#suicide reader

[stxrsiren]

manifesting a pretty masc girlfriend that plays guitar

[softfem-dom]

the four times they asked about his sidekick, and the one time he realized why. (pt.1)

worst!logan + d&w!deadpool x suicidal!reader

a/n : okay this is sad and emotion-driven asf, so if you're sensitive to suicide mentions or emotional trumoil and problems of self-worth please do not continue reading this. Also warning for suicide description for the other universes' sidekicks. first part out of five!

wc : 2k

TW FOR SUICIDE , TW FOR DEPRESSION , SOFT!WADE , SOFT!WORST!LOGAN , WADE BEING UNABLE TO LOOK AFTER A KID , HEAVY/MULTIPLE BATMAN AND JASON TODD REFERENCES , DEADPOOL VARIANTS FUSSING OVER READER. soft!worst logan . overprotective!deadpool . only-deadpool-still-with-sidekick!wade wilson

Think of Batman and Robin.

Yup. Now turn and twist it around some more and make it.. more chaotic, more unhinged. More morally questionable.

And then think of Deadpool. The merc with a mouth. The dude that chose a red suit just so he didn't have to bother about the red stains.

And then add up a teenager to the recipe. As chaotic as the man, maybe a bit naïver. And you've got Deadpool and his sidekick.

Because if all cool superheros had sidekicks, then Deadpool —albeit while not actively being a superhero. Had to have one too, didn't he?

And that's how you had ended up roped into all of his unethical adventures, killing off the bad guys that had the highest price above their head and helping Deadpool run the official Spideypool fanwebsite.

But, despite how many masks you put on, despite how many bad guys you killed, despite how many times you had saved someone. You were still just you.

A teenager. A teenager paired up with an older, unhinged, mercenary that ran his mouth way too much and that got you into way too much trouble.

A teenager paired up with an irresponsible adult without emotional responsability was the fucking equivalent of throwing a trained lab mouse inside the first maze that didn't have an exist.

Wade cared about you. Yeah, you knew that. But the problem was that you were a teenager and teenagers needed a certain amount of care to grow healthyly.

Because physically you were great, with how much running around and being-at-the-verge-of-death you did. But mentally? God, then you were the messiest mess in the planet.

Spending so much time with someone that had so many intrusive thoughts, that spilled his thoughts without filter, had rubbed off on you.

And sometimes you scared yourself when sudden thoughts popped up in your mind. Like the sudden pull in your legs anytime you walked near the edge of a roof, the "jump!" that flashed across your head. Or the way you wondered, asked yourself, what it would feel to be stabbed when you were cleaning Deadpool's katanas. Or the way you started to throw yourself at danger's way just for the thrill of it. And if you died, well, there went nothing.

It was wrong. It was bad. And it was a totally unhealthy and toxic vice. You knew you were self-destructive.

But you didn't know how to do doing anything about it.

You see, if Deadpool wasn't so reckless and careless maybe you would've told him. But since he did it, you grew into your late teens thinking it was okay.

,,

Lately, your thoughts had grew more dangerous. More specific. And you were starting to get scared of yourself. In movies, that was how villians started —with destructive thoughts. And you didn't want to become a villian.

What would Wade think of you? He'd be disappointed in you, hate your guts, despise you.

So your mind jumped to the quickest—and most self-destructive—conclussion. Offing yourself before that happened.

And you had nearly 10 pages of your pink diary written with ways of carrying on with that plan. Glitter gel pen words scribbled about the knifes in the house—their lengths and sharpness—, about the belts stacked away in Wade's closet, about the height of the fall from the balcony to the ground. You had everything planned.

And Wade hadn't caught onto anything of it, except for the fact you seemed more twitchy and on edge than usual. He tied it to the usual teenage anxiousness that came with your age.

He didn't know this was the last mission he was going to have you in.

,,

He had just brought you along on this 'adventure' just like he had did with all of the ones before, except in this one there was another.. —reluctant—companion.

Logan Howlett. The Wolverine.

And not the dead hero that Wade had unburied a few days before. No. This one was the worst variant of Wolverine in the whole multiverse, the one from the timeline where he killed all of the X-Men.

And that Howlett was smelling something coming.

He could smell the irony scent of blood whafting off of you, a bitter scent choking his airways. Your scent was way too bitter for how cheerful you were, except maybe you weren't.

This Logan had only barely known you for two days, but if something were to happen to you he'd kill the responsible, then find a way to kill the mercenary and then find a way to kill himself too.

But, first. Stop, pause, rewind. How this did even start?

,,

You groaned as you helped Wade drag the uncounscious body of the drunk Wolverine you had found in a random timeline —the only one in which the dude hadn't tried to kill you at first sight. Entering through the door-shaped orange portal to the TVA room.

"one anchor being coming right up!" Wade's voice rang through the air before the merc, fully dressed in his suit, had crossed the portal.

You let out a startled squeak when the antihero pretty much threw the uncounscious body of the Logan on the ground, wincing at the metallic sound of his skull against the floor.

"Wade!" you hissed. "c'mon pumpkin', don't sweat it. He's full metal, remember?" he said as he gave the drunk Logan a kick in the side, the metallic sound echoing his words.

"listen here, babygirl" the merc started, looking at the unimpressed man before him. "this Wolverine has the he-can-do-anything-even-musical-stuff look to him and bonus he's actually wearing the accurate comic costume. So, uh yeah, there, timeline saved"

The silence coming from the dude that had called Wade here in the first place didn't sound too good get it?. And as you sat there, poking the drunk man's face with your index finger while whispering for him to "wake up, Wolvie, rise and shine, wakey wakey?"

"I don't understand"

"You said my, our" he pointed at you "universe is dying because this nutsack died, well, problem solved" he now pointed at Logan.

"oh my god" Paradox breathed out. "you actually think you can replace an Anchor Being with this?"

Oh, great. A rant was comming. Like the ones your mother goes on when you mess up too many times.

"I wouldn't have accepted any other Wolverine BT dubs. But you.. have outdone yourself and brought me the worst Wolverine in the whole multiverse!"

It looked as if the dude's temple vein was going to pop, and you weakly interveened. "what do you mean the worst one..?" you breathed out.

"This Wolverine let down his entire world, he's the stuff of Legend but not in a good way and what he did.. well, some things are just beyond forgiveness"

A beat of silence followed, you knew the Wolverine on the floor had been awake and listening for the whole time. But then, you saw Paradox finally looking at you.

"wait"

"what?"

"is that your little sidekick?"

The incredulous, and cruelly amused, tone of the man in uniform made Wade quirk an eyebrow under his mask.

"yeah, why?"

His words were followed by a booming laugh coming from Paradox. His hand going to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, as chuckle after chuckle it just confused Wade and you even more.

"I can't believe you've still got her"

That was like a titty-flash for Wade, and not the good kind. He stood there, mouth gaping like a fish as he wildly and overexageredly gestured towards you.

"I gave you a chance at greatness, because my superiors deemed you special. But, I did my duty. I gave you the opportunity and you refused, so there's no more bussiness to do here"

And with that, and a strange remote control in his hand, he pressed a button and zapped you three off to somewhere. Leaving Wade with a strange taste lingering in his mouth.

Well, at least it seemed like your last adventure wasn't going to be boring.

(tags : @coocoocachewgotscrewed , @lokisloverisnthere , @krowsfoot , @lizziegraysworld , @r0reep , @beelzel-brat ).

[samkerrworshipper]

the lawn is dead

it’s suicide awareness month and i want to emphasise the importance of reaching out. you are loved. there are options. you will be missed. suicide is a permanent solution to temporary problems. you can get better. you are not a lost cause. talk to somebody.

warnings: reader discretion advised. heavy suicide, self harm, depression themes

There was an overall assumption that all children were born innocent.

Not you.

You swore that when you were born, a coin was flipped, and it landed on the complete wrong side.

Sometimes you felt like your brain and body were disconnected, that everything inside of you worked separately, like you were a sewed together body on the inside, a internal frankenstein.

It was tough feeling like you didn’t belong in your own boyd, but it was even harder when you knew that you were an imposter inside.

It was ironic, that you had imposter syndrome, and yet there was nothing wrong with your life.

There had been.

Had. No longer. Past tense.

You’re supposed to be happy, you suppose. You have the world at your feet, you have the life everybody wants, the world is your oyster.

It doesn’t matter how many times you rotate those thoughts through your split up brain, it never sinks in, because there is a deeply onset belief inside of you that can’t deny the dishonesty behind the words.

You should be happy, you should be utilising the gifts you’ve been given, you should be appreciating the life you have, and yet all of it just feels like a big ball of tangled up yarn, a clump of knots and mess that makes no sense.

You’re not allowed to feel numb, so you try and pinpoint what it is that you are feeling.

Are is too hard, so you start with aren’t.

You aren’t mad, you aren’t sad or it doesn’t feel like normal sadness, you’re definitely not happy, not scared, are not anxious, it feels like nothingness.

Yet nothingness doesn’t feel so all consuming, nothingness is lying in bed down in bed and doomscrolling until somehow 8 hours have passed and you’ve wasted a whole day and don’t find yourself caring. Nothingness is sitting down in the shower and covering your ears with your hands and finding solace in the intense rain noises. Nothingness is driving until you forget where you were supposed to be going and have autopiloted your way to the opposite side of town somehow. Nothingness is being so obsolete of your own body that everything is a fog, nothing makes sense, you’re devoid of all emotions and all the discombobulated sections of your body.

If anything, this is everythingness, this is all the feelings in the world beating down across your skin. You’re itching with agitation, itching with everything in your life and yet none of it penetrates the surface beyond the rotor of thoughts that continue to circulate like the blood in your veins.

It’s like your sitting inside a plastic bubble, and every variable is crashing down against the plastic. It’s all there, it’s crashing down, but it doesn’t touch you, it doesn’t penetrate, there is just a constant reminder that it’s all there. If you try to break out of the bubble you’re forced to face it, but you feel like you’re suffocating and the bubble is slowly depriving you of oxygen.

A part of you wouldn’t mind for it to suck the life out of you.

Sometimes it’s inevitable, letting the thoughts in your brain win, or syncing the truth out so much that it all distorts into a messy mixture of non-emotions that are more hurtful then helpful.

You’re in a weird funk, that’s hwat you keep telling yourself. With injuries and off-season and change of seasons. You tell yourself that it’s unescapable, that there aren’t any ways to escape the deadly habit that is you’re self-inflicted brain rotting and slowly decomposing.

There are outlets, there are options, but in it;s current state you’re brain denounces them all.

Occasionally, you’re brain falls into the same death trap that it was conditioned into as a child. Survival was solely your own responsisbility, there was no leaning, no relying, just yourself and your own strategies that occasionally kept you functioning.

Most of the time you were fine, most of the time you were able to isolate the darkest, disconnected fragments of your body but not all the time.

Sometimes you don’t though.

Every so often, you suffocate yourself, intentionally or unintentionally isn’t always clear, sometimes you’re so lacking on oxygen and everything that makes survival a possibility that you just stop. Those times, when you stop, when you fall, when you plummet. It’s when you drop into the death pit of unthinkable thoughts.

It’s when you get to the part of your brain that you wish had never been stitched up with all the others.

You try and avoid it, if you work hard on a normal day then you can normally disconnect it from the functioning parts that you rely on, but occasionally, when you’re left to fend for yourself that one part that’s normally off, lights up like a christmas tree.

It flashes bright red, like a alarm in the deepest parts of your brain, and it won’t stop flashing until you do something about it.

You’ve got coping mechanisms that you’ve developed over the years, running, football, eating, cooking, reading, sleeping, sex. None of it has even begun to strike the surface, normally your best bet was sleeping it off, depression, or depressive thoughts always seemed to fade with sunlight, it was the moments in the dark when everything suddenly felt… heavier.

You hadn’t been able to sleep since you’d gotten injured, everything was harder when you had so much weight on your back. Weight to recover, weight to get stronger, weight to be the same on the pitch.

It was a minor injury, some grief with your ankle ligaments that weren’t actually injured but also weren’t fixed, it was annoying, and everyday was a drag.

A drag of back and forth recovery and rest that had your mind buzzing from the inside.

It was no secret that you didn’t handle injuries well, you craved the physicality of being a professional athlete, your brain needed the stimulation that it involved. Without it, you struggled, it was clear to everybody around you that you couldn’t function sitting on the sidelines, it had inevitably made you crazy.

