes his head and smiles, running his fingers along faded price tags.

The feeling of greenhouses has always had this… wet fullness, to Ritsu.

When he breathes in it’s like he can taste the life that breathes out and it feels like a conversation, a question and an answer, both of which he’s not sure how to articulate. The leaves wave to him and he waves back, the once-active sprinklers pepper his skin with dots, with compliments, with proclamations they are eager to share. The vines weave between fencing just to reach him, just to talk.

He understands why Shigeo likes it, and why he’d always asked to accompany their mother on trips to get new seeds. Ritsu hadn’t really understood, then, how pretty it could be, how full it could feel.

Shigeo had always been right about loving the little things. Ritsu wishes he’d seen that sooner.

His brother ambles down the aisle ahead of him and he listens to the quiet patter of his sloppy footwork, moving around a table of seed trays. His whistles carry across the barn, sort of aimless in their own right instead of leading the wind and the chimes somewhere worthwhile, but the sounds soak into the overhead plastic nicely, so he keeps going.

He pulls back a layering of vines and leaves to scan the contents of another shelf, and then he notices Shigeo stop in his peripherals. His dirty shoes stay planted in the corner of his vision, leaves burying the toes, and Ritsu looks away from the products.

He means to say something, to ask him what’s up even if saying things to Shigeo very rarely results in productivity, but he stops when he realizes his brother’s head is… tilted.

He’s looking at him with as much inquisitiveness as his dulled down awareness can muster, pale eyes flickering across Ritsu’s face like he’s working out some puzzle. He instinctively stops whistling, brain lagging behind on this new info of this new behavior, and the sound fizzles out into a little huff of air that leaves the greenhouse feeling oddly empty.

Shigeo studies him for a moment longer, blinking slowly, and then he straightens his head out as Ritsu stares back. His brother’s gaze lingers there on his mouth, like he’s still confused, like he still expects something to happen.

Ritsu blinks once, twice. The wind chimes call as wind pokes at his greasy spikes, as it prods at the ends of his jacket and fills the silence with a different flavor of itself. The interest in the zombie’s eyes fades a little, gaze straying to the vines around them.

Very tentatively, Ritsu wets his lips and blows. The whistle grabs his brother’s attention immediately, and he’s suddenly tilting his head like a curious dog.

He can’t help the laugh that spills out and makes the whistle a mess of exhales. His shoulders shake a little and he hurries to keep the tune steady and consistent; a few seconds pass and Shigeo tilts his head the other way, exhausted eyes big and more alert than they’ve been in days.

Ritsu experiments, and ventures around with the sound—goes lower and higher and watches his brother twist his head back and forth like he’s trying to understand calculus. There’s something very innocent about it, about the look in his eyes that reminds him of when they were kids and their father would show them magic tricks.

It’s muted by the ever-present fog there in his pupils, but Ritsu thinks he sees a spark of that life in them, of that curiosity born from a mind that knows little. He gives him a simple sensation, a simple experience, and his brother is eating it all up like he’s four again, like he’s new and everything is colorful and unknown and big.

Ritsu watches Shigeo tilt his head back and forth, watches the rusty gears behind his window panes move. He changes tactics, because some sad part of him tells him to, and whistles Shigeo’s favorite song instead.

He remembers the name, but he doesn’t need the name because when he thinks of the tune he thinks of his brother, and that’s all that matters. It’s happy, because Shigeo likes happy music. It’s chipper and yet it meanders, like it’s willingly getting lost, like it’s wandering where it wants to and it’ll eventually find its roots again. It’s happy the whole time. The whole adventure.

Shigeo stops tilting his head, and the gears behind his eyes churn a little bit faster. His gaze clings to Ritsu’s and his brother makes actual eye contact, sinks his own being into Ritsu’s head when he’s least prepared for it. The recognition in his gaze has his soul souring.

He keeps whistling. He doesn’t want to stop, because Shigeo feels like Shigeo right now, and he doesn’t want that to stop.

His brother stares. Ritsu’s grief tints the music.

[timeshift-playground]

I'm probably never going to actually render this so take my memory slop -🩶

[orpheusilver]

Oh, okay. This essay will become a video essay one day.

[kvetch19]

[liebgirl]

me and my beloved wikipedia <3

[thinkingabouttimdrake]

me when: hmmm i need to get this task dine let me remind myself and condition to be nervous so i remember said task

also me: gets nervous => negative feelings about task => repulsed to do it

also me: doenst do it until the very last minute and it was so nerve racking i hated it => despises the entirety of that type of task

me been assigned a task as the ine above: gets negative feelings and is repulsed from doing the task-

[fluoneia]

further continuation of pitfighter!vi | part 1 | part 2

sypnosis. vi left an impression on you more then you thought she did. but, you left even more of an impression on her. and you can’t control a feeling like that, can you?

warnings. dom!vi, lowkey hate sex, use of a strap on, lots o angst !! (in the beginning), uhh i tweaked the timeline a lot so this doesn’t exactly follow everything going on. bear w me!

damn.

you were surprised vi stayed true to her word. it was two months since she initially left. you tried to move on with your life, forget her, and try to remember that she was with that someone that she mentioned.

if she stayed, that means she’s happy. right?

right?

stupid feelings. truth was, you wanted her to come back. she wasn’t just any other client to you at this point.

god, how did you get yourself into this mess? you vowed to not get involved with a client. yet, here you were.

“you seem distracted.” your friend, and co-worker says while she combs through your hair. you’d gotten close to her over the past two months, her being your only viable source of comfort in the moment.

you frown as you look into the mirror.

“it’s nothing.” you shake your hand, glancing down to your hands.

“are you sure?” asta cocked a brow as she placed the comb down. “come on. you’re acting so weird lately.”

you run your thumb over the indents of your palm, following your fingers.

“well..” you start, “i.. there was a client. around two months ago. she was..” you snort, “different, that’s for sure.”

“.. okay..” asta looks into space as she thought.

“she told me she wasn’t coming back— that she couldn’t. her heart was taken by this enforcer girl. said she couldn’t give her up.”

asta is quiet for a second. you turn to look at her. “.. so, what i’m getting from this, is you’re getting your heart involved in a client you took twice.”

“what?” your back straightens. “no! no, my heart isn’t involved, i’m just.. curious. that’s all.”

“uh-huh, okay.” asta snorts with a roll of her eye. “who is this, anyway?”

“oh, uh.. her name is vi.”

asta’s eyes widen so far her eyebrows shoot up. “the fucking vi? as in the vi everyone here hates?”

“i guess so.” you frown.

“hah! no way you’re falling for that little sadistic fuck.”

“asta!” i cry.

“i mean, seriously, y/n! she’s no good, especially for you.”

“i’m a whore in the undercity. i’m not exactly amazing.”

“still, though. i can’t believe you wound up having to take her as a client twice, i mean, are you alright after that?”

you glare. then, you smile at the memory. “actually..” you feel a blush creep on your cheeks. “you’d be surprised. it’s not just her that got to take control.”

“you.. vi? being submissive? oh, you’re crazy.”

“crazy good.” you snort, pushing off your chair. “besides, i’m not falling for her.”

“yeah. sure you aren’t.”

“i mean, i can’t, anyways. i’ve already made that mistake before and i’m not about to make it again. my heart is never being involved with my clients ever again.”

asta takes a second to respond. then, she says, “you know, sometimes it isn’t all that bad.” she shrugs. “i met my husband through this business.”

“it does more harm then good. plus, aren’t you two having problems because of the job that you met in?”

“well.. kind of. but still.” she places a hand on my shoulder, “not everything in your life has to be dictated because of what you do as a job to survive. it’s rare you feel a connection with your clients, right? especially you.”

“i don’t have a connection with her.”

“you keep telling yourself that.” asta chuckles, “that’s what i said about my husband before he started courting me.”

“whatever!” i cry, pushing her hand off me. “i have a client.”

“don’t go imaging it’s vi!”

“ugh, shut up asta!”

a week later, you’d made up your mind. obviously, vi wasn’t going to come back. it’d be best for you to just move on.

your hands tighten around eachother.

so damn stupid. you were so damn stupid. your feelings were so damn stupid— she went to you out of convenience, nothing more.

she was under the influence, on a sex drug nonetheless. you went too far with her. you never should have given in to her pleads in the first place.

“come on, slow-poke.”

you still.

“slow-poke is a bit cocky for you to say. i recall you saying i was moving too fast, when i tried to—“

“okay, are we seriously talking about that right now?”

you’d recognize that voice anywhere. it was haunting your thoughts for the past two months.

and you don’t dare lift your head. you feel your breath pick up as you glance forward.

your breath catches in your throat as your eyes land on her. on vi. what the hell was she doing here?

without another thought, you flick your hood over your head. your body curls in on yourself, staring at your feet as you walk forward, moving past her.

“you used to be all over me,” a posh, matter-of-fact voice says. “now, you can barely even look at me.”

“we’re on a mission, caitlyn. we’re not talking about our relationship right now.”

her voice becomes louder as you grow near.

“when will we?”

“soon! just.. just not now.” vi grumbled.

you try to ignore the warmth in your skin as you knock shoulders with her as you pass.

“hey! watch where you’re going—“

vi stops herself as you glance over your shoulder.

you watch as her eyes flicker, the redness seeping into her skin as she flushed.

“wha.. y/n?” she says in almost a whisper.

your eyes glide toward the girl beside her. a pretty woman, with sharp features and rich, navy hair, tied into a ponytail. she held herself so well.

no wonder vi was so enveloped in her.

vi feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest. she glances toward caitlyn, who gives you a weird look as you stare at her.

what. the. fuck.

that’s all vi can think.

her eyes flicker between you and caitlyn.

vi watched as you slip the hood off your head. you bring your head up with an inhale, forcing a strong front.

“.. hey, vi. funny seeing you here.” you say in that soft tone that’s been haunting her thoughts and her dreams for months since you’ve been apart.

“you know this girl?” caitlyn says as she stares at you. you glance toward caitlyn, brows furrowing. she stared at you like you were filth— and you probably were, body being tainted by the hundreds of hands that have touched the most vulnerable of all— your body.

vi swallows. “yea.. yes, um—“ she closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “old friend.”

old friend? really?

you glare at her.

“can i, um.. can i have a second to talk to her? alone?”

vi’s hand rests on caitlyns shoulder. her skin looked so soft— so clean.

you try to ignore the flame of jealousy in your chest as caitlyn’s hand rests atop of vi’s, before nodding her head once.

“don’t take long.” caitlyn lets her hands drop to her sides. vi gives a small nod, shoulders relaxing as caitlyn steps back, moving out of earshot.

and then she turns to you.