You were walking on eggshells, your friends had tried to point it out to you and you’d ignored it up until now.

It was impossible to ignore it at this stage though.

It was all you could think about, the constant pain, the overwhelming brain fuzz, the weight of it all.

Over and over and over and over and over again.

Your hands are shaking, your breaths are staggered, your skin is prickly, your throat is dry, your body is cold and there is a deep set pain in the centre of your stomach that no matter how many times you try and shift it away nothing works.

You’re too deep.

Your whole life, it had always been your biggest wish that the part of you that was broken and threaded together would fix itself, medication made it manageable, therapy made it calmer, but sometimes in life it was impossible to contain the uncontainable. Life was unpredictable, and yet your circumstances were on trend with how your life had been recently.

You should have seen this coming, but a part of you thinks that you did and you’d been content with letting all of these thoughts infiltrate deep in your mind.

Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror, and you can’t even notice it, it’s like all of the pain and trauma will fall so far from the surface on occasion that you’re foolish enough to believe that maybe it’s all finally gone.

Not now, not at all.

But a part of you wants to make it all gone.

It’s all you can think about, you know how easy it would be, you have it all planned out.

The letters are written, the plan has been made for years, it’s your execution that is lacking.

You aren’t scared, you are more than happy for a big blac cloud of nothingness to come and take you from your life, it would make it all so much easier.

You just need to know that you’ll succeed.

Failure is not an option, in ever single part of your life it hasn’t ever been. But specifically with your life.

If you’re out, you’re out, end of sentence.

There isn’t any recovery, there isn’t any coming back, no psych holds, no hospitals, no treatment, just death. It’s an answer, it’s conclusive. Right now it would solve all of your problems, literally, you could count on every single finger and toe how it would solve the fucked-up puzzle of your life. Normally, there is always something holding you back though. Football had been the main excuse for most times, the headlines would be miserable and all of the fuss and fake-sentiment would be so much worse. Once it had been because you were in love, and that was the best reason. But, like most thing you were unable to keep it alive, and so it died out.

It was all a metaphor for your life, football had been good, until it all slowly self-detonated, love had been good but you were a ticking time bomb of sabotage.

It would be oh so easy.

You knew the tips and tricks, you’d been thinking about it for years. Four long vertical lines, deep enough to need stitches but not deep enough that it would all fade immediately. You wanted to feel the pain, you wanted it all to be a big black and red painful mess, your vision swimming and body giving up because of the pain, not because of the damage you’d done.

It sounded so perfect.

It would be oh so easy, nobody would even notice, it would probably be days before anybody even realised you were gone. You would fade from earth and life like nothing, and nobody would care, and you were happy for it to be that way. You were happy to just disappear, you wanted it all to end.

It’s all hitting that hard, you don’t want help, you don’t want to feel normal, you don’t want treatment, you don’t want meds, you just want to be gone. You normally experience life with so many emotions, too many, but right now, in the bubble of your depression, the only think you feel is a desire to vanish.

There isn’t any hesitation, nothing holding you back as you pick up your poison of choice. It’s always been the same since you were a teenager, you’ve known how you’d go out from the minute it had gone downhill from the very first time. That had been a long time ago now, but not much had changed. Sure, maybe your face had matured a bit, you’re body had changed with being a professional athlete, and you weren’t as self destructive but really when it all boiled down nothing had truly changed.

You were the same broken, lost and alone girl that you had always been.

The same girl hiding in the corner of her bathroom in a pair of sweats that made her body seem so much smaller then it was, a razor blade in one shaky hand and the other hand busy forcing the sleeve of her hoodie up, leaving a easily accessible patch of skin.

It was the same old routine, except this time with a different intention.

You had your scars, you had your invisible marks that nobody could see but you. You were as good at hiding them as you were at your depleting mental health. Over the years you’d learnt how to hurt yourself without leaving permanent marks, you’d learnt how to hide it all from the people closest to you.

Until Alexia.

Love made a person dumb, and being in love with Alexia made you happier then you’d ever experienced and from the moment fireworks had gone off between the two of you, your barriers had fallen down. It had been good, until it hadn’t. Once again, you were left all alone, due to your own self-destructive habits. You couldn’t let yourself be happy, you didn’t know what long term happiness looked like for you and it was terrifying.

It had all been downhill from there, if there was no happiness in the future for you then what was the point? Your life was blowing up, football was the only thing you’d ever lived for and you still had football but football wasn’t for ever, if there was nothing beyond that then what was the point. You didn’t have a education, and whilst you earnt a decent amount off of football, it wasn’t enough to live off of, and now you had nobody else to live for.

Your life, from your perspective, had become pointless.

Whilst you were certain that your behaviour and gone unnoticed, that was far from the truth.

Most of your teammates had picked up on your particularly low mood. You weren’t ever the happiest person in the locker room, one of the more lowkey people who always allowed yourself to fade into the shadows. But that didn’t mean that people didn’t notice you, especially the people who had come to care for you.

You were injured, and that had come to be the main justification for your particularly down moods, but there was also a sneaking suspicion across some of your teammates that something more was wrong, that there was some other kind of cause for the way you dragged yourself around the gym and rooms during your days spent doing rehab.

You looked lifeless, like everything human about you had been drained.

Alexia knew it was something more, in her time with you, she’d learnt about your struggles and just when she thought that you’d started to open up to her, you’d cut it all off. So whilst she didn’t know the extensive history, she knew you had your demons, and that whatever was haunting you this time around wasn’t going to dissapear anytime soon.

Alexia could say that she didn’t care about you anymore, but it would make her a liar.

She’d always hoped that the two of you would make your way back to eachother, that you’re insistence that the two of you weren’t meant to be was overshadowed by the doubt you’d always about the relationship would somehow flip and you’d realise no matter how many issues you had Alexia was prepared to love you through all of them.

But as the time passed from the breakup, you only distanced yourself more. The person that Alexia had tried to bring out shrunk right back into it’s shell. Everyone on the team had been elated to see you find your footing with Alexia, it was the first time in your years at Barca that everyone started to meet you as a person and not just as a footballer. Alexia thought it had meant things were looking up for you, but all good things came to an end.

You’d been appearing like you’d slowly been slipping further down a slope, the bags underneath your eyes getting bigger, your sluggish behaviour getting worse, your determination to do you rehab dwindling and your willingness to interact with any person at the club being completely non-existent.

You were anti-social at the best of times, but completely diverting from all interactions was new for you and Alexia hadn’t been the only one to notice, it was evident to anybody with a brain that something was wrong, Alexia had no idea though just how wrong it all was.

The coincidence of an away Madrid game during the time that it was clear you were tanking was something that Alexia was particularly annoyed by. There was no plausible excuse for her to stay back from the trip, she was the captain, and she was perfectly fit to play. Plus, she had no obligation to you, you’d washed your hands of Alexia months ago and whilst Alexia still felt lingering concern for you she couldn’t justify staying back for what could potentially be nothing.

That didn’t mean though that she was going to just leave you be, not when she was so certain that there was something truly wrong.

Alexia wasn’t exactly sure of the severity of your trauma. She knew that your relationship with your parents was frayed to say the least, that you didn’t talk to them at all anymore and every time Alexia had tried to ask about them she had been met with a cold shoulder. So after a few tries she’d stopped trying, she didn’t know what it was like to have a disconnected family, she couldn’t relate or empathise with your issues and it killed her.

She knew you took medications, she had no idea what, you kept your daily medication closely guarded, but she knew it had something to do with your mental health. She didn’t ask about it, Alexia had been through your shut downs with you, and she knew broaching the subject of your mental health could be so detrimental to your mindset. She let you show her as much as you wanted to, she ignored the scars on your body, ignored the way that she recognised the complete disregard you had for your body. It was clear in every single aspect of your life that you had a little bit less concern then everybody else did. You put your body on the line in football, in ways that made Alexia furious. You didn’t flinch away from pain, if anything you stepped into the line of fire.

You hid injuries, you hid sickness, you pushed through it all. It was terrifying for Alexia as a partner to watch you continuously put yourself on the line and act like it was completely nothing. By the end of your relationship it was getting hard to watch it happen.

Your ankle injury was a result of that, you hadn’t even been the one ton sideline yourself. It had fallen down to Irene catching a glimpse of your purple and black swelled up ankle after a training session and her marching you to the team physio to get it checked out. It wasn’t shocking to Alexia, but it did make her wonder how many time you’d chosen to hide your pain in favour of putting up a brave face and pushing through, in all aspects of your life.

Alexia was worried and yet she felt as though she had no right to be.

She’d let you push her away, knowing that in some way or another it could be hurting not just her but you, realisatically she couldn’t do anything about it. If you didn’t want to be in a relationship with her she couldn’t force you, but a part of her thought she might have let go a little to easy.

For her, you would be the one that got away.

She wasn’t ready to let you get away yet though.

Really, if she thought about it, it was Mapi who had highlighted that you weren’t okay, and that maybe it was time for somebody to reach out to you. Mapi had come to care a lot about you, she’d seen how broken both you and Alexia were after the split, Alexia was still functioning though, you seemed like you were losing energy for life as everyday passed.

Mapi had been the one to suggest that she’d check on you whilst everyone else was gone, Mapi being stuck behind with some minor twinges in her knee, it was more precautionary than anything that she took the weekend off. She was more then happy though to be a good friend and spend some extra time with you if it meant getting to the bottom of whatever had been going on.

Her intentions had been to bring around a fresh meal, her mama’s old tapa recipe that always managed to light up Ingrid’s face. If her tapas earned her a way into your apartment then she was hoping to sit down with you, maybe have a chat, watch whatever football watch was on. Something, she wanted some kind of proof that you were okay, that even though you were going through a rough time that you manage, that at some point you would come out of this funk and you would go back to the old version of yourself. Maybe better, maybe you would unearth some kind of happiness from you situation and you would be better off because of it.

Mapi knew the odds of all of that were drastically low, but she was also the optimist of everything, it was the reason that she was so good at making uncomfortable people feel more settled in the team. She knocked on your front door with a extra bit of pep in her, hope that somehow she was going to resolve all of the underlying issues that everyone had been expressing for weeks now but had been too afraid to unearth. Mapi was certain that her approach might actually help, that instead of being the authoritative figure that Alexia, Irene, Marta and Patri were as your captains. Mapi was here as a friend, nothing more and nothing less and she hoped that would maybe encourage you to open up to her.

Mapi waited at least a minute after her initial knock before knocking again.

Your car had been beside Mapi’s when she’d parked downstairs, so she knew you were home. It wasn’t late, but it also wasn’t early enough that Mapi could rule out the possibility of you being asleep. Alexia had shoved her old key to your apartment into Mapi’s hand before she’d left, there weren’t any instructions, but the pure desperation in Alexia’s eyes was making Mapi feel compelled to use it.

Her third knock on the door was met with more silence.

You were probably sleeping.

There were parts of Mapi crawling with the emerging feeling of anxiety, she just needed to see you. You’d skipped your gym session today, something that was extremely abnormal for you, it had been worrying enough for Mapi, but you not responding to her now was sending her into a full on spiral.

“It’s Mapi, if you could open up for me please chica, I have some food for you.”

Mapi doesn’t even hear furniture creak.

She repeats what she said again, and is met with complete silence.

“Chica, are you in there? Are you awake? Just answer me, you don’t have to open the door.”

Mapi, if she looks really hard, can make out the faintest glow underneath your door, maybe a lamp?

Mapi waits a few more seconds, and sprinkles in some aggressive knocks. She’s met with nothing in response.

She digs around desperately in her pocket for the key, her fingers eventually coming into contact with the weight of the key in the back pocket of her jeans.

She pulls it up to the door knob with regret coursing through her veins, she doesn’t feel good about invading your privacy, but she feels even worse about everything else, and it’s all enough to overshadow her concern for your feelings about being left alone. After all, you might just be asleep.

The key makes a click after Mapi turns it counterclockwise twice, Mapi reaches for the door knob, it’s the final barrier between her and you, and without much hesitation she pushes the knob down and it opens.

Mapi shivers with the frigid breeze that comes at her as she steps into your apartment.

As soon as her foot hits your wooden floor she can tell something is off, she doesn’t know what but she can just feel it.

Mapi walks into your apartment slowly, with a quick scan of your kitchen and living space she is certain the room is empty. She leaves her dish of tapas on the couter of your kitchen and surveys the room before hesitantly making her way into your hallway. The door to your guest room is open, so naturally Mapi looks in there first.