“i thought you said you were never coming back.” you frown as your arms cross on your chest.

“this isn’t me coming back.” vi says curtly. “we’re on a mission.”

“a mission? are you some sort of enforcer now?”

vi says nothing.

you freeze.

“you.. you’re an enforcer.”

“temporarily.” vi raises a hand, “it’s not anything to do with—“

“just go.” you spit. “an enforcer from zaun. it’s not an honour to be labelled that, violet. you’re a pawn in whatever plan they’ve conjured up.”

“it’s a plan to help zaun.” vi says in a whisper as she glances at someone passing. she winced. “can we talk about this elsewhere? preferably not in an open alleyway?”

your eyes shift to the caitlyn girl she treasures so much. she’s staring at the two of you.

“or we could just not talk.” you push off the wall you’d been resting on, “continue on with your mission. you have no use of me, by the looks of it.”

“actually, i do. someone we’re looking for passed through babettes brothel, and we need a—“

“i’m not helping you with this.” you shake your head. “find another worker there to interrogate.”

“y/n.” vi says firmly.

“stop saying my name like that.” you narrow your eyes. “just because you were my client doesn’t entitle me to help you with your stupid investigation. you were a client to many there— ask them.”

“i was more then just a client and you know it.”

her face tightens with anger.

“not really,” you tut your tongue, “you paid, and i gave. nothing more.”

“you can’t be serious.” her hand finds your arm, and she leans closer, glancing around. “you took my virginity. that’s not nothing.”

“you were hardly a virgin when we first met.”

“yeah, not in.. that sense, i wasn’t.”

you hated that she was right. virginity was a prized thing for most people— hell, you used to hold principles like saving your virginity for marriage. and now, look where you were.

but, much like other people, you never forgot your first. a boy from piltover— you were young and naive, much like violet.

“i should have never done that.” you shake your head, “that was too far of me.”

vi’s eyes soften. she glances back at caitlyn, before looking to you. she steers you away, moving out of eyeshot.

“it’s not that i.. regret it. if that makes any difference.”

you huff.

“you said you weren’t coming back. yet, here you are.” you gesture.

“for a different reason.” she tightens her grip on my arm, “come on. help me with this investigation and i’ll leave you alone. for good.”

but that isn’t what you wanted. you didn’t want her to leave— you didn’t want her to be her right now, with her new prized girlfriend, but she was still here. you hated how your heart jumped with glee at that fact.

you inhale a deep breath, clenching your jaw.

“fine. i’ll help you.”

vi exhaled in relief. “thank you.” she whispers. her hand loosens on your shoulder, before slowly slipping off, her fingers trailing over your skin.

“what’s the big deal, anyways?” you furrow my brows.

“cait will tell you everything.” she cocks her head behind her. you nod your head, and follow her as you walk back to caitlyn. it hit you that she was tall, and it made her even more menacing— towering over you with a mean look on her face. you couldn’t tell if that was just her face, or she just didn’t like you. probably both.

“so she’ll help, then?” caitlyn says, turning to vi.

vi nods. “yeah.”

“i can’t promise i’ll actually be of help to you.” you cross my arms on your chest. “just because i agreed to tell you what i know doesn’t mean it’ll be any use.”

“worth a shot, right?” vi shrugs. i give her a brief nod.

“we can’t talk about this here.” caitlyn says.

you sigh. “we can go back to my house. it’s just ‘round the block. but again— i only have an hour.”

they give a nod of agreement. you inhale a deep breath, before paving a way back toward your house.

suddenly, you felt unconscious about your living space. you hadn’t cleaned it, and there was no doubt clothes left on the floor, leaving it a mess. you mentally curse yourself as you unlock the door, pushing it open.

“make yourselves comfortable.” you mumble, kicking some clothes out the way.

vi doesn’t take another glance at the house as she walks inside, following behind you. caitlyn hesitates, looking around the messy room, before following suit.

i grab a glass of water, jumping up onto my counter.

“alright. so, what did you need me for, exactly?” i look to caitlyn.

caitlyn slowly turns her head toward you. “oh— yes, um..” she clears her throat, obviously distracted. “a few days ago, someone passed through the brothel you work at.”

she fumbles through her bag. your eyes glance toward vi, who leans against the counter parallel to you, crossing her arms on her chest. the blue outfit just looked so.. off on her, yet, she still held herself the same.

she didn’t seem that bothered by the mess— partly because she’s seen it before, and partly because she’d already been in your house, in your bed—

stop it.

caitlyn places a sheet of paper on the island. i pick it up.

“have you seen this girl?”

your eyes move around the paper. you had seen this girl before— quite an oddball, but she was funny. blue hair, tied into long braids. your eyes train on the JINX — PILTOVER, WANTED.

“uh.. yeah.” you nod. you’d never expect her to be a wanted criminal, but who wasn’t down in the lanes?

“how? where did you see her last?” caitlyn says. there’s a gleam in her eyes as she leans closer.

“well.. maybe two or three days ago she came around the brothel during my shift. she was a client.”

vi pushes off the table abruptly. “you took my sister as a client?!” she stalks toward you.

“well, yeah.” you shrug. your eyes widen as you realize. “we.. no, she didn’t want anything.” uou chuckle at the memory, “she just wanted to talk.”

vi seems to calm down, her shoulders slouching. you give her a brief look, before turning to caitlyn.

“she.. i don’t know why she came to a brothel to just have a chat, but she isn’t the first one to do that. it’s honestly not that weird for clients to just want to talk like normal people when they have no one else.”

“i didn’t give it that much thought. i don’t remember much about her.”

you glare at vi. “not that it’d be any of your business what happens with my clients.”

vi puffs a breath of air through her nose, ripping her gaze away from you. she didn’t understand why she was so.. so jealous, so riled up over the memory that you still worked at the brothel, that you still took clients, that other people were touching you.

she had no right to be possessive, yet, here she was.

“.. anyway.” caitlyn clears her throat, brows furrowing as she senses the tension between you and vi, “what can you tell me about her? did she say anything about where she was going?”

you shake your head. “we talked for the hour she paid for, then she left. that was it. i didn’t see where she went.”

caitlyn sighs in frustration. vi looks to her, “this was a big waste of time.”

“it was the only lead we had.” caitlyn pushes off the wall. “if we ask some of the other workers, they’ll probably have seen the direction she went.”

“at this point we’ll miss the last departure. it’s too long of a walk back to piltover if we want to be safe.”

“we can’t leave while the trail is hot! if we wait another day, it’s just another night wasted.”

you h ump off the counter. “just stay here.” you place your glass in the sink, “i have a guest bedroom.”

that was a horrible idea.

it was like your mouth was on autopilot as you say this— stuck on the fact that if vi left now, you’d never see her again. it was stupid if you to offer, yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it.

caitlyn glances toward you. then to vi. she raises her eyebrows as if to say, “well?”

oh, and vi was even more stuck. seeing you again drove her crazy— much less sleeping in the same house again. no doubt it’d grab at her head, keeping her awake at the last memory in this very house.

her chest puffed as she tried to regulate her breath. she wasn’t sure if she could handle herself in such close proximity to you again. it’d surely drive her mad.

but, she too was stuck on the fact that this might be the last time she saw you.

so, vi nods. “sure.” she chokes. her voice is tight as she avoids her eyes, glancing down at her feet.

you huff at the memory of your shift.

“the guest bedroom is just down the hall. make yourselves comfortable.” you move past them, shoulder grazing with vi’s— on purpose, on accident, you couldn’t tell. “i’ll be back soon.”

you still as you see caitlyn move out of the kitchen, glancing around. once she was out of earshot, you back up a few steps.

“oh, and, vi?” you lean closer to her, moving to her ear. “try to control yourself. i can sense your tension from a mile away.” you rest your hand on vi’s shoulder. “if you want me to take care of that.. another time, yeah?”

you pull away without another word, giggling under your breath. you pat vi’s shoulder as you slip away, grabbing your coat and bringing it around your shoulders.

and as you close the door, you leave vi’s head in utter shambles again.

she stands in the same spot, mind processing your words.

try to control herself? after you’ve just said that, and you’re looking like the most beautiful women she’s laid her eyes on?

fat chance.

she’ll get you eventually.

you were released early from your shift, as the night was slow. you kind of dreaded getting back to your apartment, knowing both vi and caitlyn were there.

you wanted to help them. honestly. but you werent sure what would.

your mind recalled the memory of that jinx girl.

you remembered you tried to advance on her— assuming that’s what she wanted, like many other clients. but she stopped you.

she surely wasn’t well. rambling on about life and death, about family, and about how no one can be trusted, and all that.

and after that, she disappeared as soon as she payed. you turned to say goodbye, but she was already gone.

you huff as you open your apartment door, slipping your coat off your shoulders. you hear laughing from your living room, and walk toward it.

as you turn the corner, you see caitlyn and vi laughing together.

“vi, i’m serious!”

you linger in the background as you watch them.

“i mean, the look on my fathers face. he couldn’t believe it at first.”

“well, you won’t be able to get rid of me, anyway.”

your face tightens as you watch her place her head on caitlyns shoulder. she spins a pen in her hand.

“i’m the dirt under your nails, cupcake.”

you decide to leave it alone there.

you step back, running a hand over your neck. so she was happy. you grimace as you walk down the hall, entering your bathroom.

“stupid.” you’d whisper to yourself.

here you thought you had vi wrapped around your finger. but really, you were wrapped around hers.

asta was right, anyway. she was no good for you, and you were no good for her. she was right in the fact that your heart was involved. it was involved tenfold.

you were stupid to ever think that you and vi had a chance.

you were a whore from the undercity. she’s an enforcer now.

nonetheless, she was still from the undercity. she was still a zaunite, just like you.

you strip yourself of your clothes. you step into your steaming shower, and let the water run over your body, your hair.

you close your eyes as you try to drown out your thoughts.

it wasn’t until midnight you left your bathroom.

the house was quiet. you deemed that they had gone to sleep, and move toward your room.

you throw on one of your favourite sets— a gift from a reoccurring piltover client from when you used to work there. you loved the silk texture, the white pearly fabric.

and since you hadn’t eaten much today, you move toward your kitchen.

you huff as you walk down the hallway, quiet against the hardwood floor. you grab your glass from the sink, turning on the tap.

“y/n.” a voice says behind you. you jump, spinning around.

“oh. it’s just you.” you sigh in relief as your eyes land on the familiar black of her hair. vi sauntered toward you, leaning against the counter.

“i.. i had a question.” vi whispers. her voice is laced with sleep— she had stayed up to talk to you. alone, finally.

you stare at your hands as you pour the water down the sink, picking up a bag of pretzels. “and what’s that?”

vi bit her tongue. then, she spoke. “what did you mean, before?”

you furrow your brows.