“Chica, I came in to drop off some food, are you home?”

Mapi, whilst she can’t physically see you anywhere, has a weird kind of sense that you are here, she’s just not sure where.

The guest room is completely empty, in fact, mapi is sure that there is dust lying on top of the spare sheets. She can’t remember the last time you mentioned having somebody stay, at the very start of your signing to Barca, occasionally girls from your National team would come and visit during breaks. Mapi remembers that time, she wouldn’t have said you were happy, but you seemed a bit more content. It was best Mapi had seen you before Alexia.

Mapi is fairly familiar with your apartment, between game nights, post game drinks and double dates she’d spent enough time in your apartment to know where everything was.

Your main bathroom was empty, leaving your bedroom and ensuite.

Mapi felt like she’d invaded enough of your privacy, your bedroom might be the over step.

But there was the clawing feeling, the same feeling that she’d gotten when she’d walked into the apartment that something was wrong, and she wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight without getting to the bottom of it.

So with much apprehension, Mapi walks the rest of the way down the hallway and to the door of your bedroom.

Mapi swears that she has sweat through her shirt, even though your apartment feels colder than the Norwegian winter she’d recently experienced.

Her hands are all sweaty, the same they get before any match, she doesn’t know where her nerves are coming from, she doesn’t have anything to worry about, yet.

Mapi knocks as quietly on your bedroom door as possible, she’s made her mind up that if you are sleeping she’ll leave a note with her tapas and take her leave, she doesn’t need to disturb you.

“Chica, I came here to drop some food off, just make a noise and I’ll leave you.”

Mapi waits for what feels like eternity, and after a long stretch of silence she takes the leap.

She opens the door as quietly as possible, and feels defeated when she spots your complete empty bed.

Everything looks normal, in a weird kind of way. Your sheets are made up, almost pedantically. All the corners tucked in and pillows positioned like they would be in a catalogue.

The only light in the room is the light that is filtering in from your ensuite, underneath the door. It’s bright enough that Mapi can see around the room.

She wants to leave. But she can’t, not without checking.

There is a off chance that you’ve gone on a walk, an activity that definitely was not approved by your physios but she supposed you’d never really obeyed them in the first place.

It’s one last room, your apartment seems so devoid of life that Mapi is confident that it’ll be empty.

She tiptoes across your bedroom, everything about this feels so wrong, like she’s invading somebody’s life that she doesn’t even know anything about.

Mapi knocks on your bathroom door.

“Chica, if you’re in there, just let me know and I’ll leave you be.”

Silence. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a squeak.

Mapi’s hand is so sweaty that it nearly slips off of the handle on the door, she doesn’t know why she’s nervous, she doesn’t have any reason to be nervous. Yet it also feels like there are a millon under lying reasons.

Mapi plucks up the courage, because she has to, and twists the knob.

Away games are always a weird mixture of relaxing but also having absolutely no time to yourself.

Alexia’s least favourite part about away games is team bonding. Following the first team dinner of every away trip it’s customary to do some kind of team bonding exercise. She understands that it’s important, but after a long train trip to Madrid the last thing she wants is to spend hours trying to get out of an escape room with no phone and all of the younger girls talking her ear off. What Alexia wants is to get back to the hotel and sleep. Yet she’s stuck in a confined space with girls that she loves but wants nothing more to get away from.

Caro and Keira seem to be in the same mindset as her, the three of them all keeping as far away from the ruckus as possible. After two hours of the madness, Vicky of all people manages to get to the bottom of the puzzle and somehow unlocks the door, Alexia isn’t sure of the logistics of it and she doesn’t really care.

The girls all celebrate as the file out, but there is an overall feeling that everybody is ready to head back to the hotel and go to sleep.

Phones are handed back and Alexia almost pockets hers, to tired to look at whatever messages or instagram notifications she has. But it’s the sea of missed calls that catch her attention.

Alexia’s heart drops.

She’s got dozens of missed calls from Mapi and she knows from the minute she sees her call log that something is wrong.

All Mapi can remember is the amount of blood.

It was so red against your white bathroom tiles.

So much blood. Mapi was certain that there wasn’t that much blood in the human body, and yet it just kept leaking out, even as she pressed your towels to your arm, it kept leaking through.

She vaguely remembers going through her very basic medical training. Checking your pulse, it took a while for her to find it but eventually she does. She doesn’t know if it weak or it’s just her shaking hands that can’t pin your pulse down.

She uses a leftover hair tie on her wrist as a tourniquet, she doesn’t think it’s working but she has nothing else.

Compression.

She vaguely remembers her call with the emergency services, struggling to find words but forcing them out of her mouth because she had to.

The lady on the other side of the phone talks her through it, tells Mapi that she’s doing the right things, she walks Mapi through what to do if you stop breathing. Mapi thinks you are, your chest lifts every so slightly every few seconds, but it’s so subtle Mapi swears she might be imagining it.

The lady tells Mapi that eventually your blood should clot, but Mapi finds it hard to believe. Her hands and shirt are covered in blood, your blood, it’s everywhere, red and thick and it’s overwhelming Mapi. Your bathroom looks like a crime scene, a murder scene, and Mapi supposes it almost is.

When the paramedics show up, Mapi doesn’t know what to do, they’re so methodical. One of them talks to Mapi whilst their partner attends to you, Mapi’s hands are shaking, her hands, covered in your blood. She should have taken that extra medical course that they’d offered all the players at the start of the season, maybe it would have prepared her better. Nothing prepares a person for what Mapi just did though, no amount of medical training or training courses could ever prepare a person for what Mapi just saw.

The paramedic assures Mapi that she did everything right, that you wouldn’t be alive without her, and those words make it all worse. Dead. You could have been dead. The paramedic offers to take Mapi to the hospital with you, but she declines, she needs a minute, she needs to have a second to think about herself. The paramedic tells Mapi the name of the hospital they’ll be taking you and takes her name and number to give to the nurses as your contact.

They whisk you off right in front of Mapi’s eyes.

Your body is white, you look so lifeless.

Once you’re gone, Mapi closes the door to your bathroom, she can’t look in there, not at the raw amount of evidence that you’ve left behind. It’s already all over her body, she doesn’t need to see anymore of it.

She sits down on your tight sheets, and she realises that there is a piece of paper sitting at the edge of your bed, a letter.

Mapi cries when she sees it, she lets it all out.

It’s addressed to Alexia and Mapi doesn’t need to read it to know what it’s intention was, what your intentions were, if it wasn’t already confirmed then this only assures it.

Mapi leaves red finger prints on it, picking it up and collecting some of your clothes from your wardrobe before leaving your apartment.

Alexia clicks on Mapi’s contact with so much fear coursing through her body, she’s praying that it’s not here mami, not when Alexia is away.

“Ale-Alexia, thank god you picked up, gracias a dios.”

Mapi’s voice is quivering, Alexia’s not sure if she’s ever heard her voice like that before.

“Maria, what’s wrong? Why did you call so many times?”

There is a sob on the other end of the line, and Alexia starts to pray, to any god that whatever Mapi is about to tell her isn’t going to be bad, she can’t handle bad news right now.

“She was supposed to be sleeping, I was so sure she was sleeping. There was so much blood, I thought, I didn’t think there was enough blood in a person’s veins but there was so much of it, it just kept leaking out of her.”

Alexia’s heart and stomach are at her feet, she clutches for a wall, a solid form that she can rely on so that she doesn’t collapse.

“Who, Maria, who? What are you talking about, where are you?”

There is another sob, a deep sob, like Mapi’s being tortured.

“Y/n, I went to visist her like you’d asked, an-and she was, I thought she was dead.”

Alexia heart feels like it’s on a rollercoaster, like it’s returned to a normal level for a second, before plummeting even deeper.

“What do you mean Maria, what are you talking about.”

Somebody in the group must have realised Alexia’s discomposure, because she can feel a group of eyes on her, like everybody is trying to figure out what is happening on the other end of the phone.

“She left a letter, she-she I thought she was dead Ale, why would somebody do that to themselves? Why would she want to do that to herself.”

Alexia is aware that Mapi is clearly in some kind of post-traumatic state, that it’s going to be hard to get to the bottom of this but she’s managed to string the details together. From what Mapi’s said, you’re still alive, but it can’t be good, not by how Mapi has made it sound.

“Maria, I need you to listen to me. Where are you? Where is she? What is wrong with her.”

Alexia can hear Mapi trying to take some deep breaths on the other side of the line, somewhere in the crowd Ingrid is pushed forward, looking at Alexia with so much confusion. Mapi doesn’t often have anxiety or panic attacks, but if she were, Ingrid is certain that she would be the first person for Mapi to call, yet she’s received none.

“I-I’m at the hospital with her, she’s been moved to the ICU, I haven’t seen her yet but the nurses told me they had to perform CPR in the ambulance and that she was rushed to surgery when she got here. She’s been stable since but she’s in critical condition.”

Alexia doesn’t know what to do, she wants to be with you.

“Maria, I’m going to hand you off to Ingrid okay, talk to her, let her calm you down. I’m going to talk to the staff and try and figure out a way for me to come home, talk to Ingrid, okay?”

Ingrid looks confused but takes the phone from Alexia regardless, allowing Alexia to walk towards the staff, her face sullen and body hurting from the pressure of all of this.

Mapi thinks you look worse, somehow.

All of the wires and cords and the bags and needles make your body look wrong. Nobody should need so many weird connections, yet considering the state you were in Mapi is oddly comforted by it all, she wants you to be getting as much help as your body needs.

She still got your blood on her, one of the nice nurses had helped her to wash it off her hands and arms, and Mapi had stolen one of your sweatshirts she’d haphazardly grabbed as a replacement for her shirt, but she can still feel it on her body.

She’s been sitting in the same chair since the nurses let her in to your room, it’s next to the window, so when Mapi feels compelled to cry, or can’t handle looking at your body any longer because it gives her a flashback, she looks out the window at the bustling city of Barcelona below her and it oddly comforts her. Life goes on, everyone elses life goes on, but yours almost didn’t.

Her mind goes to dark places thinking about the what if she hadn’t of come to check on you? Mapi knows the answer to that question, even a few minutes later and your body would have been even more lifeless then when Mapi found it, except maybe instead of most of life being drained from you, all of it would have been.

They still don’t know for sure what it’s going to look like when you wake up, Mapi was hardly paying attention when the doctors came to talk to her, they were speaking so many words that Mapi couldn’t even pretend to know the meaning of. She remembers bits and pieces, the parts that she knew she’d have to remember in case Alexia called again and wanted an update.

You’d lost a lot of blood but they were working to try and replenish it, you’d needed nearly 100 stitches all together, the scars were all about 6 inches long and just almost ½ and inch deep. You didn’t hit any major arteries or veins, but you grazed one of them and that was most likely why you bled so much. Your blood might have not clotted because of the antidepressants in your system potentially mixed with the ibuprofen you were taking for your ankle. They don’t know when you are going to wake up but they emphasise you sleeping isn’t a bad thing because you’re body is getting the rest that it needs to repair itself.

Mapi doesn’t understand the measurements or the way medications work, she knows your body needs rest but she also desperately just wants you to wake up. Selfishly, even if it���s just for a second so that she knows that you are okay, so that she can stop blaming herself for killing you. She’s always going to somewhat blame herself for this, but you dying would be the straw that broke the camels back.

Alexia doesn’t think the whole way back to Barcelona, the staff managed to get her on the last flight out of the night, with Ingrid.

They both don’t say a word after Alexia briefs Ingrid on what she learnt from Mapi on the phone, it’s nowhere near enough information and it leaves Alexia’s brain stumbling, she’s so uncertain of everything.

There is a chauffeur waiting for them at the airport which takes them straight to the hospital, Alexia doesn’t even pretend to be flattered when the reception staff immediately know who she is and takes her straight to your room. She has one concern. Everything else is just background noise to her.

Seeing you makes Alexia feel sick, literally, it’s a few seconds before she feels the bile rising. It’s been building for hours now and she rushes into the bathroom adjacent to your room and ungracefully let’s her stomach go directly into the toilet bowl.

Once she’s done and she feels less like her heart is going to fall out of her throat she gets up and puts on a brave face, walking back into your room.

Mapi has tears streaming down her face, Ingrid is trying to talk to her but Alexia can tell that none of it is getting through to her.

“Mapi, what happened?”

Alexia wants to know, she needs to know, she needs to know how you got here.

Mapi is shaking, her whole body, it’s almost scary the way that her body vibrates against the chair she’s sitting in.

“I-I went to check in on her, dios mios, it was so cold, she was-she-.”

Ingrid stops Mapi.

“Alexia, we can do this later, she can’t handle this right now.”

Ingrid looks as terrified as Alexia feels, but her fear is for Mapi, it makes sense, Mapi is the love of her life. Alexia doesn’t think she’s entitled to the same fear, she let you go.

“No-no, she wants to know.”

It’s clear that every word is pulling Mapi further and further apart, but she pushes through.

“I-I just needed to see her, I went through all the rooms until I got to her bathroom.”

She lets out a sob before continuing.

“There was so much blood, it was all coming from her arm, I tried my best, I tried my best.”

Mapi sobs again, this time it’s so deep and guttural that Alexia is so horrified about what is to come.

“I tried to stop it. She was supposed to be sleeping, I thought she was just sleeping. She was unconscious, blood everywhere, and it just kept coming, it wouldn’t stop. I tried my best.”

Ingrid is murmuring words into Mapi’s ear, Alexia doesn’t know what to say, she actually can’t think of a single word to say.

“I called the ambulance, but she coded in the ambulance, they had to give her so many stitches, so much blood.”

Mapi keeps repeating the same words, over and over again, like it’s a mantra.

Alexia needs to stop it, for her bestfriends sake.

She walks to the otherside of the room, gently pushing Ingrid to the side so she can squat down in front of Mapi.

“Maria look at me. You did your best, you saved her life. You are no more to blame for this then anybody else is. You did so well, she’s alive because of you, she is breathing and sitting in front of us because of you. You did that.”

Mapi doesn’t look like she believes Alexia, but it’s a reprieve from whatever trance she was in.

“How about you and Ingrid go and get something to eat, I’ll stay here with her, if anything happens I’ll call you, okay?”

Mapi looks apprehensive to get up, but Alexia watches Ingrid give her a look and it’s the first time since Alexia’s walked into this room that she sees a little bit of normality return to Mapi’s face.

“Sh-she left you a letter. I think you should read it.”

Mapi pushes it into Alexia’s hands like it’s poisonous.

“Thank you Mapi, I will, go and take a break.”

Alexia presses a kiss to Mapi’s hand, before moving to allow Ingrid to help her up. Mapi is uneasy on her feet and for a second Alexia thinks she might collapse or vomit. She eventually finds her footing though and follows Ingrid out of the room.

Alexia looks down at the letter.

It’s got dried blood finger prints on it, she presumes from Mapi, it secures all of this in some weird way. This is all actually happening.

Alexia takes her time opening it, this is tangible evidence of all of this and a part of Alexia wants nothing more then for it to disappear, so she can pretend none of this has happened.

She wasn’t even there for it, she can’t imagine what Mapi went through, she already feels like every part of her has been stripped away with this.

She feels like she’s an imposter in this all, she doesn’t know what to do.

You’ve never expressed to her anything about family or parents, she doesn’t think it would be right to call them without your permission. She wants to call her own mami but that feels a bit silly, although she knows somehow her mami would give her all the right advice. She doesn’t want to talk about any of it though, it feels wrong. This is such a personal issue, she doesn’t even think she should know about it, she doesn’t have any right considering that Alexia could have very well contributed to this whole issue.

The letter is white, off white possibly, it’s hard to tell with the harsh fluorescent lighting.

The marks that would have been bright red at some stage have faded to a dull reddish brown, it’s imprinted deep into the paper.

Alexia flips it over, gently opening the seal with her fingernail and letting the flap open up.

The paper inside is the same colour, except even though she can only see the flip side it’s clear that there is black scrawl all over it.

Alexia could make it disappear, act like she read it, it would make it all so much easier, it would save her a lot of emotions that she really doesn’t feel prepared to feel. But she doesn’t get to make that decision, she needs to read this, for you and for her.

Dear Alexia,

If you’re reading this then chances are I’m already gone, if I’m not then something went wrong and for that I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that any of this was about you, or that you or anybody else was responsible. I made this decision, I’ve been thinking about this long before you came and I would have spent everyday thinking about it, no action or intervention would have changed that.

I don’t know how to explain it, but life is different for me. I don’t experience things the same way, I don’t get happy when I spend time with friends, I don’t get happy when it’s sunny outside. I’ve tried it all, I’ve tried to make it work, tried to live life in my body. I think a part of me was always separate though, and as much as I’ve tried to make it work there is no point in trying to fix something that is always going to be broken.

Being with you was the first time that my brain felt quiet, that I kind of felt the experience of happiness that everyone else feels. You made it all better, everything with you felt better, it felt normal. All I ever wanted was to be a normal person, and you made me feel like that. It’s not fair of me to be saying that, you deserved better then me, it wasn’t fair for me to burden you with all of this shit. Fucked up is never not fucked up, you can’t uncrumple a crumpled piece of paper, it will always be creased. I want you to know that I didn’t do this to you, i did this for you. It wasn’t fair weighing you down, I know it wasn’t easy for you when we broke up, you deserve to focus on football. You deserve to have a good life, you deserve to be free. I don’t want you to feel bad, I don’t want you to feel like you’re responsible. Live your life, be happy, for me, experience it all, because I couldn’t.

I’m not myself anymore, although I don’t think I ever was myself. It always kind of feels like i’ve been different people in my own body, and this time i couldn’t handle it. I don’t want to feel devoid anymore, I want to be free. My identity has always been identified as being a good footballer, a great footballer, and I don’t even think I can say that I am that anymore. I am nothing, want to be nothing.

I’m sorry I never loved you back in the same way, I’m sorry I never reciprocated the endless graciousness and love tha you gave me. The smiles, the effort, the constant love, it was wasted on me and my biggest regret in life will be letting you waste it on me. It wasn’t fair, it’ll never be fair, because I loved you back and that perhaps was the most selfish act I’ve ever committed.

I’m sorry, there aren’t enough words that I could use to tell you just how sorry I am. I’m sorry that I burdened you with me, I’m sorry that I let myself be cared for by you, I’m sorry that you have to read this.

I’m sorry.

There wouldn’t have ever been anything I could have done to repair it, I didn’t want to live knowing that I would forever be in debt to you for this. I hope that eventually you will find peace in this, that some good will finally come of me.

Goodbye.

There are tears all over the page by the time Alexia gets to the bottom of the letter, she actually can’t comprehend what she’s just read, she swears that her mind must be playing tricks on her. Why would you think all of those things? What made you think all of those things?

Alexia feels sick again.

Did she make you feel that way? Did she make you feel like you weren’t deserving of living?

There are so many questions circulating her brain, and she doesn’t have a answer for a single one of them, because she doesn’t know. Suicide was your only option, one that could have been very permanent, it makes Alexia’s head swim. You believed that your only option to make it all stop was death. You found a permanent solution to something that Alexia’s considers a potentially temporary situation, had you reached out, had you tried to find help. She can’t criticise you, she can’t even begin to comprehend how hard it would be living as you have, and then having to try and talk to somebody else about that. A part of her wishes you had though, because maybe it would have saved her beind here.

Your body is the exact same it was the last time Alexia looked at you, but for some reason you feel different.

Alexia reaches out for your hand, it’s the arm that’s not covered in bandages. Your hands are cold, but she tries to ignore it. She focuses on the feeling of movement underneath her own hand, it’s the only real tangible proof she has that you are here with her, that you are alive.

Sure there is a beeping heart monitor, and other signs, but she just wants to feel you.

She holds your hand, because she swears that she’ll slip away. Alexia doesn’t know what to do, she doesn’t know how to help you but she promises herself that she’s going to be here, that she isn’t ever going to let you experience life the same way that you did without her being there for you.

—————————————————————

thoughts appreciated …. part 2?

another reminder that if you ever need anybody to talk to i am here, your life is worth living, you are worth it all. <3

[localapparently]

/ orv epilogue spoilers , cw implied suicide attempt

all i can write is a love letter

[prettyboykatsuki]

on deaths door | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dark content ahead, afab + gender neutral reader, dark comedy / black comedy, attempts of suicide, the use of the word rapist in text, mentions of self-harm scars, penetration, intense but not rough, gojo is doting, no curses au, ceo!gojo 18+

note: this fic is mostly intended to be a dark comedy and have an unserious nature. it is very absurdist and it makes light of both suicide and assault. please proceed carefully if you find this might be triggering to you.

PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED.

✮ wc ; 2.6k

✮ a/n ; i actually really really enjoyed writing this and would love to expand on it potentially. KJSDFJSKD.

reader has been through a lot so they are super nonchalant about everything just as a precaution

"Uwah," A voice startles you from your place on the roof. You gasp, amidst tears and sobs from shock. "Are you about to kill yourself?"

You whip your head around to see who could be beside you at this hour. It's a deliberately obscure location, too so it's extra weird. You were hoping to die in peace in a place where it'd be hard to find you, after all.

But there's a strange man interrupting your plans. Very strange. He's speaking Japanese rather clearly but his hair is a shock of white and his eyes are blues as saphhires. Despite the situation, his voice is light and cheerful - almost amused.

You can't tell if he's just a figment of your imagination. He's so unusual it stuns you out of your tears. You can't find your voice to respond for a moment.

"Yes," You reply, unsure of what else to say. He smiles at you.

"Hm." He looks contemplative. "Well... if you don't want it, can I have it?"

You stare on, confused.

He grins. "Your life, I mean. Can I buy it off you?"

Starting to wonder if you've already died, you stretch your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face just to see if any of it is real. The touch makes it gasp. You're definitely still alive. So, that means this strange man is also real and asking to buy your life.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not a cheapskate or anything, the price will be fair." He walks closer to you from where you've been standing all this time. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, picking you up and setting you down further away from the ledge with a harsh yank.

Like a kitten whose mother is dragging it by the nape, you fumble onto the rooftop concrete. As soon as you're moved, you drop down to your knees - unable to find anymore strength.

"Are you... trying to traffick me?" Your voice is coarse in your reply as you stare up. It's a genuine question. You aren't sure what else to call this. The strange, unusual man just laughs in your face.

"Mm, well - not really. Though, if you say yes I'll make good use of you in all ways." The last part makes your skin crawl a little. "You were weeping so pitifully when I came up here... super pathetic. I just thought it'd be a waste if you died since I got to see something interesting."

There's something really wrong with this guy, you think. But this is such a common thing in your life, you aren't sure how shocked you should be.

There's also something equally wrong with you, because you're so fucked up - you're considering it. If he paid you enough to cover all of your debts, you could cut ties with all the bullshit your fathers debt has put you through. You could run away. Not there's anywhere for you, even after that. But at least you'd be unshackled from what makes you most miserable.

You don't want your life, but if this guy wants it so bad then...

"...How much will you pay me?"

His eyes light up when you ask this and it unsettles you further. "As much as you want. And you'd have to live with me at my beck and call."

"Like a pet." You reply easily.

Instead of denying it, he snaps his fingers and grins. "Exactly! Or maybe more like a plush toy that I take every where?"

Either way, you're not any kind of human. You're barely human now though with how much you work, so you aren't sure it makes a difference. You stare at him. And he looks back at you with a smile - all pearly white pristine teeth.

Who cares anymore, anyway? Even if he were to mistreat you, you're not sure you'd even feel it. It's all numb. He can have your life if it means you can escape what you're running from.

He looks rich, so maybe.

"Don't worry," He hums, and he reaches over to pat your head while your face is covered in tears. You don't flinch for some reason. "I don't like breaking things I've bought unnecessarily."

Something is wrong with you. Your self preservation is in total fucking tatters. But still, you want to say so you do. Maybe it's the absurdity, or the fact you truly don't have anything to lose. Nothing could make your misfortune any worse.

You sniffle and shake your head. He's dangerous and weird, but at least you could pay off your debts.

"Okay," You say weakly.

His smile gets impossibly wide.

You're wonder if you'll regret your decision.

__

He's filthy rich.

You should've expected that. You did, kinda. Because only rich people would think to do or ask something so absurd like ask to buy another persons life. Still, he had a driver waiting for him downstairs and his car is definitely a sports care. A McLaren, you think. One of the places you catered for ages ago was full of rich people with flashy cars and you remembered some of them.

He sits with you uncomfortably close in the back seat but doesn't speak to you at all during the ride. Not until you arrive at the destination, which is a giant building where the strange man certainly lives.