“when you said.. if you want me to take care of that.” vi shuffles. “you said, another time.”

you still. youd forgotten youd said that— mostly to test the waters around her.

“what did you think i meant?” you hum, placing a pretzel on your tongue. you lean your hip against the counter parallel to her.

vi says nothing.

“look— if you’re gonna act clueless, whatever.” you scoff. “but don’t rope me into something that’ll just cause a mess.”

you turn away from her.

as you move, your stopped by a hand on your wrist. she yanks you backward, your back landing harshly on her chest.

you gasp.

“i don’t really care if it causes a mess.”

you feel her breath on your shoulder. her hand smooths over your hip, pulling you against her.

“you’ve been messing with me ever since we bumped into eachother in that alleyway.”

you stare harshly at the wall in front of you. her thumb dips into the fabric of your shorts, resting it there.

“and you show up in these little shorts and expect me to contain myself?”

you feel her lips against your ear.

“what’s with the sudden switch up?” you say breathily, head leaning against her shoulder.

“you know what you’re doing.” violet scoffs against your ear. you feel your skin blaze alight as she presses her lips to your neck. you feel her tongue glide across your skin.

“violet.” you say harshly. you’re not sure how you feel about the sudden change in the air— vi wasn’t the girl she was last time she was here, no, she was how she was in the brothel the first night you met.

this girl really did give you whiplash.

“this is wrong.” you say, hand placing over the hand on your hip. despite your words, you lean into her touch. “aren’t you with caitlyn?”

vi stills for a second at caitlyn’s name. “one more night can’t hurt.”

“that’s what i thought the last time we met.” you hum, leaning into her touch. “one more night.”

vi spun you around, stalking forward, pushing you back until your back hit the counter. her arms caged around you, her eyes so dark, so unrecognizable.

all night, vi had been thinking about how you’re working your shift, having other people touch you. all night, she thought about you.

all she wanted right now was to distinguish herself from the others— to prove to you that unlike all the others, she cared. she cared for your pleasure, she cared for you, despite her mind screaming at her that she shouldn’t.

another wave of jealousy washes over her. she leans closer, hands gliding over your stomach, pushing up the silk shirt.

“you remember how you said to stop thinking so much around you?” vi says with a smirk, nose touching eachothers, her lips parted. you feel her breath on your skin, her hands on your stomach. they truly did feel warm, so calming, so right, unlike the others who have touched you there. you didn’t feel violated under vi’s touch, you felt.. comforted. it gave you a chance to actually feel the pleasure of another persons hand, rather then focusing on giving pleasure.

her hand splays against your back. her lips were so close to yours, merely one movement away. you wanted nothing more then to feel them again.

“that’s what i’m doing.” vi says, voice husky. “cmon.” she gives a toothy smile. “don’t leave me hanging here, cupcake.”

and it’s like everything changed.

your face closes to a deadpan. you push her off, slamming your fists on her chest.

“wha..” vi gives you a look of confusion.

“you’re so.. arrogant!” you lower your voice as you remember caitlyn is still there— the same caitlyn that vi had said that same nickname too a mere few hours ago. “and stupid!”

“what the hell are you talking about?” vi’s brows furrow.

“that nickname.” you spit. “you’d dare to call me that after using it on caitlyn?”

her mind recalls the memory.

i’m the dirt under your nails, cupcake.

her eyes widen. truth was, she was thinking about you when she said that. she said it because she’s your dirt underneath your nails. she came, and now she’s never going to leave, like a thorn in your side.

“really?” vi deadpans. “that’s what you’re worked up about?”

you purse your lips.

she lets out a chuckle that only fuels your anger. she takes a step toward you, before lowering her voice.

“i knew you were listening.” vi explained, “i was saying that to you.”

you still.

“though, this jealous side of you is kind of cute.”

“shut up.”

“just saying. now, can you stop throwing a fit? kind of holding myself back here.”

“ugh, shut up!” you cry before you grab her face, crashing your lips against hers. vi stilled for a second, taken aback, but she feels a rush of passion flow through her body.

her hands are on you in an instant— clawing, grabbing at your clothes so roughly. her lips are just as you remembered; soft. yet this time, they held a sense of dominance unlike the last time you kissed her.

she hummed against you. and you feel so much.. anger, hatred, jealousy, desire. vi was enjoying this way too much, and you hated that.

you feel her hands on your hips once more, her tongue gliding against your bottom lip, as if asking for permission. you give it by pushing your tongue past her lips, her own finding yours as they tangle and dance for a sense of dominance— to see which way will overtake.

but vi leaves no room for argument. her fingers dig into the skin on your thighs. you squeal as your brought from the floor, her hands holding you up as she picks you up.

your legs dangle loosely around her torso, hand smoothing into her hair, pulling, tugging, holding on so she’s forced to never leave.

you didn’t really know where you were going, but now, you were moving. her tongue glided through your mouth, running along your teeth, your tongue, your gums, everywhere, forcing herself through every part of your mouth until there was nothing left.

and oh, did you miss this feeling.

this feeling of passion, of lust, of desire. this feeling of recklessness. you both know you shouldn’t be doing this— but who can stop desire?

you realize she had guided you to your room when you feel your back hit the fur of your bedspread. she pressed herself between your legs, pulling away from you.

“fuck..” she whispered under her breath, hands smoothing up your stomach, cupping your barely clothed breasts.

“don’t talk.” you loose out, grabbing her face again and pulling her lips back onto yours. she takes that as an understanding, fingers unhooking every button oh so slowly.

you lift yourself off the bed to tear the shirt off your shoulders, throwing it to the side.

vi’s eyes flicker as she pulls away, looking at your body. her eyes land on your budding breasts. just so fucking beautiful. every bit and piece of you was perfect in violets eyes, and she hated how she felt that way.

“i missed you.” she whispers, both forgetting and ignoring your demand of silence. she pulls away, taking her jacket off of her shoulders. clothes fly in a haste, leaving you both naked in mere minutes— well, you naked. she kept her bandages on.

you can’t help the next thing you say. “missed me or missed my body?” you huff, sitting up on your elbows.

vi’s brows furrow. her nose twitches, before she crashed her lips back against yours without a word.

ah. got it. you’d think.

whatever. you shouldn’t have expected much with a hookup.

truth was, vi didn’t know. she didn’t know if her actions were based off purely lust, or something else. she tried not to think about it much— she couldn’t think much, anyways. you were just so soft, so beautiful.

her hands smooth over your body, and you were so drunk on her touch you decided not to care about anything else. her hands, touching you, possessing every part of you.

vi’s lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, onto your neck. you relish in the feel of her tongue, of her teeth scraping against your skin. her hands, smoothing over your thigh, toying with the strand of your panties. you feel your mouth go agape as her tongue glides over your neck, leaving red splotches, marking you.

you gasp as you feel her hands quiver over your clothed core, pressing so gently it made you whine. she was toying you, being so gentle when she knew you wanted her to be rough.

“don’t think i’ve forgotten.”

you couldn’t process her words— not when her fingers slipped underneath the cloth and dipped into your slick. your head throws back, a jolt of pleasure ripping all throughout your body. a shock to your nerves— finally, a touch that was pleasurable.

“oh, you’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

your brows furrowed. what the hell was she talking about?

you let your mind fog again when her fingers dip inside of you, pressing so deep. you gasp, feeling your skin grow ablaze, the ache in your stomach only growing. you grasp onto the bedsheets, shocked at how fast this was moving— ten minutes ago, you were accepting the loss of whatever this relationship was. now you were thinking, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“you’re gonna feel everything i felt that night.”

she says this so close to your ear. you feel her breath on the shell of your ear, her teeth nipping at your skin.

“though, you won’t be under a drug like i was. i’ll just have to make up for that.”

her fingers press up as if to further move her point. you let your eyes close, body leaning toward her, hips pressing against her wrist.

“where do you keep those things, hm?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you huff, eyes slowly opening to look at her.

“you know,” she leaned closer. oh god, her eyes. that smirk. you were done for.

your brows furrow as you thought. her fingers slipped out of you, causing you to frown at the loss of her touch.

she ran a hand through her hair as she looked around, before reaching over you to open a drawer. your eyes catch on the glimpse of her bicep, a glimpse of the tattoo that ran down her back. gods, it only turned you on further.

“ah.” she says. you’d hear her fumble with something before moving back to you.

and your eyes shift to the thing in her hand.

one of the strap ons you owned— and never used, just by the sheer size of it. black, girthy, and big.

“nonono, violet—“you back away from her. she could not use that one, not now.

“oh, yes.”

there’s a certain gleam in her eyes as her hand grabs your hip, pulling you closer to you.

“told you.” she says as she leans back, fumbling with the straps. “i’m gonna get you back.”

you were in for it now.

for someone who’d never used a strap on before, you were pleasantly shocked.

you’d moan into your pillow as her hips slam against yours, over and over and over again. her hand smoothed over your back, pressing it down so your hips pushed up.

you’d never felt this.. this good, this full.

your entire body shook, every bone weak and practically useless. it took everything in you to hold yourself up, to not pull away from her, from her hips.

“oh—“ you groan, “vi!” you’d lost yourself, suddenly not caring about your voice. once vi realized that, she dragged her hand under to your chest, pulling you flush against her.

her hand moved over your mouth, silencing your cries.

at the new angle, she only pushed deeper.

your eyes widen, every nerve, every muscle twitching and shaking with pleasure. you couldn’t handle it, you simply couldn’t.

“not so tough now, huh?” she huffed, her voice out of breath and tight. you feel her being her hips back, just barely, before pushing back into you with such force you felt tears well into your eyes.

how could one woman have this much stamina?

you’d lost count at the amount of climax’s she’s brought you to.

she abruptly pulled out of you, flipping you over, pressing your back against the bed. it was like your body was drained of any sort of will— her strength easily able to manhandle you in every way she could, every position she wanted you in.

she placed herself back inbetween your legs. you saw that smirk on her face, so cocky and confident.

you couldn’t form words to comment something about it.

she brushed her hand over her forehead, inhaling a deep breath of air.

“i kind of like this.” she said breathily as she lowered her hand, aligning the tip of the silicone cock to your hole. as you feel her push back inside you, you let out a damned scream.

she’s quick to cover it, lips pressing against yours to silence your cries.

your legs touched either side of the bed, her hands pinning them down. your hips ached at the stretch— your core ached at the raw stretch the strap-on gave you, and as she pressed further deep inside of you, you swore you saw stars.

“god, oh, i— fuck!” you cry against her lips, hands gripping so hard on her back, nails digging into her skin, leaving crescent marks on her shoulders.