The driver (named Ichiji) calls the strange man Gojo-sama, which makes you feel extremely on edge. They whisper about something when you're out of ear shot, and Ichiji gives you a sorrowful look that you can't place.

The name Gojo is familiar to you, but you aren't sure where you've heard it.

After taking a long elevator ride to one of the upper floors, you end up in the strange mans condo. When you get there, he tells you take off your shoes and gives you nice slippers.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says, still frivolous and speaking to you in what feels like a foreign tongue. "And also yours. I'll set you up in the guest room later, but you'll be keeping my bed warm mostly so keep that in mind."

The size of the place is absurd and so is the decor. What have you gotten yourself into? You must've gone insane. You're too afraid to touch anything.

"Am I like... a sex slave?" You ask curiously.

He frowns at you. "You make me sound like some kind of rapist. I guess now that I own you....it might make me one... but you agreed to come here so don't be like that!!" He huffs, childishly.

His response is somewhat incomprehensible to you. He's stranger by the minute and completely tactless - but for some reason, it's hard to distrust him. He doesn't raise any immediate red flags aside from being unusual.

You almost want to say it wouldn't matter if he was, as long as he pays you but decide not too.

"Okay. Do you want me to take my clothes off?" You reply, nonchalant. He stares at you.

"...I know your heads pretty fucked up, but don't you think you're being too blase about all this?"

Your brow furrows. A weird response for a guy who willingly understands this is a less than ethical situation "Would... you prefer I struggle and refuse you? Is that your fetish?"

"No! Well..." You look at him flatly as he thinks on it, almost blushing at the thought. You make a face of disgust "Not in this case, alright! It's just too pitiful and I'm not that type really.... Be more cautious."

"But you were planning to fuck me from the start, right? Or something."

He nods. "Well, yes. As a way to earn your living and for me get my urges out whenever. Finding people to have sex with is a hassle."

You shrug.

"Right. I can cook and clean too. I've done pretty much every job you can think of it,"

He waves a hand at you. "We can discuss it later." He puts a hand in his necktie and pulls on with a small smile. "Right now, I want to test out my new toy so..."

You should feel more disgusted by how he refers to you, but you don't have it in yourself.

"Can I shower first?"

He looks surprised but nods. "Uh-huh. Just wear one of my shirts when you come out. Everything else is in the bathroom. It's upstairs, first door on your left."

You stand to your feet, nodding.

__

It takes you ten minutes to figure out how the shower works.

His shower is nice. The whole place is nice. Nicer than any shithole you've ever lived in. He has a lot of nice bath products, though you aren't sure how you feel about smelling like him since you're borrowing his.

You examine your body a bit in the shower, looking at old scars as you wash and rub yourself clean. Thankfully, you gave yourself a trim downstairs not long ago.

It's embarrassing in retrospect but you've not had much of a choice in the first place. You're sensitive, unsure of the last time you've touched yourself given how much you work. You think of your job and feel guilty for how you're going to miss it. But you recall that you were preparing to die not even two hours ago and feel less bad.

You whimper a little as you finger yourself open under the water - getting wet easier than you thought. You have to lean against the wall, but with enough coaxing you get three fingers in. You're still horny when you shut the water off and step out.

You dry yourself and put on lotion - staring in the mirror. As told you borrow one of his shirts, but it's too big on you and you can see your nipples too clearly which makes you embarrassed.

You reason you're about to go fuck a stranger anyway, and decide to step out right after.

__

You decide against wearing underwear since his shirt fits on you like a dress, but regret when you come back down stairs feeling aware of the breeze on your went cunt.

He's sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dress shirt unbuttoned but still in his clothes. He hears you before he sees you, eyes widening. You suddenly get self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

"Better than I thought," Is his only assessment. Your skin grows hot.

He beckons you over to him and you go, unsure of what to do until he pulls you into his lap. Forcing you to straddle him, he wastes no time in feeling you up. His hands at your waist and chest. His face lights up in pure amusement when he sees you bare underneath.

He stares at your pussy for a long time.

"It's good," He hums, his hands brushing against it. Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal, a pathetic moan leaving your lips that makes him laugh. "Pretty."

You don't have anything to say to that so you keep quiet. Gojo slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt to asses your wetness, surprised surely by how wet it is. Without warning, he plunges a finger in. He looks up at your face, your hand covering your mouth so you don't moan.

"So wet," His voice can't contain his amusement. "What's this?"

"I was," You shiver half-way through as he plunges in another finger and it goes in smoothly. "I p-prepared in the shower and masturbated. I thought you'd just want to stick it in and I didn't want it to hurt.

"Haah," His voice is sharp, suddenly breathy. Something hard and big presses up against your leg. "You're talented in seducing me. I'm not so ungentlemanly, but I'll let it go this time, alright?"

You nod. He uses a sticky hand to unbutton his slacks and push his boxers away. You gasp at the size of his cock. You're not a virgin exactly, but you haven't had sex with anyone this big ever. He chuckles a little, pressing the head of his cock against your stomach and cunt as if measuring it up to you.

More wetness pulses, shame filling you - because you're almost excited to be fucking this strange man you've only met today. Weirdly, you don't feel unsafe around him. Your eyes glass over from lust.

He sticks his fingers in your mouth and you suck automatically, instinctively. His smile is predatory all of a sudden, teeth glimmering.

"So obedient," He says, sharply. "Ah, I have a good eye. It really would've been such a waste."

You're content to throw yourself at him, chasing the pleasure. His fingers taste of salt and skin, making you want something else entirely. It's not long before he pulls away though, wrapping his hand around his shaft and making it shiny. You blink down at where he fists his cock - your spine tingling at the sight.

"Look at you," He mutters, amused. "Do you always get this excited? Is it normal for you to fuck strange men or am I special?"

You shake your head. "It's only been two people."

"Then I am special," He replies. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his cock pressing against your hole - fluttering. "We have good compatibility."

Before you can say a word, you feel his length push inside of you in one swift motion and gasp. It's so big, so impossibly big - and even with how much you stretched, there's a touch of resistance that's making your entire lower half feel like it's jelly. Almost numb from the sensation. Buzzing from adrenaline and want.

You feel full. In your stomach, in your chest - your whole body feel complete. When you manage to open your eyes, you look at Gojo and find yourself taken aback. His hair is pushed back from his hand and he looks... different. He's handsome now that you realize. His face looks...pleased.

You talk before you can think about it.

"Do I feel good?"

He laughs sweetly, before pressing a kiss to your temple that feels to affectionate for people who barely know each other.

"Uh-huh," He says. His hands are strong, tight on your ass as he bucks up into you - causing you to collapse forward. The pleasure makes you shake, sensitivity through the roof. "Feel so good. Hahaha, how lucky."

You cling onto Gojo's shoulder and bury your face into his neck. He doesn't stop you. A large hand comes around the back of your head - the other one at your hips as he thrusts up into you with alarming force and precision. He feels so good it's a little scary, and you can't keep the noises from slipping out. You moan and whine each time the tip rubs against you inside, soft walls barely able to accommodate the size.

Your body feels hot everywhere he touches. It's been so long and Gojo is so careful but so intense. His expensive dress shirt rubs up against your nipples each time he moves. It's so good, so good - makes you want to cry.

"You're so sensitive." He laughs against your shoulder. "Gripping so tight every time I move. Do you want to cum so bad?"

"Yes," The words are a sob. Just a little more.

"Uh-huh. Tell me where to touch you. How should I make you cum."

You're too shamelessly pent up to feel shy anymore. "Touch my c-clit, please, please."

"Got it, got it - don't cry."

Gojo listens to you well. Thick fingers and an angled hand find your clit with ease as he bounces you on his cock with no regard. Your eyes roll back instantly, immediately - as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Back arching, you cum hard around the base of his cock - but Gojo just keeps fucking you through it. He doesn't stop even when you come down, only moves you both so you're laying on the couch on your back.

He kisses you then, and you meet his mouth with sloppy tears running down your face from the pleasure.

"Let's see what your stamina is like, yeah? See if you can keep up with me."

__

He fucks you unconscious.

Essentially. Though you take with enthusiasm even during your exhaustion because the sex is phenomenal - you have no idea when you stop.

You wake up in a bed, and you wake up completely clean. You don't know whose bed, but there's a large figure besides you. Half-asleep and fully exhausted, you feel shy thinking about the fact he probably bathed and dressed you while you were out.

What a strange man, you think - to do that.

He's talking to someone on the phone. You don't really make out much of the words, though you do hear your name in bits and pieces.

"...A college student.......- young then -...... open a bank account for.... - debt...- pay it all off before it becomes annoying.... look into -."

You shift under your blankets half asleep. A hand comes up on top of your head on the pillow, pushing hair from your face.

"Did I wake you?" His expression is hard to read in the dark with your eyes barely open. "Sorry. Almost done. Go back to sleep."

So you do, because you can't find strength to do much else.

The bed is warm, but your sure the heat you feel is from the strong, gentle head petting your head as you rest.

[manwtv]

They make me insane <3

[drabbles-mc]

Hands All Over

Rick Flag x F!Reader

Based on the request from @beardburnsupersoldiers: could you do #11 (“I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”) with Rick Flag??? (Prompt is from This List)

Warnings: 18+, language, smut, jealous Rick

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: my requests are closed but i have been thinking about this in the best way ever since you sent it in and i finally finished it tonight so I'm sending it out into the universe. I'm forever unwell about this man but i hope you enjoy!!!! xo (as always this is unbeta'd af but it's made with love)

You were purposely ignoring the pissed off look on Rick’s face as he stared at you from across the lot. It was early still. The guards hadn’t even rounded up everyone that the two of you needed from Belle Reeve yet. The usual suspects had been brought out first, people they knew weren’t going to put up much of a fight even if they wanted to. It was a short list, and seemed to get shorter all the time whether it was because they kept shaving years off people’s sentences, or because there were almost always a couple team members who didn’t make it home at the end of a mission. Turnover was constant, but it wasn’t as though Belle Reeve was ever going to run out of inmates.

Regardless, it left you and Rick out in the lot with Harley, Peacemaker, and Captain Boomerang. Over the next few minutes you were sure that others would slowly start to trickle out, people with no real clue about what they were getting roped into.

The reason that Rick was giving you the glare was two-fold—he was pissed off about what he was seeing, and he was also pissed off that he couldn’t even try to say anything about it. The first part was your fault, really. But the second part? That was just as much on Rick as it was on you. Maybe if you two had taken the time to ever actually talk about what your deal was, situations like this wouldn’t have him reacting quite so obviously. As it stood, Rick was too stubborn to start the conversation and you enjoyed stirring the pot too much to start it yourself.

So, there you were, leaning back against the transport vehicle you and Rick would be loading everyone into soon enough. Your back was braced against it, one boot on the ground, the other resting back flat against the large tire. Your arms were crossed in front of you as you looked at Boomerang. He was closely mirroring your stance as he stood beside you. You might’ve been vaguely aware of how close he was standing, but judging by the clench in Rick’s jaw it was just about the only thing that he was aware of.

Boomerang had always been a little more comfortable around you than he should’ve been. You figured out pretty quickly after meeting him that trying to fight him on it all the time was not only exhausting, but it wasn’t effective. So along the way the two of you found your middle-ground. You were fine with it, the banter and jokes that definitely wouldn’t be workplace appropriate at any other job, but even without looking at Rick when it happened you knew that he wasn’t a fan.

“C’mon.” Boomer nudged his shoulder against yours. “How many more missions till I can take you out?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Bold of you to assume that the only reason you can’t take me out is because you’re currently in prison.”

He pretended to be offended and hurt by the comment. “That ain’t very nice, now is it?” He paused as you laughed. “Got some boyfriend on the outside, then?”

Turning your head to look at him, you said, “Why would I have to—”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Or a girlfriend. Don’t matter.”

You chuckled. “I never said any of that.”

He stepped away from the truck. Turning on his heel, he stood so that he was facing you head-on. “By the time I’m outta here, sweetheart, I’ll win you over.”

Even though you knew it wasn’t ever going to happen, you still found yourself smirking at the concept of him trying to woo you. Whatever that meant to him. “Always good to have a goal.”

There were a few beats of silence as he looked around the lot. You could tell that he was starting to get a little antsy, Harley too from the sounds of it as she chattered away at one of the new recruits that had been brought out. This was always the longest part. Briefing everyone was quick, and the rides to the mission locations went by fast because of the commentary flying around amongst everyone. Waiting for everyone to get chipped and brought out got to be a drag after a while.

Boomer was feeling it, pulling out one of his boomerangs and fiddling with it passively in his hand the way a child would fuss with a toy. Arms crossed over your chest, you nodded towards the item in his hand. “Not getting that out just because I said you couldn’t take me out, right?”

His grin split wide enough to catch the glint off his gold tooth. “’Course not.” He fiddled with it for another second longer before pointing at you with it. “Ever used one’a these?” You shook your head and he switched so that it was laying flat in his upturned palm, hand out to you like a peace offering. “Wanna try?”

“Boomer—”

“Give it a shot! ‘s the worst that could happen? We’re the Suicide Squad anyway, right?”

No matter what your rebuttal was, it wasn’t going to be good enough for him. Using your foot that was braced against the tire, you pushed off the side of the truck. “Fine. Only because I know I’ll never hear the end of it from you.”

He was practically cackling as he set it in your hand. “Might make a bad guy outta you yet.”

The two of you weren’t even being all that loud but the words were grating against Rick’s ears halfway across the lot like he was trapped in an echo chamber. The internal conflict of enjoying the sound of your laughter versus knowing that you were laughing at something that Harkness said had him rooted to the spot. If he clenched his jaw any tighter he was liable to chip a tooth.

First it was listening to the two of you shooting comments back and forth, your indirect denial of having someone on the outside. He was frustrated with that even though deep down he knew that even if you’d said you were with someone, it wouldn’t have stopped Boomerang. Deeper down still, he knew that he’d never said anything to you about the relationship between the two of you, but it was easier for him in that moment to forget that small detail.

That was frustrating enough, but then he saw the way that Boomer was so quick to put his hands on yours, how comfortable he was shifting the two of you so that he was standing behind you. It didn’t matter that you wouldn’t take the man seriously in a million years, that no matter the innuendo or the offer he wasn’t ever going to win you over. In that moment, Harkness was closer to you at work than Rick ever would be. And you were smiling and laughing about it.

Not nearly soon enough, the last of this round’s Task Force X were brought out to the yard. You’d managed to get one mildly successful boomerang throw in, and Rick had stopped just short of giving himself an aneurysm.

“Alright,” he barked, more anger in his words than necessary as he walked towards the truck, “everyone load up. We’ll brief on the way.”

You stood back watching as they all filed in. There were murmurs, quick exchanges as everyone tried to get situated in the cramped space. You tried to stifle your chuckles as you heard Harley riling everyone up as they got strapped in.

Unsurprisingly, Boomerang was bringing up the back of the line. Before stepping up into the vehicle, he stopped right beside you. You could feel the humor dripping off his words as he motioned for you to get in before him. “Beauty befor—”

Rick gave him a harsh shove between his shoulder blades, cutting him off in the process. “Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he grit out.

Boomerang’s entire face contorted in annoyance and offense for a moment. He looked over his shoulder at you as he climbed into the vehicle. “When’re you gonna stop lettin’ that one tag along?” He gestured to Rick.

Rick’s brows were pinched together as tight as you’d ever seen them. “Harkness.”

It was all that had to be said. He slipped into the back of the transport with everyone else. You were still looking at the now-empty door, unaware of the look that Rick was now giving to you. There were plenty of things that he wanted to say to you, do to you, right there in that moment just to prove a point but he couldn’t.

You started to speak. “So how—”

All the words flew right out of your head as Rick’s hand clamped tightly down onto your shoulder. Catching you off-guard he easily pushed you, pinning you between him and the side of the truck. One of his legs was slotted between yours. He was leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin when he spoke.

His voice was painfully low. “I bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”

You were so off-kilter that you couldn’t even come up with the witty responses that you were in the habit of giving him. He’d never put himself in such a close position with you at work before. You knew him well enough to know that being friendly with Boomerang would get under his skin a little bit. If only you’d known how much—you would’ve done it a hell of a lot sooner.

The digging of his fingertips even through your shirt had you locked in place. It was exciting as it was nerve-wracking, especially since there was a truckload of prisoners just a mere flap of metal away from you. You and Rick had always had different definitions of the term reckless, and this was about as reckless as it got for him. He tried so hard not to let his personal life bleed into the job, and yet here he was. You loved knowing that you could have this effect on him if you tried, even if it was making your knees nearly knock together in the moment.

It could’ve only been a couple seconds that had passed, but you felt like the silence had been stretching on infinitely when you finally managed to try and speak up. “I don’t—”

“You do,” he cut you off. There was the slightest twitch in his hand on your shoulder, a clue that he wanted to put it somewhere else but he stopped himself. Not feeling quite reckless enough for that yet.

“I—”

His voice seemed to drop even lower in volume, not that it dulled the sharp edges of what he was saying to you. “Don’t play dumb now.” He finally released you and stepped back. A professional amount of space existed between you once more. “Let’s go.” He started to walk towards the driver’s side. “We got shit to do.”

You gave yourself until the door on the other side of the vehicle opened. Then you took a deep breath and got yourself swung up into the passenger seat. There were bigger things to worry about for now, and you decided that those bigger things were why you still felt a slight shaking in your legs.

There was never such a thing as a simple mission with Task Force X. Even when things were pitched to you and Rick as easy, or simple, or in-and-out missions, they never seemed to play out that way. You chalked it up to the squad, and also to Waller never giving anyone a straight answer about anything. That usually covered your bases.

This time you had the additional layer of problems stemming from Rick’s attitude for the day. He wasn’t ever warm and fuzzy with the team, but the last time you saw him walking around with such a noticeable chip on his shoulder was back in the days of Midway City. Only this time his frustration wasn’t about the whole team, it was about one team member in particular. Or two, if you included yourself in the count.

Your team didn’t have the luxury of ascribing to the, “no man left behind,” mentality. But even so, it didn’t mean that no one could try at all. And who knows, maybe if someone who wasn’t Harkness had taken a bullet to the thigh, Rick would’ve reacted differently. You didn’t get to find out.

Rick had brushed past him, determined to get to get everything over as quickly as possible. His lack of concern was met with a slew of angry, vulgar remarks from Boomerang, and perhaps rightfully so. You stopped to at least help the man get to his feet, even if you weren’t going to be carrying him or acting as a human crutch for the rest of the mission.

“Flag,” you chastised as you caught up to him.

“What?” he snapped back, matching your tone.

You let your voice drop to just above a whisper. Loud enough for him to hear over everything happening around the two of you, but not so loud that the rest of the team with you was going to catch it.

“You said we’ll sort it at home, so let’s sort it at home.”

He shook his head. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? So you’re trying to tell me that there’s nothing different about—”

“That’s exactly what I’m tellin’ you.”

The sound of gunfire up ahead stopped your conversation then and there. You knew that once the chaos had died down, the two of you would get right back into it. There were just more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, like the people pointing their guns at you.

There were no other major injuries to anyone else on the team. A few bumps and scrapes but it looked like Boomerang was the only one who was going to be taking a trip to the medical wing. He would’ve been looking forward to that if it wasn’t currently being preceded by Peacemaker carrying him back to the transport vehicle. No matter how much he struggled and swore, he wasn’t able to break free. It was a comical sight, seeing him draped over Peacemaker’s shoulder—everyone else was getting a kick out of it even if Boomerang wasn’t. Him and Rick.

Rick didn’t say a single word to you the entire drive back. Even when everyone was getting unloaded and sent back to their cells, it felt like he hadn’t even done so much as look at you. It was something that any other day you wouldn’t have noticed, because that’s just how it was when you were both working. But it felt different this time, tense in a way that it didn’t used to be.

He only spoke to you in the parking lot by your cars because you asked him a question that he couldn’t give a yes or no answer to. He didn’t even look at you as he answered it, instead looking down as he dug his keys out of his pocket.

“Yours or mine?” you asked.

“Yours.”

You waited for follow-up commentary that never came. You waited for him to pick back up the argument from earlier, or for him to reignite the jealous streak that he’d had going earlier still. But he gave you nothing as he unlocked the doors to his pickup.

With a roll of your eyes, you followed suit and got into your own car as well. If he wanted to keep stewing on all of this until you both got back to your place, you’d let him. You didn’t bother waiting for him as you peeled out of the parking lot and made your way home. It wasn’t as though he would be lagging that far behind you.

You’d just stepped into the shower at your apartment when you heard the heavy sound of his boots on the floor. You heard them pause outside the bathroom door, and for a moment you found yourself holding your breath and waiting to see if he was going to come in with you. The hesitation had you thinking that he was thinking about doing just that. But then the footsteps continued. The breath you’d been holding came out as a disappointed sigh.

When you were done with your shower, you weren’t expecting to walk into your bedroom to find Rick sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed in his work save for his boots that were set just off to the side of him, but there he was. His hands were wrapped around the edge of the mattress, head tilted down as he stared at the floor.

“Shower’s yours if you want it,” you said, letting it announce your presence in the process.

That got him to look up at you. His expression wasn’t giving much of anything away, but as his eyes raked up and down your body you caught the way that his jaw clenched. His fingers gripped onto the blanket that covered your mattress just a little tighter as he took in the sight of the stray droplets of water still clinging to your shoulders and neck. Your skin warmed at the realization.

Seeing that he made no move to get up, you walked over to him. You stood between his legs, the rough fabric of his cargo pants a stark contrast to the softness of you skin, legs left exposed by the towel wrapped around you that barely reached the tops of your thighs. He swallowed hard, eyes crawling their way up your body to your face. Now he was in the position of having to look up at you, a position he didn’t find himself in very often. Even though his eyes gave him away, he tried to keep his unbothered façade in place.

“Still not talking to me, then? Came over just to give me the silent treatment in my own home?”

He remained silent, and you were wondering if it was because he was stringing together what it was that he wanted to say, or if he just couldn’t get the words out. Either way, you were painfully curious as to what was going to happen next.

“C’mon,” there was a playful lilt to your tone as you went to cup his face with your hand, “don’t—”

You stopped yourself short when he reached up and grabbed tightly onto your wrist. It didn’t hurt. He’d never hurt you. But his grip was tight enough to prove a point. Your jaw snapped shut as he held onto you, preventing and continuing to keep you from being able to touch his face.

“He doesn’t get to touch you like that,” he finally said, each word spoken low and deep.

His voice, his words, the look on his face, it all sent a wave of chills over your body. The same feeling you had outside the transport earlier, that feeling of being rooted to the ground beneath you, came right back. You couldn’t even bring yourself to reach out and touch him with your other hand.

Your voice came out quieter than you planned. “It wasn’t…” You trailed off as he lowered your hand that he was holding, his grip loosening off your wrist as he started to slide his hand up the bare skin of your arm until it was on your shoulder.

His fingers curled over the curve of your shoulder. “No one gets to touch you like that.”

You took a breath, determined to get a full sentence out this time. “I guess I didn’t think it would bother you so much.”

Whatever snarky, angry response you had been gearing up for, he didn’t deliver. Instead, he pulled you closer, your small step turning into a stumble as your hands landed on his shoulders to brace yourself. His hands instantly went to your waist, fingers digging into the plush fabric of the towel that was wrapped around you. He didn’t break his gaze the entire time.

His tone was even, almost dangerously so. “It did.”

The stubborn part of you was drawing in a breath to tell him that you weren’t sorry, that you weren’t going to apologize, that maybe if he’d just taken the time to talk to you about how he felt or what all of this was maybe the two of you wouldn’t be in this situation. But before you could even get yourself to utter the first syllable, he tightened his grip on your hips and quickly turned the both of you so that you landed on your back on the bed with a surprised yelp.

It took him no time at all to move you both so that you were in the center of the bed. One hand firmly cupped your jaw as he pinned his lips to yours in a heated kiss, a kiss that had you all but melting into the comforter of your bed. Your palms flattened against the planes of muscle across his chest for the briefest moment before you balled the fabric of his shirt into your fists. You pulled him closer to you, as tight as you could manage as you laid beneath him.

He gave into it for a moment as his tongue slipped past your lips into your mouth. You moaned at the sensation, his tongue on yours, the way the tips of his fingers were starting to press harder into your jaw. You were about to loop your legs around his waist, lock yourself to him, when he pulled away from you.

You were gasping for breath, fingers still gripping his shirt as he pulled back. Bringing his hand away from your jaw, he brought both hands to the top edge of the towel you were wearing. His fingers wrapped around the hem of it, he finally pried his gaze away from your face. He peeled the towel open, letting both sides of it fall away from you, leaving you completely exposed. His tongue ran along his bottom lip as he drank in the sight of you lying beneath him.