“shh, shh..” she hushed, hand smoothing across your thigh as a sense of comfort, yet, it only riled you up more.

she was so deep, so insanely deep— somewhere surely no one’s ever touched before.

“wouldn’t want anyone to hear you, would you?” she’d taunt, “see you in this position..”

her hips pull back, before bullying her way back into you, at such a slowed, tedious pace— to mess with you, no doubt.

you didn’t care. you didn’t care for anything— you couldn’t, not after this. you were sure you’d never felt anything like it— it was even better then the first night at the brothel.

“i— i can’t—“ you’d cry, head pushing into the pillow to hide your face. you just.. felt so fulfilled.

“oh yes, you can.” she mumbles, eyes flickering over every expression you’d made, engraving it in her mind.

her hips were flush against yours, filling you to the brim. her body pressed against your chest, her hands moving to grip onto the pillow on either side of your head.

“oh, fuck.” she said so softly, wincing as she felt the pressure against her own clit. then, her hips pulled back, and slammed right back into you. she found out, in this new position, it also gave her pleasure.

with how sensitive she was, even the short amount of pressure could help the ache between her legs.

a gleam found her eyes.

her pace became faster, harder, like a damned piston jolting inside of you.

you bite hard into your lip, hands falling limp and falling on either side of you.

“a little longer, princess..” she huffed into your ear. “come on, you can take it.”

“no, i—!” you cry, legs clamping around her torso. “mmmph—“

“just..” she let out a sharp exhale, adjusting her hips so the base hit her clit just right. she moaned into your ear, eyes rolling back, and the sight was just so damn beautiful.

you feel the cord in your stomach grow hot, your body shaking with every thrust she made.

at this rate, you weren’t sure how much you could handle— it was too much vi, so much vi, you were going to go mad. vi, vi, vi.

“oh, vivivi—“ you whined, your body riling itself up, again and again, over and over, each thrust bringing you closer to the familiar taste of an orgasm.

you were scared. scared of the feeling, of the pure pleasure that coursed through your body each and every time. scared of that feeling, of that blinding— oh, god!

your eyes shut closed, your legs clamped around her as that familiar snap of your orgasm flooded through you.

“say my name.”

“v..” you attempted. and then, you deflate against the matress. “vio..”

“come on, you can do it.”

her hips were relentless, forcing you through your orgasm. your body aches with overstimulation, threatening to burst with each and every second.

“say my name.” she says it more directly, nearly damn demanding you to. her voice is a growl against your ear, her hips picking up in pace.

“oh, violet!” you cry, voice cracking.

vi let out a loud moan, her head pressing against your neck, whining against your skin.

and then, she deflated above you.

your body jolts and shakes with every flow of energy, every flow of pleasure. you were so fulfilled, so full, finally getting what your body had been aching for, begging for.

a proper fuck.

a proper fuck from vi.

you had vi. and that was all you needed, even if it was only for the times being.

you yelp as she flips you over, resting you on her chest. she pressed her hips deeper inside of you, and you gasp.

“n.. no! no, no more.” you cry, your head falling against her chest.

“don’t worry.” she says as she caged her arms around you, hands resting tightly on your waist. her hands run up your back. “i won’t push you.”

you let out a sigh of relief.

you fell into a silence.

it was hard for your body to recover from your orgasms when the strap-on was still inside you, pressing into that spot. with every shift she made, you felt your body rile up again.

a beat of silence.

another.

you hear your click tick. you feel her chest go up and down with her breath. you hear her heart beat.

.

.

“i missed you.”

she says this so softly. her arms tighten around your torso, her nose nuzzling into your hair.

“not your body.”

a/n. uh.. hey.. sorry this took so long LOL anyway this kid kind of rushed i apologize and it kind of sucks but blushes thank u for all the support on this little mini saga that stemmed off a one shot 🤗

taglist. @just-levyy @princesssmars @thesevi0lentdelights @kissyslut @devotedlyelectronicartisan @cheyisagirlkisser @maracujais @n1shuu @vivispace @elliecoochieeater @izu-lu @wanna1be0 @honeybunbunnie @yariany02 @dumblilb @lalalalal16 @vyvvycg @ayooooohush @slvtformilfs @the-disaster-in-waiting (some of ur tags didn’t work im sorry :( )

[themotherofhorses]

simon riley x fem!reader

Imagine holding Simon when he cries. 

Simon Riley is an incredibly strong man, an absolute force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Since joining the SAS in 2001, he has created a name for himself. A military legend—seemingly more ghost-like than flesh and blood. But that is the farthest from the truth, isn’t it? Cause, at the end of the day, he is still human. You’re his girl, the love of his life. His true love—his only love.

You are a source of comfort he somehow found in this shitty, cold world. The home he never had the privilege of experiencing; your arms have provided him with everything he was denied during boyhood.  

So imagine your Simon arriving home one evening—dead silent—merely shuffling his way to where you’re seated comfortably on the living room couch. His duffle bag drops near his leather recliner before the balaclava is tossed to the side. On his face is a certain heaviness, a sadness twisted in his handsome features; his blue eyes are not as bright as they usually are.

You swallow. Did something happen during the mission? 

“What is wrong, baby?” You coo, stretching your arms out wide to welcome him in. 

Without another thought, Simon tucks himself into your embrace, with his head resting gently on your chest. Against your breast, he can hear your heartbeat thundering away in your chest, moving in a rhythm that matches his. He reckons he is the luckiest bastard in the world, to find a soulmate who compliments him in every aspect of life. 

He lets out a small sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling his throat closing up as tears begin to well up. His bottom lip trembles before he bites down on it. 

“Simon,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “What happened, my love?” 

Another tear, followed by three more. A tiny, shaky exhale. Simon remains utterly still for a moment, not saying anything, until…“It’s my father’s birthday today.” His voice is quiet, breathless, unbelievably thick with sheer sadness. 

Your face falls at that. “Oh, Simon.” A sad smile pulls at your lips while you hug him closer, peppering more kisses up and down his hairline, pausing to brush back soft, blonde strands. You say nothing more as he continues to weep in your arms, entire body racking with choked-up sobs and uneven breathing. 

“I loved him,” Simon rasps out, pulling his face up from your neck. Both his cheeks and nose are a cherry-red, with baby-blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, lined with fresh tears. For a moment, he wasn’t the Simon Riley you fell in love with, but the Simon Riley who was five-years-old—all scrawny, little legged and freshly bruised, hiding behind the bookcase in his parents’ bedroom. 

“Loved him so bloody much.” 

You don’t know what to say. What can you even say? Nothing can heal those wounds, cut so deep in his heart and soul that any slight movement reopens them. “I know you did.” You kiss his nose, minding the mess of tears and snot. 

His fists slowly tighten, knuckles whitening as all the memories of his father begin to flood through him; they all carry an agonizing sensation, the kind that is too fuckin' painful to discuss aloud, yet too damn gut-wrenching to keep bottled up inside.

“Do ya…” he hiccups, clearing his throat. “Do ya think…in another life…?” 

In another life. You think for a moment, carding your fingers softly through his hair. “Maybe, my love…” 

Simon nods. “Maybe,” he croaks out, keeping his arms tight around you. There, on the couch, you continue to hold him, letting his torrent of tears soak your shirt; time and time again, your fingers run through his hair in some silent attempt to ease the little boy wailing inside. 

“It’s okay, baby.”

You kiss his temple.

“You’re alright. Let it out, baby.” 

He’ll be alright tomorrow. You know it. In the morning, he’ll be barefoot and content in the kitchen, baking his mother’s special recipe of blueberry and pineapple pancakes—a cup of milk, one egg, blueberries, pineapple, and, of course, the batter—all while waiting for your arms to circle around his chest. 

But for right now, he is five years old, finally being embraced in arms so warm and loving and protective—so unbelievably perfect. The feeling incites more tears.

"Thank you, baby," he mumbles, gently kissing your collarbone; it's a kiss so rich with love, appreciation, and adoration that it stirs up butterflies in your tummy. "For everything."

For everything. Oh, you silly boy. "Simon." You smile down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "For you, my love? I'd do anything."

note: a little drabble for my "let simon riley cry 2024" campaign. thanks!

[freepassbound]

36. What’s the best sexual compliment you’ve ever received?

48. What’s your favourite sex scene from a movie/TV show?

50. Have you ever cum without having your genitals directly stimulated?

36: Probably that she wanted to keep having sex with me? 😅😂 I mean, I must have been doing something right.

But no, really, my anxiety about asking defeated my neediness about wanting to know - and she never volunteered anything specific (that I can recall).

48: I don't know that I have one? Here in the U.S., we certainly don't get sex on TV shows (at least not outside premium cable like HBO & Showtime - channel which I've never had), and I can't think of a memorable one in any movies I've watched - it's almost all innuendo and the before & after but not the sex itself (so the movie can avoid an 'X' rating). Some of those are pretty good, but they're not really sex scenes, I wouldn't say.

50: Nope. I think I came (🤭) close a couple of times back when I was doing anal play with a dildo? But could never get over that edge to an actual climax.

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Sabo analysis time!!!!

Do you guys ever think about how Sabo didn't visit Dressrosa to see Luffy again? And him meeting up with Luffy was probably his very last option to secure the fruit, otherwise he would probably avoid it? Cuz i do…

Let me elaborate.

So here's what we know from the source material:

We know Sabo and the other revolutionaries were there since the early morning since Hack was already inside the coliseum for RevArmy snooping reasons.

The prize of the Tournament was revealed after the Revs were already there.

Sabo/Koala were not in contact with Robin to know if the straw hats were anywhere near Dressrosa as seen by Koala saying "I hear Robin-san’s here in this country, too."

Sabo confronted Luffy about getting the Mera-Mera No Mi only after Hack lost during Block B and Luffy got out of his own block.

I had always assumed that Sabo showed up to Dressrosa for the Mera-Mera No Mi and meeting Luffy, but that really isn't the case. Idk why it took me so long to figure that out, it’s literally shown in the Episode of Sabo (EOS) explicitly. Although, the EOS isn't exactly source material. I cant find anywhere stating whether its canon or not, but I cant find anything that would have it conflict with the original plot so i see no reason why it wouldn’t be. All that evidence from before is canon though so even without the EOS, this claim still holds water.

Speaking more of the evidence we have from of the episode of Sabo, we see him snooping around the Colosseum during the tournament, we see the moment he realizes that Luffy is participating in the event, and we see the moment he realizes that Luffy cant participate any further.

Like look at him here. He looks absolutely unprepared for what he knows he has to do. And after this in the scene right before he starts talking with Luffy, he’s like literally walking to him as slowly as he possibly can. Taking pauses in his stride to probably think about how much of a bad idea this is.

Plus, at the beginning of the episode when he’s visiting Ace’s grave, he says “I guess both you and Luffy are both mad at me.”

Sabo has had so many opportunities to meet up with Luffy before he actually does, both in Dressrosa and since he regains his memory. But he doesnt. Because he cant. Because he’s terrified of being met with scorn, anger, or even violence from his beloved little brother.

Finally, we see him plucking up the courage to walk over to luffy. All surroundings are silent besides the loud footsteps coming from his approach echoing in the hallway.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.

Then he stops.

Its dead quiet.

Sabo has been pretty much deadpan this entire time, but he then smiles before he says

“I wont let you have the Mera Mera No Mi, ‘Straw hat’ Luffy.”

This is a fairly serious thing that he’s saying to this man in a fake beard and outrageous helmet, and he’s terrified of this meeting with his brother, but he cant help but smile when he’s talking with him.

The conversation that continues is very confrontational, but suddenly something clicks in Luffy’s mind. His body relaxes from it’s tense posture, he starts to tear up, his speech slows,

Then he starts to scream with recognition.

That’s his big brother.

He’s alive…

He’s Alive!!!

He’s here! Right here! Right where he should be!

Alive. Living. Free!

Luffy GRABS Sabo’s face and propels himself towards him. Suffocating and probably giving his brother whiplash in that second within that assault-hug.

All of a sudden, Sabo’s fears of scorn, anger and violence all wash away.

Luffy loves him.

They have each other now.

And now, Sabo is on his way to get that god damn fruit.

Sabo absolutely didn’t think he was ready for this re-connection, but he’s so glad he went through with it.

He has his brother back, his other brother’s powers, and the bragging rights of being able to flaunt both.

This is what I'm sayin with the "seems like fire favors these brothers" post I made. The fact that both the mera mera no mi and Luffy and Sabo were all in the same place to come together at once is a crazy coincidence. How many coincidences does it take, for a happenstance to be Fate? Probably that amount.

In conclusion:

Get this man a therapist. Please.

Heres another sabo analysis if you wanna hear more

Thank you for reading my ramblings about a fictional man. I think about him a completely average amount.

[stxrysnow]

— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

★ jiah’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[reiding-writing]

I need Spencer and cold reader to kiss so badly, please

HOW PITIFUL — SPENCER REID!

a case hits you harder than it should, and spencer shows his concern in a very spencer way.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 3.4k | h/c | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

WARNINGS | mentions of misogyny and victim blaming, cold!reader has an internal mental breakdown but it isn’t that bad, spencer rambles a lot and gets interrupted, romance

a/n — and so it begins

The station is quiet now, except for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the occasional groan of the building settling.

You’re the only one left, which is exactly how you planned it. The case file lies open on the table, the pages curling slightly at the edges from the weight of your touch. Every word you read feels like a fresh wound, an insult to your sense of justice, to your very humanity.

You’d thought you were used to this. You’ve seen the worst the world has to offer—bloodied crime scenes, shattered families, lives stolen for no reason at all. But this? This feels different.

The evidence isn’t just ink on a page or photos in a folder. It’s venom, bile spewed out by others—an entire community that believes the victim deserved what happened. That she asked for it. That her pain was a punchline.

Your chest tightens as you think back to the interviews, the smirks, the dismissive shrugs. One man even laughed when you pressed him about the threats. Laughed. It’s that sound, the callousness of it, that keeps replaying in your mind, like a cruel joke you can’t escape.

You shove the file shut and push it away, but the words are still there, seared into the back of your skull. Slut. Tease. She should’ve known better. You clench your jaw until it aches. The nausea sits heavy in your stomach, rising every time you breathe in too deeply.

The world outside your office window is cloaked in darkness, the streetlights glowing faintly against the fog. You want to leave, to go home and bury yourself under the weight of silence, but you know it’ll follow you there. You’ll see their faces when you close your eyes, hear their voices in the stillness.

You lean back in your chair and scrub a hand down your face, as if you could wipe away the ugliness clinging to you.

Your anger bubbles just beneath the surface, a volatile heat that threatens to explode. But what would it solve? Who would you even direct it at? The man who laughed? The ones who sent those vile messages? The whole damn system that let this happen?

A sharp, involuntary laugh escapes your throat—bitter, hollow. You feel like a hypocrite. You’re supposed to be the one who holds it together, who doesn’t let the darkness seep in. But right now, you’re failing.

You’re just as rattled as anyone else would be, maybe worse because you can’t let it go. It’s lodged deep, and no matter how much you want to dig it out, it stays.

The fluorescent lights above seem too bright, too sterile. You reach for the lamp on the table and switch it off, plunging the room into shadows. It doesn’t help. You’re still here, trapped with your thoughts.

You bury your face in your hands and sit there, breathing slowly, trying to remind yourself that you’ve faced worse. You’re strong enough to carry this, to keep going.

But even as you think it, you’re not sure you believe it anymore.

—

You sit cross-legged on your bed, staring blankly at the TV. The volume is low, the flicker of the screen the only source of light in the room. It’s playing some mindless late-night rerun, but you haven’t absorbed a single scene.

Your hands are clenched around the edge of a blanket, and you’re biting the inside of your cheek—a nervous tic you didn’t even realize you’d picked up today. No matter how hard you try, the day’s events won’t fade. Every time you try to push the memories down, they claw their way back up, sharper and uglier than before.

You should’ve turned your phone off. Every notification you’ve ignored only adds to the noise in your head. Half the messages are from teammates checking in, the other half from your own thoughts screaming at you to keep moving, keep going.

But the weight of it all has pinned you here, frozen in your own room, wishing the world would just stop.

When the knock at your door breaks the silence, your first instinct is to ignore it. Whoever it is can wait, or better yet, leave.

You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and stare harder at the TV, pretending not to hear.

The knock comes again, firmer this time. You know exactly who it is.

Spencer.

Of course, it’s him.

He’d been watching you all day. You caught his gaze more than once, his brow furrowed with concern, his hands twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

It wasn’t just the way he lingered when the case files were open or the way he sat beside you at lunch, silent but present. It was his whole demeanor—thoughtful, calculating, but never overbearing. He knew something was off, even when you tried to keep it together.

You let out a groan and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You don’t want to deal with him right now, not in this state. Sympathy feels suffocating, and his particular brand of quiet kindness would be unbearable tonight.

When you yank the door open, Spencer is standing there, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. His hands are buried deep in his coat pockets, his hair slightly mussed from the wind outside. He looks at you, and the worry in his eyes cuts deeper than you expect.

“Hey,” he says softly. His voice is low, like he knows you might slam the door in his face.

“Leave me alone.” Your words are sharper than you intend, cutting through the air between you. His expression flickers, but he doesn’t move.

“I—” he starts, but you cut him off, the anger and frustration bubbling over before you can stop it.

“I don’t need your pity, Reid.” Your voice rises, brittle and full of venom. “I don’t need you standing there, acting like you have all the answers. Just—go. Please.”

Your fingers tighten on the edge of the door, ready to shut it in his face. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t leave. He just stands there, his shoulders sagging slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’s not pity,” he says quietly, and his calm tone only makes your anger flare brighter. “I just—” He pauses, searching for the words. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. There’s no judgment in his voice, no condescension. Just a simple truth that sinks into the silence between you.

But you’re not ready to let go of the anger. It’s the only shield you have left. “I’m fine,” you snap, though the tremor in your voice betrays you. “I don’t need you to check up on me like I’m some—”

“Some what?” he interrupts, his voice still gentle but firm enough to stop you mid-sentence. “Like you’re human? Like you’re allowed to have bad days?”

His words hang in the air, and you feel the sting of them in your chest. You want to argue, to push him away again, but the fight drains out of you before you can even begin.

He doesn’t move. He stands there, his lanky frame awkward in the doorway, one hand clutching the edge of the doorframe. “I know you’re angry,” he says softly. “You should be. What happened today—it wasn’t just wrong. It was vile. And I know how hard it must’ve been to deal with all of that and still hold it together in front of the team.”

You blink, startled by how well he’s read you, but it only makes you angrier. “You don’t know what it’s like,” you bite out. “You don’t know how it feels to listen to that filth, to see people laugh about something so—” Your voice falters again, the words sticking in your throat. “I don’t want to talk about this. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

“I know,” he says quickly, his words spilling out in that nervous way of his. “I know you don’t want to talk. I just… I’ve been thinking about you. All day. You looked… tired. No, not tired. Worn down. And I thought maybe—maybe you needed someone to remind you that you’re not alone in this. That it’s okay to feel angry. To feel hurt. Because what happened today—it wasn’t okay. None of it.”

His rambling catches you off guard. You’ve seen Spencer nervous before, fumbling over his words or retreating into his mind to avoid confrontation. But this? This is different. He’s standing here, vulnerable, raw, and refusing to back down.

Spencer takes a shaky breath, his gaze flickering between yours and the floor. “You know,” he begins, his voice trembling slightly, “I’ve always thought you were the strongest person I know. The way you carry yourself, the way you handle things when everything’s falling apart—it’s… amazing.” He stumbles over the word, as if it doesn’t quite capture what he means, but he presses on. “But even the strongest people need someone sometimes. Even you.”

You feel the words like a punch to the chest, your breath hitching as the cracks in your defences widen. You don’t want to hear this—not now, not when you’re trying so hard to keep it all together—but Spencer doesn’t stop.

“What you did today…” he continues, his voice growing steadier, more confident, “the way you confronted those people, the way you kept pushing even when they were throwing all that hate at you—it was incredible. You didn’t let them win, even though they were trying so hard to break you. I just…” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “I hate that you had to face that alone. I hate that I didn’t know how to help.”

Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, your fingers digging into your sleeves as you lean against the doorframe. His words hit harder than you’d like to admit, and you’re not sure if it’s because they’re true or because you’ve needed to hear them all day. Maybe both.

“You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met,” he says softly, his voice almost breaking now. “But even strength needs to be seen and heard sometimes. It’s okay to feel this, you know. It’s okay to need someone. And, if you want to…” He trails off, his lips twitching nervously before he finishes, “I can just… be here. No pity, I promise.”

His sincerity hangs in the air between you, raw and unpolished, and you feel your throat tighten as the weight of the day presses harder against your chest. For a moment, you don’t say anything, your eyes fixed on the floor as you try to process his words.

Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to shut him out, to push him away before you let yourself fall apart. You’ve built walls so high and so thick that letting someone in feels like an impossible risk.

But then there’s Spencer, standing in front of you, his awkward but unwavering presence cutting through the noise in your head.