The rise of his chest as he pulled in a deep breath was impossible to miss. Your hands moved from his chest up to the sides of his neck, fingers interlocking at the nape of it as you pulled him back down into another kiss. He gave in without a fight, leaning his body weight onto you as he kissed you, hands racing down your sides, of your hips and onto your thighs.

His lips strayed from yours, dragging along to your jaw and down to your neck, leaving small, quick nips along the way. He moved down to your chest, lips and tongue teasing as they traveled over your breasts, pulling one taut nipple into his mouth and sucking on it in a way that had you whimpering and squirming in pleasure beneath him before he moved and repeated the process with the other.

“Rick,” his name fell from your lips, needy and breathless as you tangled your fingers into his hair. It was the only thing you could get yourself to say as he sucked a mark into the plush skin of your breast.

He kissed his way down your stomach, peppering a trail of kisses across your hips before moving down to your thighs. His teeth grazed along the soft, sensitive skin on the insides of your legs, the sensation making you drape your legs over his shoulders out of pure instinct.

His lips grazed over your folds, enough to feel how wet you were, not enough to give you any relief because of it. You tried to lift your hips and he immediately slid his arms and placed his hands so that they were pinning your hips to the bed once more. You whined, hands tugging at his hair.

Then you felt his tongue running up your slit, teasing you in a way that had you shuddering beneath him. You tried to pull him closer with no success, resigning yourself to his whim now. He might not have been able to say or do anything before, but he was the one in control now.

He kissed your core, tongue darting out until he switched and wrapped his lips around your clit. You moaned as his tongue ran over the nerves, causing your thighs to clamp around either side of his head.

“Fuck, Rick,” you moaned, grip on his hair loosening just enough to lightly drag your fingernails along his scalp. “Don’t stop.”

You felt one of his hands move from your hip and for a moment you were worried that he was going to stop just because you had asked him not to. You lifted your head up off the mattress, looking down at the sight of him nestled between your thighs. The way he looked had the breath getting caught in the back of your throat. Then he opened his eyes, looking up at you with his mouth still pressed to your core. You opened your mouth to try and say something when you felt two of his fingers pressing lightly against your slit. He covered them with your slick before pushing them into you, not breaking his eye contact with you as he did. The moan you let out had him tightening his grip on your hip, sucking harder on your clit as you writhed beneath his touch.

When he felt the way your thighs began to tremble, starting to clench tighter around him, he picked up the pace even more. Even though it was muffled, he could still hear the string of curses you let out the closer you got to your climax, the desperate way you said his name as you begged him to make you cum.

Seconds later your walls tightened around his fingers, your hips bucking up off the bed as you came. He worked you through it, his fingers and lips coated in your release as he refused to let up. He kept going even when your hands were pushing his shoulders, whining from the overstimulation. Your legs trembled as they hung limply over his shoulders, unable to muster up the strength to pull him closer or push him away.

You let out a trembling breath when he pulled his fingers out of you. He pressed one more kiss to the inside of your thigh before crawling his way back up your body. Without a beat of hesitation he caught your lips with his, tongue instantly running over yours allowing you to taste yourself off of him.

The friction of the rough fabric of his pants against your sensitive, naked core had you whining into his mouth as he kissed you. Still, instead of pushing him away, you started to undo his belt buckle. The second he pressed his body flush to yours again you’d felt how hard he was. Now you just wanted him inside you.

Undoing the button and zipper on his pants, wasted no time pushing both his pants and his underwear down off his hips in one motion. Rick barely took the time to kick them the rest of the way off before pushing into you.

The low moan of pleasure that he let out turned into your name as he bottomed out inside you. He pressed a harsh, needy kiss to your lips before letting his head drop into the crook of your neck. He gave you a couple long, slow thrusts to adjust before picking up the pace in a way that communicated all of his desperation for you. Your nails sank into his shoulders as he pounded into you, just looking for something to keep you tethered as you started to see stars behind your eyes all over again.

He nipped at your neck and shoulder as he pulled your legs so that they were looped tighter around him. He buried himself inside you, coaxing you along when you whimpered out that you were going to cum again. He pressed a kiss right below your ear, the praise he was whispering to you, calling you his, was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. He fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts beginning to falter as he felt your walls clenching around him. A few more sharp snaps of his hips had him spilling inside you.

He collapsed against you, fighting to catch his breath as his hear rested against your chest. He could hear the fast beat of your heart against his ear, and you could feel the quick breaths he was taking as he looped his arms around you. His touch was soft, gentle in a way it hadn’t been just moments before.

You rested one hand on the back of his head, the other between his shoulder blades. You idly toyed with strands of his hair as you let your eyes close. Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, instead choosing to revel in the silence and the closeness that came with it. It also gave you each a little while longer to catch your breath.

Eyes still closed, you spoke up, your voice soft but light. “So, you wanna talk about it?” you asked with a quiet laugh.

He was still laying on your chest. You didn’t know for sure but you were willing to bet that his eyes were closed too. “About what?” he replied in a half-mumble.

You dragged your fingers up and down his spine, pressing through his shirt. “Oh, so we’re just going to pretend you haven’t been angry and jealous all day? Gonna pretend that’s not where this came from?” You kept your tone upbeat enough so that it wouldn’t descend into an argument. That wasn’t what you were looking for.

It worked, too, because it got him to let out a laugh. “Wasn’t all day.”

You shook your head, would’ve rolled your eyes if they were open. “You’re such a pain.”

“And you’re not?” he joked right back. He lifted his head to look at you, which got you to open your eyes. “You gonna try and sit there and pretend you weren’t doing that shit to get under my skin?”

You smirked, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Why wouldn’t—”

“Oh, c’mon, Rick. We’ve been doing this song and dance for how long now? And we…you never…” You reached up to drag your hands down your face. “We’ve never talked about it. I figured that was your nice way of saying…you know.”

He frowned at that. “Oh.”

You laughed, letting your head drop back to the mattress again. “Good talk.”

He chuckled, pulling away from you just enough so that he could shift and lay beside you. It was easier to look at you that way as he propped his elbow and rested his head in the palm of his hand. “I never said anythin’ because I figured you knew.”

You rolled onto your side to face him. “Knew what?”

His other hand tenderly grazed along your cheek, the callouses on his fingers not feeling harsh in the slightest. “How I feel about you.”

You leaned into his touch. “I’m not a mind reader, you know,” you said with a small laugh. “And, you know,” you placed your hand over his, “you’re not exactly the most open book.”

He cracked a small grin. “No?”

You laughed. “No.”

He was still smiling as he dragged the pad of his thumb along your cheek. “Well, now you know.”

You nodded. “Now I know.”

He pulled you in close to him, tucking your head beneath his chin. You settled into him with ease, the way you had so many times before. He held you tight enough so that you could feel his heartbeat thudding against the side of your face.

He pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head before saying, “Harkness ever puts a hand on you again though, I’m chopping the fuckin’ thing off.”

You laughed, patting his chest in a joking, reassuring manner. “Sure you are.”

Suicide Squad Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon @words-and-seeds @thrnlvr (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

[hyperfixiation-station]

Can't stop thinking about poly!141 ignoring the reader. Literally just can not. So enjoy this suicide-mission + ignored reader idea i had. It suo for grabs if anyone want to write an actual fic

Laswell pulled you aside and asked if you'd be willing to what would basically be a suicide mission. She gave you 2 days to talk it over with 'your boys'. The boys who conveniently had nto spoken to you on over a week, for reason you couldn't not fathom. But surely they'd listen to you on this, they'd at least hear you out when they heard your desperate tone....right?

2 days later and you hadn't managed to get any of them to talk to you. "Simon-" "can't." "Buts its import-" "I said can't." "Johny, can I plea-" "im busy lass, sorry." "Gaz i need to-" "sorry, I'm a bir busy, we can talk later." "John I-" "i cant right now, maybe later." So you say yes, much to Laswell's surprise.

You're on plane the next day, on your way to infiltrate an enemy base, not to come home for at least 3 months. It's a low-contact mission, where you're only able to send transmissions every 2 weeks. There will be no way to know you're compromised until its too late.

4 hours after your plane takes off and you are officially no-cotact, the boys show up to your barrack, flowers and an apology in hand. Buy they're too late. You're already gone, bunk cleaned out, no note or text left behind.

Their first thought is that you quit, where discharged. But they quickly dismissed that idea because they would have heard about the ceremony. Their second is that you transferred teams. So they talk to Laswell, who not-very-gently breaks the news to them.

They beg for Laswell to call you back, but it's too late, what's done is done. Now they just have to wait. They get increasingly antsy as the weeks tick down, regret and self-hatred fueling there every action.

2 guilt-striken months go by before Laswell stops receiving transmissions.

[arminzblackbimbo]

the girl is mine

blackfem!reader x suicide squad joker

tw: mdni, kinda dark nothing too crazy, rough treatment, slow sex, missionary, choking, reader is kinda a crybaby, biting, hair pulling, nipple play, boob slapping ??, “doll” used as pet name, reader calls him "jay", bruising, blood mentioned, blood sucking, begging, dom joker, they are both kinda masochist, grinding, and bad spelling !!

"doll stop crying" he is holding your shaking form, your head in the crease of his neck. you can hear him gruff out in your ear, he gives you all of these gifts and presents and all he gets in return is tears. no thank you's or kisses.

all you wanted was to get another necklace to add to your jewelry collection, from when he does his nightly robberies he always brings you something back. something shiny that makes you swoon over him. you’ve always wore gold jewelry but just mere minutes earlier joker gave you a silver necklace, knowing you can't stand that color.

you have tears coming down your cheeks, hyperventilating as your face comes out of hiding in his neck to look at him. you can his silver teeth grinding because he is annoyed. " jay, i-i-i’m sorry but i just don’t want that necklace " you stammered out, not getting a chance to collect yourself before he grips the sides of your neck tightly making you a little light headed. you grip his wrist, tears coming down a little faster. your eyes getting glossy while he rolls his.

your chest heaves even with your air flow constricted you let heavy breaths out. watching you as you scratch at his hand at your throat. satisfied to see you gasp out. "be grateful doll, i could snap your neck since your being so rude" he loves how pretty you look when he holds you throat. it makes him harder in his pants. he finally lets you go when he sees your eyes slightly roll back. smiling watching you cough out trying to speak again.

when you speak again your still sniffing, but your voice is now a little raspy. "i just wanted some gold" all the things he does for you and you have the nerve to pout and cry. he is sick of it, the hand that was just at your throat going to grip your hair tightly, causing "ow's" to leave your lips when he uses your hair to move you from the living room to the bedroom

he just laughs while he drags you down the hallway, doing his classic clown laugh that scares you especially when he gets like this. " your just a spoiled thing, ain't you cupcake ?" pulling your hair harder when he shuts the door of your shared bedroom. your lips pouting when you can feel your head throb as he pulls you onto the bed, laying you down next to him

loving how your whine when he presses his fingers into your scalp “jay that hurts” he dismisses your pain. covering your lips with his hand that has that smiling mouth on it. “smile more doll” laughing more at you. playing with your feelings

moving his hand to start kiss your pouting lips roughly to stop your cries. he loves to act like you annoy him when really he is happy with anything that you do. deep down he cares for you deeply and you both know that, its why you act like this. he finally lets your hair go as he lays you down flat on your back. still keeping his lips locked on you while he puts his weight heavily on top of you.

feeling your legs wrap around his waist and arms wrap around his neck tightly. the position making your body start to tingle your done crying, now your body feels hot. his length starts to throb as his tongue moves with yours and spit starts moving past your lips. he is messy with the kisses wanting them his way not slow like how you like them. "please jay" you gasp when your lips pull apart from each other.