You glance up at him, your gaze locking onto his. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he replies without hesitation. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do this alone.”

His words crack something inside you, and for the first time all day, the anger and frustration you’ve been clinging to start to dissolve. You don’t know how to respond, don’t know how to let him in, but there’s a quiet part of you—small and fragile—that doesn’t want him to leave.

You’re not sure if you’re angrier at him for coming or grateful that he cares enough to show up. The conflict twists inside you, sharp and raw, the words bubbling to the surface before you can stop them.

“I’m not broken, Reid,” you say, your tone low and sharp, though your voice trembles with exhaustion. “Just… leave me alone.” The words feel hollow even as you say them, and part of you hopes he’ll listen. But part of you hopes he won’t.

Spencer doesn’t move. He stays rooted to the spot, his face softening as he looks at you. His hands ache at his sides, one lifting slightly as if he’s reaching for you, but he stops himself before getting too close.

“You’re not broken,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “You’re not. And I’m not saying that because I feel sorry for you or because I think you need to hear it. I’m saying it because it’s true. You are one of the most capable, brilliant, compassionate people I’ve ever known, and—”

“Reid.” Your voice cuts through his rambling, but he doesn’t stop.

“And you have every right to feel the way you’re feeling right now. After what happened today, after what they said, anyone would feel this way. It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you any less—”

“Reid.”

“You handled it better than anyone else on the team could have, and even though I don’t know how to make it better, I want to try. I want to—”

“Spencer.”

Your voice rises just enough to get his attention, and his words falter. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, your hand lifting to cover his mouth. It’s not a gentle gesture—it’s deliberate, meant to shut him up before the cracks in your defenses grow any wider.

The warmth of his breath brushes against your palm as he freezes, his wide, startled eyes meeting yours. For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the television, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on both of you.

“Stop,” you say finally, your voice trembling with frustration and something softer, something you can’t quite name. “Just… stop talking.”

For a moment, Spencer stills, his breath quiet against your hand as you hold it over his mouth. The air between you feels thick, heavy, like it could crack with the wrong move. You want him to understand that you’re not shutting him out because you don’t appreciate him—it’s just that you can’t bear hearing any more words right now.

And then, impulsively, as if in a mixture of frustration and gratitude, you lean forward slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, the one that still rests over his lips.

It’s not a real kiss, not in the way it might be if you were feeling any less broken, but it’s something. A gesture—an odd, intimate way of sealing the words you’ve never wanted to say.

The kiss lingers for a second, just a moment of softness that feels like it carries the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. It’s unexpected, vulnerable, and somehow it says more than you could with words.

You pull back slowly, and under your breath, you mutter, “Thank you.” Your voice is filled with a mixture of appreciation, irritation, and something else you’re not ready to admit.

Spencer is still for a long moment, his eyes wide, as if trying to make sense of what just happened. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He just stands there, processing. And when his lips finally twitch into a soft, knowing smile, it’s not the playful one you’re used to. It’s quieter, more understanding, more real.

“I didn’t mean to push,” he says quietly, his voice soft, but the words don’t seem to need a response anymore. He just stays there, letting the silence settle between you.

You let out a deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest slowly ease, even if just for a moment. The weight of the day hasn’t disappeared, but something in you shifts, as if, in this strange, small way, a layer of your walls has come down. He doesn't push. He doesn’t ask for anything more than what you've given, and somehow, that makes all the difference.

You move toward the door, still not quite sure what to make of everything. The space between you and Spencer has shifted, changed, but the connection lingers, quiet but undeniable. You open the door, pausing before you step through it, glancing back at him.

“Goodnight, Reid,” you say, your voice a little softer than it was before. You don’t know if he’s still standing there, watching you, but you don’t really need to. The fact that he’s willing to be there, even when you’re at your worst, settles into your chest like something warm.

Spencer’s voice is low as he responds, the sincerity still present but tempered with a sense of respect for the boundaries you've drawn. “Goodnight.”

And when you close the door behind him, you feel the familiar weight of solitude settle around you. But that’s not it anymore.

You sit back on the edge of your bed, your legs stretched out in front of you, and you absently rest your hand on the blanket.

It’s the same hand you kissed, the same one that had covered Spencer’s mouth in a way that felt more vulnerable than you ever intended. Your fingers curl in on your palm, as if the warmth of his breath is still there, as if the weight of the moment has left something behind. The room is quieter now, almost suffocating in its stillness, but there’s a strange calmness to it.

The memories of the case—the insults, the threats, the vile words—are still etched in your mind, too fresh to forget. They swirl around you, pressing down like a heavy fog, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to shake off the disgusting remnants of the day.

You should feel angry, should feel more resolute than ever, but right now all you feel is drained. Every part of you is tired, not just physically but emotionally, as if every ounce of your strength has been used up.

You close your eyes and lean back against the headboard, letting the tension melt away as you focus on the sound of your own breathing. You don’t know how long you sit there, but the noise in your mind has quieted. The anger isn’t gone, but it’s no longer the loudest voice.

With a sigh, you pull the blanket up around your shoulders and close your eyes. For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself rest. You’ll deal with the case tomorrow. You’ll face the world again, as strong and determined as ever.

But for now, you let the silence embrace you.

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 2 - Spider Luck

Morning came quickly despite the shitty sleep you received that night. The constant tossing and turning, the constant fear and anxiety of getting caught or broken into, really you couldn’t catch a break. 

Despite that, you did get some sleep, even if the sum total was like three hours. Still, it’s not like the nightmares would have let you sleep regardless. All your failures would consume your thoughts and drown you, reminding you of your losses. 

Sure you moved on, but it’s not like you had forgotten. Uncle Ben’s wisdom, Aunt May’s lessons, and Peter Parker’s kindness. You vowed to honor and cherish those memories, but here you are, in another fucking world, with a high possibility of you breaking some laws just to get out.

Desperate people do crazy shit, and you aren’t that sane to begin with.

Luckily this motel has a shower and you plan to use it. Making sure to clean yourself with what you have (unfortunate) and pick up the necessities that you desperately need. 

Taking your time (since you paid for it) you get yourself ready, making sure your mask, gloves and (stolen) wallet are secured inside the hoodie’s pockets. Suite nice and tucked underneath the turtleneck and leggings. First order of business is shoes. Maybe that should have been your first mission yesterday- oops. 

You definitely should have followed the young spiderlings example and fight crime with shoes. Well if you ever meet them again, you will…

When you meet them again. You will. You have to. No matter the cost.

And then your stomach rumbled. “Great! Time for cheap food. Wonder if that knockoff Wack-Donld place is open. 

Oh that’s a nice plan. But you forgot one thing, genius. Where is it? How would you know where it is? You can’t even map it since you also don’t have a phone. 

About to unlock the door, you realized something. It already was unlocked… “Hmm…” Well, it was good that you webbed the door then.

“Fuck.” Leaving the motel keys at the front, you skedaddled your way back into the streets, looking for either a bodega or a shoe store. In order to keep yourself somewhat sane, you start softly humming music you recall Miles shared with you.

After some time of walking around aimlessly (you avoided asking others for directions, gods know gothamites unwritten rule is to mind your fucking business), you found a thrift store.

Guess what you realized while browsing for shoes. If you buy and fight crime with shoes, and (as of right now) are your only pair, you will get found out. So crocs it is!

Black ones, because white gets dirty too damn easily.

Finding your size and other clothing necessities, face-mask, a backpack and a portable sewing kit, you were good to go and all for a cheap price! God you love thrift stores. You used to go to as many and as often as you could with Peter. Ya had a bad spending habit and Peter certainly never discouraged you. He was your terrible financial buddy.

Not now! You can’t reminisce right now, not until you found a way home. Asking the cashier for directions while also subtly declining their phone number (your excuse is that your phone got stolen) you made it to a corner store. Hurray!

Making sure to stock up on snacks, since- let’s be real, this will be your food source for a while, (no income, remember, silly) you stand in line to pay before your spider sense goes off.

Behind you. There’s a man, hoodie on, looking down, covering their face, hands buried inside their pockets. You’re betting it’s either a gun or a knife. 

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” Oh, it’s a gun. How original.

The cashier seemed to clock in to what is occurring and subtly reaches under his counter. Not subtle enough because the man behind you yelled, pulling out his gun and pointing at the back of your head.

What the fuck spider luck.

You quickly assess your surroundings, making note that there is only one exit, two normal people not including you but including the gunman, and the room feels tight and too small to do anything.

Conclusion? You’re fucked. 

“I said don’t move, hands up! Give me the money, all of it!” From the corner of your eyes you can see just how fidgety this man was. Probably trigger happy if you do something stupid.

“He-hey man, I don’t got much in here.” The cashier had his hands in the air, trembling and freaking out. 

“I don’t care, give me the money! Yours too, bitch. Now!”

How rude. “Alright, I’m going to get my wallet. Don’t shoot.” You made slow movements of reaching into your pocket for the wallet.

“Hurry up! Both of you!” The thug yelled impatiently. You could practically feel how sweaty and anxious this guy is.

You watched the employee open up the cashier and take the money out. The assailant motioned for you to place your wallet on the counter, which you do and step to the side, getting out of his way. Just as he goes to grab the money you quickly grab the wrist with the gun and twist it, making sure he dropped it before smashing his head onto said counter, money flying everywhere. 

Both you and the cashier watched the assailant fall to the ground, nose bleeding and out cold. “Um,” The cashier looked at you, spooked. “I panicked.”

Hey look at that, no shots fired baby! Ya still got it! You are a pro-fess-io-nal~!

“Hey man, no-um no sweat. You saved me.” He replies with a tremble in his voice.

“Cool, cool, I also didn’t want to get shot. How much for my stuff?” You asked, picking up the money on the floor, handing it back while placing your snacks on the counter..

“What stuff? I see nothing. Just go. I already called the cops.” Oh, so he wasn’t reaching for a gun (corner stores usually have one under the counters) but a buzzer or something? Nice, cool, great.

“Thanks buddy!” Hey man, free food is a blessing. Picking up your wallet and bag of snacks, you step over the knocked out guy, (pick pocketing any cash he had on him,) picking up the gun with your sweater sleeve and placing it at the counter. “Here, for the cops.”

“Thanks so much, again for everything. Hey, can I get a name? For the next time you come and…buy stuff.” He shot his shot.

“I appreciate it man, but I don’t give out my name like that. You know?”

And he missed.

“Ye-yeah…” He looked like a kicked puppy.

Just as you stepped out you heard the sound of a motorcycle nearby and your senses went off again.

“Stop right there, not another step.” A third party voice joins the fray.

What the fuck, spider luck?!

Instantly you recognize the vigilante in front of you but regardless you are not taking any chances today. 

Taking a step back inside the store, making sure to close the door on the guy. “Um, hey not to alarm you or anything but there is a guy with a mask standing outside.” Bringing your hands up (again) you back away from the entrance, snack bag swinging around with your movements. 

The employee nods pulled out the pistol from the counter (what the fuck, why would you grab that with your fingers my dude?) and aimed.

Well at least he doesn’t hold grudges for being rejected.

The door swung open and there stood a masked vigilante, but a familiar bat symbol on his chest caught the employee’s attention.

“Oh thank god it’s not another one.” Putting the pistol again he sighed in relief.

“Ah!” The yellow vigilante turned his focus onto you, (who backed up so much you tripped over the k.o.ed dude, fucking embarrassing) hands still in the air and snacks littering the floor.

Some professional you are. Fuck you spider luck.

“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” God, you're embarrassed and stressed.

The vigilante ponders for a few seconds, taking in the scenario, glancing at the employee who nods and turns his attention back. “Sorry about that. Here.” He extends a hand out towards you and to not be suspicious you hesitantly take it, your body tenses on instinct, pulling away immediately.

“Thank you.” you mumbled silently cringing at your embarrassment over spilled snacks.

“What happened?” He still faced you but you knew that question was for the other party member. And even if it was for you, you’re silent.

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” The cashier looked at his hands. “This is his.” And placed the pistol on the counter.

This looks like the perfect time to poof away so you do. Right after you pick up your snacks. Signal sees this and silently aids you. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?”

No you fucking don’t.

Holding out the bag as Signal placed the last snack in you as you shook your head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” And you walk out for the second time. You could still feel his eyes on you until the door closes.

And guess who shows up.

The men in blue.

“Hold it right there.” Bro, you just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask? This time instead of bringing your hands up (for a third time), you instead clutch your bag to your chest, mask down and point inside, making sure your voice matches your facial expression.

“In there, he stopped him there.” meek, timid, nervous.

It seems to have worked as the pair of policemen entered the store and you didn’t think twice and booked it (in a non suspicious manner- if you run, they might chase). Passing by a yellow motorcycle you take a glance back and see the vigilante stepping outside the store, looking somewhat bothered in the presence of the authorities. 

Sucks to suck, bud, you know that feeling very well, not your problem anymore.

As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his face towards you, your eyes meeting a mask. Oh fuck! You felt your hair stand up. Holding his gaze for a few seconds before turning away (any other abrupt movement would definitely make you look suspicious) you continue on your way.

Forcing yourself to not tense up and fight the urge to shiver at his cold gaze you round the corner and you feel somewhat safer again. But it’s a false sense of security, because you know you’re slowly losing your mind.

Hopefully you won’t run into him or any of the other bats.

-

Duke Thomas was patrolling his territory, the Narrows, when he got a notification.

“Signal, there’s a robbing occurring five blocks from your location. The corner store Convenience. Know it?” Oracle’s voice spoke through the comms.

“I know my way. I’m checking it out now.”

“Checking the cameras- there are only three people inside. The assailant, a civilian, and an employee.”

“Got it-”

“Oh wait. Huh, well look at that.” Disbelief could be heard through the comms.

“What is it?” Did things escalate too fast?

“The civi knocked the guy out. Basically one move.” Color Oracle impressed.

“I’m here, anything else I should know about?”

“I’m scanning what I can see of their face, but I’m coming up blank. I’ll let you know if anything.”

Duke didn’t reply, instead as he pulled up he saw someone coming out of the store. “Stop right there, not another step.”

He watched the figure (gender unidentifiable with the oversized hoodie) freeze before making eye contact with him-er his visor. Despite the hood being down, he could not see their face completely with their mask, only their eyes and hair. Just a normal civilian, who apparently knocked out a guy with a gun.

Then silence and no movement.

Until the civilian backed away, closing the store door.

Stunned for a moment, Duke could hear Oracles snort through the comms. “Think they’re scared?”

“From what, me? They took down a guy with a guy and I scared them?” 

“Careful, gun pointed straight at you inside.” warned Oracle.

He moves towards the front door, pushing it open to see the civilian from earlier backing away still, hands up before turning his attention to the employee with a gun. “Oh thank god it’s not another one.”

“Ah!” A yelp caught his attention and it seems the civi tripped on the knocked out guy he just noticed. They immediately spoke, catching his eyes,“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” 

Duke holds in a snort before glancing at the employee who nods in confirmation before he focuses on the fallen person. He calmly walks towards them, taking note of their discomfort and reaches his hand out. “Sorry about that. Here.” 

Despite his covered eyes somewhat obscuring his vision, he couldn’t will them away from this stranger’s visible face. 

Duke watched their hesitation but placed their hands in his, and he swore he felt a spark that sent shivers down his spine. How curious. He pulled them up, noting just how light they felt in his hold.

“Thank you.” Their voice was soft, but audible.

They quickly pulled their hand away, the warmth gone. His hand held its place for a couple of seconds before he let it fall to his side. “What happened?” He still faced the civilian, both unmoving. He already knew what occurred, Oracle told him everything, but he wanted to hear them talk more.

Only the employee replied. He took note of their lack of eye contact. 

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” Duke glanced as the cashier placed the gun on the counter. He’ll leave that for the cops to pick up if they don’t get here before he leaves. “This is his.”

His attention is once again stolen as the civilian in front of him kneels to pick up their half empty bag. Standing above them, he notes the tips of their ears are red, how cute.

“You good there, romeo? You kinda have a staring problem.” Oracle’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

Duke cleared his mind (he hoped he didn’t look weird or creepy, yikes) before leaning down as well and helped pick up the tossed chip bags.

Though he did take his time, just to squeeze a bit more time with this civilian that he has yet to identify. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?” He mostly directed this question to them than the cashier behind him. He wonders if Oracle figured out this civilian's name. 

Placing the last snack inside the plastic bag he watches them straighten up before shaking their head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” His eyes couldn’t seem to leave their figure as he watched them walk out the door.

“Cops outside, Signal.” Oracle once again breaks his attention. 

“Got it.” Duke turns his attention to the guy on the floor, sitting him up as two officers enter the store. One takes the guy off his hands while the other questions the employee, taking the gun.

A slight restless feeling took over him and he made his way outside, the one carrying the passed out guy following. Duke quickly takes notice of eyes watching him and he turns to see the complete unmasked civilian from earlier. 

This time, he really felt like he had a staring problem. He drinks up their appearance like water. Their nose, lips, face shape, everything. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he really couldn’t look away this time. Everything around him suddenly felt silent. He felt his body shiver.

Such a pretty face, this civilian caught his breath regardless. He’s not one to lose himself by a pretty face but it seems this one was an exception. He felt mesmerized, entranced, and tongue-tied. Something about this person had a strong lock on him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat excited then put off. It felt like a very tight leash, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

Three seconds. Ever since he caught their gaze, they made eye-contact (despite him wearing a mask) before she looked away and left, turning the corner. (Their features look pretty feminine so he’s going with her). 

“Anything Oracle?” He mumbled, still a bit lost.

“No dice. How strange…”

Bummer. He mounts his ride and drives off to finish the rest of his patrol. He’s tempted to drive in the direction the civilian went to, but he wills himself to not do that. God it’s like he’s down bad. Really bad.

Hopefully he gets to see you soon, it seems you’re staying in the Narrows which increases his chances to see you. As much as he curses himself internally, he hopes he can save you next time something dangerous happens again.

Something formed in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s desire or obsession.

Regardless, he embraces this feeling whole heartedly.

Prev; Next;

I struggled really hard, like REALLY hard. Duke is new to me (i only learned of him because of the webtoon) Now I'm reading issues he has been in and I don't know his character well but there is a SEVERE lack of Duke fics and I made it everyone's problem. So now he's down bad.

Updates are random and spars, no update schedule and don't plan to make one. This is my hobby not my obligation.

[hanjisungslag]

hiiii!! so sorryyy idk if you take requests BUTT could you do headcannons of being in an argument with the aot characters?

🗣️ aot characters & arguments

characters involved: eren, armin, mikasa, connie, jean, sasha, reiner, annie, bertolt, erwin, levi & hange

notes: i do take requests indeed!! :3 i luv angst, i hope this is gd♡

✧ eren jaeger - 

okay, when you guys argue it’s honestly more cute than anything because you’re both so protective of one another. neither of you wanted each other to join the scouts because it was so dangerous but, you both joined anyways obviously. oh my god, you guys non-stop bicker when there’s a mission! and don’t even get me started if you get put into different teams😭 you start TWEAKINGG. after he finds out he’s the attack titan, oh it gets 10x worse. his absolute biggest fear is losing control and hurting you - he’s already so conflicted, confused & felt like an outcast. he definitely lashes out more and becomes snappier than usual but, it does come from a place of sincerity.

when this happens, you just leave it be. as soon as it’s not just bickering anymore, when a voice is raised or an insult is made, you just leave it. you understand he’s going through a lot and just needs a minute but, TRUST ME! when you walk off, you make sure it is known that your feelings are hurt.

“i said no! you are not being on my team! im going with the levi squad, thats final.”

✧ armin arlert -

you both love each other very much but, goddamn you’re both so up your own arses! you are the ‘smart couple’ you are both strategic and witty and have your own way you go about things. so, when it comes to deciding whose plan is better, you always think yours is better and admin thinks his is better. this has (and probably always will be) the main root of your arguments, tbh. nobody likes to get involved either because if someone picks a side then even more havoc will break lose. the only people who’ve ever come between you two is: mikasa, levi & erwin.

it’s just like a debate, you know the ones on jubilee where it’s just people speaking over each other with different facts and sources? literally you two. you both would keep going until the end of time if you didn’t need to sleep, eat and drink water. it’s never that serious at the end of the day, you both love each other and i GUESS you can appreciate each others plans albeit you both think yours is better.

“if you actually listen to me when i say, my layout is better! look at how easy it is to manoeuvre from the castle to the forest!”

✧ mikasa ackerman -

wash the damn scarf. that is all you ask of her. she has literally never washed it and you love but jesus christ, stink LINGERS. not only do you think it’s weird she doesn’t wash it but, it’s also from eren… now, you know mikasa’s lore, of course. however, it’s really hard to get over your girlfriend having this deep love for this smelly scarf that her ex-crush gave to her after he literally saved her from being kidnapped. at first, you try to ignore it but it gets to a point where you sit down and talk to her but, she is not having it. she clearly cares very, very deeply for this scarf and will defend it. it’s really awkward conversation that slowly turns into raised voices and some opinionated things being raised.

“why are you getting jealous over a scarf? that’s so stupid! i just have fond memories with it!”

✧ connie springer -

again, not so much major arguments but just bickers. it usually starts as a joke but slowly but surely divulges into an argument about something stupid. one time, someone ate the last of jean’s meal that his mum made for him and he saved until today, obviously he was super upset and jokingly you blamed connie. at first, all was well, laughs were being heard and he even poked fun at you but, somewhere along the way it became more serious for you two, you genuinely suspected connie of eating jean’s meal and connie was getting visibly more upset.

“that was so not me! why are you telling them that?! i didn’t eat it, y/n!”

jean regretted asking who ate his food.

✧ jean kirstein -

jean is unfortunately a jealous guy. not for any malicious reasons, he’s just a bit insecure gang! he’s more scared that you’ll leave him for someone ‘better’ more than anything but, these feelings of insecurity manifest as jealously. he’d get jealous over you spending time with people like eren, mikasa or armin. in so many aspects, they’re better than him (in his eyes) and this will just make him reallyyy pissy. being in an argument with jean is painstakingly ambiguous like he never straight up says it, it’s always sly remarks or dry responses from him for a while. eventually, you know something is up and question him but he will avoid answering like the plague and it’s just so, so frustrating! eventually, when you break your calm demeanour, he will also break his ‘nonchalant-ness’ and just shout about how he feels.

he crossed his arms, “i just don’t understand why you need to be around him so much, you have me?”

✧ sasha braus -

absolutely nothing. i’m sorry but, she is too sweet and loving. IM SORRY, i’m sorry… i tried so hard to think of something but this queen is too perfect. at most, she would snap at you in high stress situations but she would never turn it into an argument. for example, if you told her to slow down her eating because you’re going on a mission but, she hasn’t eaten much that day she may snap and tell you to “let her do what she wants” but, she’s sooo quick to recover and apologise. literally not even giving you a second to even think about arguing with her!!

“ah, i’m sorry. you’re right, i don’t wanna be sick while flying through the air, huh?” she pouts.

✧ reiner braun -

you’re both from marley, you know damn well what you’re doing here but it seems reiner is straying off path. you’re there to try and remind him why you’re there and this leads to so many arguments. his split personality also plays a role in the arguments because it’s so.. scary and confusing for you because one moment he’s defending eldians than the next, he’s shouting at you about how he ‘knows the plan’.

when talking about stuff like this, since it’s extra sensitive for reiner he definitely flips out. i’m talking shouting, angry grunting, clenching his fists into balls and holding them against his forehead so he doesn’t fully crash tf out. he’s just as confused and scared as you are about his split personality but, he doesn’t want to seem weak or to seem like he’s losing sight of what is ‘right’ - it gets him really worked up. obviously, you stand your ground against him, he doesn’t scare you when you’re arguing. you’ve known him for so long.. you feel like he just needs to be guided.

“when did i ever say i liked them? yes, they’re okay people to be around for now but— no, i never said that! i know what they are, you don’t remind to tell me, y/n!”

✧ annie leonhart -

just the fact she’s cold and distant, it makes it really hard to actually have a relationship with her. at first, she was closed off COMPLETELY but cracks began to show and eventually, you thought you were at a good point with each other but, you kind of realised you didn’t know that much about annie. you try to ask questions to get her to open up but, she is one tough egg to crack so eventually, you just ask! hoping to help her more than anything but, this leads to an argument…

after this first argument, it became pretty regular like once every few weeks this would happen. you get super frustrated because she acts like she doesn’t even care! so, you’re shouting and getting really passionate while she sits there, looking pissed off and bored, rolling her eyes and scoffing. she doesn’t see the need to open up to you, she’s done what she thinks is ‘enough’ in her books.

“what do you want me to say? i’m not an open book, that’s just how i am. we’re all gonna end up dead, anyways.”

✧ bertolt hoover -

sigh… oh bert. every time you feel yourself developing further into your relationship with bert, his friends seem to pull him back. you’re still not quite sure why and they always seem to be giving side eyes or glances when he talks about his life - its starting to piss you off, rightfully so. you feel like he’s got two other side hoes watching yours and his every move! you being this up in subtle ways as to not seem like a crazy, jealous partner but eventually you burst and tell him how you really feel.

arguing with sweet bert isn’t fun because you can tell he tries so hard to please everyone in the situation, whether it’s you, him or now in this case, his friends too. he will raise his voice but, not in a bad way just in a general sense, things are getting heated, his voice will raise and he will fling his arms and hands. he’s a very expressive man when arguing because he is so passionate about it.

“y/n, they’re my friends! they’re just trying to protect me, why are you jealous?”

✧ erwin smith -

there’s so such things as arguments in your relationship, erwin likes to call them ‘mutual disagreements’ as your both in the scouts, he knows your time is limited. it’s a morbid and pessimistic way to think but, you have to be realistic when you live such a deadly lifestyle. he doesn’t want to take your time together for granted - plus, he’s a MAN like, he is calm and collected and will always hear you out.

you both start off calm, having a mature conversation about whatever it is that is bothering you but, when you start getting rowdier that’s when erwin quells the flames quickly. he takes a deep breath, hears you out and calmly walks you through it all. he’s so compassionate about it, i cant omg. he’ll gently place a hand over your own hand or on your shoulder if you’re standing, letting you know he’s present, he’ll sweetly talk you down, eventually calming you down and usually you’ll both say apologises or just general sweet statements and move on!

“i’m sorry, y/n. no, i’m glad you talked to me about this.”

✧ levi ackerman -

oh lord, being in an argument with levi ackerman is nawwtt fun. i’m sorry but, i’d kms if i argued with levi 😭. this man has such an awful resting bitch face as it is but, imagine his face when he’s arguing with you? IF LOOKS COULD KILL. he cant hide his emotions, so when you’re arguing even if he’s trying to be somewhat nice, his face says it all. usually he’ll roll his eyes and scoff if it’s something minor, he’ll hear you out, maybe give a half arsed apology or some sort of nice gesture to make sure you’re not upset however, if it’s a big issue oh brother…

silent treatment, i fear. he is so bad at communicating his feels correctly and often feels confused because this mf ain’t been in love before?! it gets too a point where he’s so mad, he just cant even begin to think of anything to say to you. you’ll be there raising your voice, becoming so passionate and when you ask what he thinks, he’ll say “i have nothing to say.” then boom, silent treatment. however, he’s bad with his words… but good with his actions. he still wants you to know he cares, you two could be in the most rancid moods but, you’ll go to your room and find your clothes ironed and folded🥲.

✧ hange zoë -

oh my sweet hange, my probably neurological challenged sweet hange… an argument with them would definitely stem from them spending more time with titans than you. when sawney and bean were around, you weren’t getting ANY time of day with them, trust. at first, you didn’t want to say anything because of course, you understand! the lifetime you guys are living in, things like hange’s research is soo important but, you can’t help but feel neglected sometimes.

when you finally bring it up, an argument ensues. neither of you really shout or anything, it’s just that kind of weird sort of raised, high pitched voice people get when you’re really frustrated. you both stay relatively calm for the situation you’re in but, you can totally tell you’re both so frustrated because hange just doesn’t see the problem. when you guys argue like this, it usually just goes in circles and after a while you both decide to mutually give up and leave it for another day.

“it’s all for science and the greater good of humanity though, i don’t understand?”

[irisinluv]

Caleb Love and deep space thoughts- SPOILERS AHEAD

Second update of brain dumping my thoughts as I play through the game… this time entirely Caleb focused

Ok so I’ve been reading Caleb’s anecdotes, dates, every scrap of info that becomes available to me…. And holy shit he’s such a simp!

Man almost fucking died, was lost in space for 2 weeks, and he’s just like “haha hey pipsqueak! Yea secret training mission, sorry, I’m back online!” As he’s in a hospital bed. Like baby boy not letting mc know he almost died???? And then the card/memory/whatever it’s called where he’s sick, and she has to basically beg him all day to let her in? Man wants to be Superman for her. Seriously, he’s out here becoming a pilot cuz it would pay well and help provide for mc, and if anything happened he could just whisk her away.

He literally worships the ground mc walks on. Obsessed with the necklace he gave him, kissing the pendant before each flight, not letting her lift a finger at the house when it comes to chore type things, using his evol to win her plushies at the claw machine… also he’s soooo obviously into the domestic life with mc! His house is bare bones before the reunion. Then MC shows up and there’s the scene where he’s surrounded by boxes, setting things up….. I picture him totally kicking himself for not having everything set up sooner, bc he got a house just so she could move in. I see him just living in an apartment that’s part of the officer barracks. There’s no reason why he has a whole ass house if not for mc. He just didn’t expect her to have infiltrated his ranks as a spy and to pop up so soon…. But hey she’s here now and so he’s totally buying everything and having a hot ikea build sesh in that slutty little tank top of his.

Oh and you know he’s a cheeky idiot about the fact that mc picked his room when deciding where to stay. Like we got that from the gameplay obviously…. But I just want to take moment to appreciate how hard that man must have been grinning on the inside. I also think it’s so cute that mc really is just making his place a second home. She’s got a little garden going at his house! She talks about the little yellow flowers she planted there in one of the text messages, and when he mentioned restocking his snacks on a community post mcs already planning on raiding it.

Also he’s been so obsessed with her since they were kids. Like he’s got some weird amnesia brain trauma shit going on after his deep space incident, and he scored poorly on the mental health portion of his exams (not him answering the “what’s the greatest challenge with flight missions?” Question with “it’s hard to get home on time”), and I’m assuming he was also an experiment by ever like MC is (but I haven’t gotten to the point where I can say that for sure), but like. That isn’t why he’s the way he is. Man was out here protecting her from bullies, the thing where he’d buy two of everything for mc, think he said something like “I wanted to grow up to be the most loyal… well you know, I could be” LOYAL HUSBAND? But from the jump he’s been doing everything for her. It’s so interesting getting this background from all the memories and whatnot. Like he’s made it such a source of pride to take care of mc in every tiny way, and so when she says stuff about not needing him, or uh, I don’t remember what thing it was part of but she fixed some electronic and was like “damn that was easier than I thought, guess I gotta stop bugging you for every tiny little thing, I can just figure it out.” and he PANICS! Like no baby- that’s his comfort thing. No matter what else is going on, at least he can feel needed and wanted when you come playfully whining to him that you can’t find your favorite mug. He’s the walking advertisement for acts of service. Also one last thing.

Yall noticed how he put his hat on mc like right after the reunion? The only thing I could think of is what it means when you put on a guys cowboy hat. Like damn Caleb. She’s still in shock that you’re not dead. But get it ig.