"i shouldn't give you anything, always begging and crying" he grumbles against your lips, biting the skin to see you wince. his blue eyes burning into yours watching you intense biting harder into the soft skin of your lip to see the discomfort. he lets you go your lips swelling from the assault.

giving you one last kiss making it sloppy before he is pecking down your neck, where he begins to bite that already bruised skin from his rough hold, his teeth bruising you even more. even though it hurts so bad it feels so good. you’ve grown the love the feeling “jay, i need you please” your pulling him closer to you. holding him securely against you.

he grabs your face between his hand squeezing your checks tightly together “shut up” he mumbles out, coming to look you in the eyes, he can still see the tear marks that are etched into your face. he almost wants to roll his eyes how lovesick he really is, rolling his tongue along your face to collect your dried tears “all the whining im sick of it”

he has to pry your hands off him to help you take your shirt and pants off so he has all the access he needs to mark you up as much as he can. you can feel his silver hit your skin first before anything it makes you shiver with how cold the metal is. running your hands through his soft green hair to just touch him.

he starts his focus near your collar bone where he bites hard enough to make you draw blood, blood that he has to suction his lips around to collect. making you wince and gasp, looking down to the purple pains that are starting to spread across your skin. really when you plead and beg for him it makes him stiffen more in his pants, but he can’t let you know that.

your body wrapped around him again as you crave the attention of his body. he positions his mouth right by your ear “don’t play soft with me sweetheart, i know you like it rough” his voice raspy in your ear when he bites the shell of it while you hiss and whine. running his tongue in the ridges, lifting under you back to help take your bra off. letting it fly across the room when he starts kissing you against your chest, sucking on the skin of your breast

you slightly tug on his hair and he moans so sweetly. you feel the start of you sweating, the arousal giving you a temperature like feeling. your body starting to grind and roll up into him feeling how stiff he is, giving you so much pleasure and he not even inside you yet.

you nearly jumpstart when he suddenly bites your nipple the pain making you jump running his tongue over the pebble and suctioning his lips to soothe the pain. “feel so good” you whispers gripping his hair tighter when he switches to your other breast. sinking his teeth in harder to hear those pretty noise he loves working his hips to build a rhythm into you

letting your breast go, he lifts his head up to just admirers your naked body, reaching his hands to touch all the welts he created. your so cute it makes him aggressive for some reason. sometimes he just wants to squeeze you against him til he can’t anymore.

makes him do things like pressing your breast together roughly. your so adorable he can’t help it, you have to arch your back up for some relief. watching the flesh spill from in between his fingers. he lets them free loving how their decorations he has added to your skin, he pulls his hand back and smacks the mounds of flesh

the static feeling has you jumping, trying to run away from the unique state he has you in when he starts to twist your sore nipples between his thumb and pointer finger. holding them tightly to stretch them as far as they can go. slapping your breast again while he watches them jiggle

he’s infatuated with you, how your body reacts to him, even your crybaby ways. sliding your panties off. “you ready for me doll ?” distracting with a question so he can strip himself of his clothes, waiting for your answer. your mouth to busy watering looking at his body, it’s so sculpted and the different images on his body has you tracing them with your fingertips while you wait for him to finish undressing

your eyes locking on his bobbing thickness when he pulls himself free. “so ready for you” you can feel the wetness leaking from you just looking at him. positioning your body so that your legs are wide open your feet laying on the bed. wide open for him so he can see everything, so he can see you

joker just sees you spread out and it’s like he gets hypnotize. running his hands over your legs to comfort you preparing you. moving closer to your body adjusting to lightly tap the tip of him onto you to feel the stickiness between your folds. “i should punish you, shouldn’t fuck you at all. should make you beg all night” the cream covers him when continues with the motion, your wetness coating him “huh, since you don’t like my gifts ?” he questioned you, working his length between your puffy lips. the moisture helps him when start to roll into you not yet penetrating you. your clit being hit with his spitting head of precum

“jay im sorry” you mew he can already see those tears that he hates so much at the corners of your eyes. “you forgive me ?” you reach out to him your hand running on his flexing core. trying to seduce him to comply with your wants

he ignores you knowing your trying to get him to fall into your trap. he shoves you hand out the way voice gruff. positioning himself to poke into you slowly, you can feel your walls seperating when he moves deep, sucking him in. causing his moans to be animalistic almost sounding like he is growling. and he is still pushing his thicknesss into you.

you feel like you can’t breathe when he meets his pelvis with yours. he can’t even relax, because of your walls gripping him. your plushy walls pulsing while he is inbetween them “doll, your squeezing me so tight” he kisses your check softly. pulling his arms under you to pull you closer to him pressing your chest against his.

you crave the feeling of his soft kissing when he lays his head in your neck. kissing your neck tenderly touching the bruises and letting his tongue roll over them when he starts a gentle pace into you. “j-j-jay your so deep” your mouth right by his ear where he can hear you take ragged breaths

even though he grabs your hair hard making your head throb, makes you throat sore from him always squeezing his hand around it, from him bruising you in bites all over. but whenever he is inside of you he contradicts himself moving slowly. never being rough when he is inside your snug walls. instead he wants you to be rough with him.

his eyes rolling back when you start to grab at his back. your nails dragging on his skin and letting the burning feeling take over body. “scratch me harder baby” his voice light as he begs while he is humping you is so rhythmic the when the top of him catching in the back of your walls on that special spot which makes you grant his wishes. your nails dragging down his skin rougher

your legs have to stay open to make sure you can feel him. feel him almost reaching your cervix, blood coming from his fresh line wounds on his skin. he loves the pain it brings him pleasure, it over takes his body. he craves it from you whenever your walls consume him

he is moving slowly and steadily, making you desperate for just a little more. your fingers running through his soft strands. your fingers are doing the same thing your toes are doing, curling. pushing your fingers into his scalp grabbing tightly at his hair pulling his head back hard

you can see his lip move with each roll of his hips. he is talking to himself quietly, only speaking louder to praise you. he can’t collect himself, the burning in his scalp makes his eyes flutter and his lip come between his teeth. whimpers coming out to your ears.“harder, please fuck me harder” you beg you can feel a simmering feeling in your body

his head whips froward when you let his soft locs go “you know i can’t doll, you know…” his words jumbling together, you only catch the beginning. your legs coming to wrap around to keep him close. your back arching up when he angles his hips just right to hit the back of your walls, his groin rubbing on your clit.

he has to collect his breath when you look so eternal laid out and moaning for him. you wetness coating him so much he has use his knees so that he has proper direction and doesn’t slip into you. he can feel your legs starting shake around his waist. "come on baby you don’t wanna do your favorite part ?”

he knows you have so much love for wrapping your hands around his throat, dominating him makes you feel in charge. but really it’s his favorite part. having to use all your focus to bringing your shaky hands to cut his air supply off holding his neck, not yet adding pressure. "harder doll" his hips still stroking you slow and steady.

he can feels his blood pulse to his length when your cut his air flow off. threatening an early release from him that he has hold you tightly to not spill to quickly. he likes the pain it makes his body buzz. causing the new found piston of his hips.his hips rolling deeply into you while your body start shake more. pressing your thumbs almost makes it seems like your trying to touch the back of his throat.

noticing the whites of his eyes slowly taking over his pupils from the lack of oxygen. his pale neck turned purple with how hard he had you holding him. your hands letting him go watching him gasp and groan. legs around his waist while he strokes you so consistently. his milky skin and his tattoos make you dizzy.

the long strokes makes you start to feel the pit in your stomach, the high creeping up on you. grabbing his lower back with both hands scratching near the base of his back. “jayyy”

your consuming him, controlling him from how your plushness surrounds him, from your nail creating pleasure. the first reaction of you when you can feel the sensation reaching from the tip of your toes to you the ache in your pelvis, from how deep his hips work into yours. is to bite him like how he does you, sinking your teeth in his shoulder

“ugh cupcake, your trynna k-” he shakes on top of you. your both almost at your peak, biting him harder when you can feel the tingles all over your body while your moaning into his skin. “your trynna… trynna” he mumbles more feeling the quake in his loins. while your thighs are trembling faster

you both coming to your high at the same time, pulling him so close to your body, letting him free from your teeth. moaning more “j-jay please” your eyes rolling back when you let your body go. letting the euphoria take over. your whole body shaking while he can feel your walls taking his cum in.

he kisses you to swallow your moans, the sounds vibrating against each other. your arsoual at the same time makes your souls combine together he lets your lips go when your body stopped buzzing. seeing your eyelids flutter close when he pulls out of you

when you wake up from you sex induced nap. your meet with three gold necklaces and 6 golden bracelets gracing your wrist, making you smile dreamily

[potatoplace]

my tears ricochet

Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain

loml (part one)

Story Summary: Azriel meeting you, his mate, throws a wrench in all of his plans, nearly a decade in the making with Elain. He begins his mateship with you, still with Elain all the while telling you that you are the love of his life. But, not every good thing can last.

Warnings: Suicide (more graphic than first chapter imo), heavy angst, alcoholism, infidelity, sex

Words: ~6.2k

Author's Note: and here's the second part, now I have to warn you, the first one didn't make me cry at all. But this one? I was sobbing like Feyre and Az, typing through my tears. Thank you for all of the love you guys showed to loml, it means so much to me to see every comment and note. I hope you all enjoy the final part!

p.s. I almost named it Last Kiss. Taylor is just perfect for angst, I tell ya

18+ only pls

💙🤍💙🩷💙

The wind was rushing through his hair, cooling his body, slightly calming him. But his heart was still racing, his mind panicked.

His mate. He had finally met his mate.

But Elain… they had just started discussing the possibility of having children. And nearly ten years together, ten years of love and comfort.

He’d known this was a possibility, he had just thought it would never happen. That the Mother had made a mistake in not mating him to Elain. But now, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t the love of his life, his sweet, perfect Elain, it was some random woman in the streets of Velaris. Beautiful, yes, but she didn’t hold a flame to Elain’s beauty. Her scent however… a refreshing blend of apples and autumn rain, so overpowering he could hardly smell the air rushing past him, even this far away from her.

He needed to tell Elain. He had to tell her, before he did anything stupid, like turning around and finding the female he had just abandoned in the streets.

They’d discussed what might happen if he ever found his mate, and the possibility of it was why Elain has yet to fully reject the bond with Lucien, though as far as Azriel was aware, the two only saw each other at holiday parties and the occasional family dinner that Lucien attended. They’d decided that if he did find his mate, he would come immediately to Elain and they would talk it through.

So, he flew straight to the townhouse, landing next to Elain where she was kneeling on the grass, tending to her flower garden. “‘Lain,” he started, the tension in his voice causing her to stand up and look at him instantly. “I… I found my mate,” he said, regretting that he even had to say the words.

Tears filled her eyes, and he put his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. “All I did was see her in the street, baby. I left right after and I’m here now.”

Still, she shook her head. “I cannot believe this Azriel. Now?! Now that we’ve decided to try for a family, that’s when you find your mate? This is ridiculous!” Elain vented, and it was truly one of the first times Azriel had seen her angry.

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I wish I would never have seen her, I only love you.”

“You don’t know that you wouldn’t love her,” Elain scoffed. “But you have a decision to make. Are you going to reject the bond.”

Azriel opened his mouth, not quite believing how bold Elain was being. “I don’t know. That’s not exactly a decision to make lightly, Elain. You know that.”

“Oh, really? This again? Just because I haven’t rejected Lucien doesn’t mean that you don’t have to make a decision, Azriel.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow at her, shocked by her hypocrisy. “Then you have one to make as well, Elain. Lucien or I? Which will it be?” Elain opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it. “Exactly. It’s not as easy as you thought, is it?”

Elain sighed, her shoulders slumping forward. “Fine. You can get to know her, if you’d like. But the moment you want it to turn to something more, come find me again. Until then… let’s just continue as normal,” she suggested, pushing up on her tip-toes to give Azriel a kiss on the lips before scrunching her nose. “Ugh, I can smell her on you. Let’s go take a bath, hmm?” She led Azriel by the hand to her room, undressing him as she pushed him towards the bathroom.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

It was two weeks later, and Azriel had prepared himself enough mentally to seek out his mate. It didn’t take long, seeing as two of his shadows had followed her back to her home, reporting to him that she had spent the past fortnight crying herself to sleep and barely leaving the house except for her work.

He flew over to her house, an adorable one bedroom that had a nice porch on the front, and a stained glass door depicting the season of autumn, leaves changing color as they fall from a tree and landing in a pile at the bottom. The pale orange paint on the exterior was faded slightly, chipping away in places, but besides that the home looked well cared for.

He steeled himself, then walked towards that beautiful door, knocking carefully on its surface. It was time to get to know his mate.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

3 Months Later

Elain stared at him, obviously not believing what Azriel just told her as they stood in their shared bedroom.

“You want to be with her?”

Azriel sighed. Truly, he wanted both females to stay in his life, but that was impossibility. “Yes, Elain. I’ve… I’ve fallen for her, over the past few months.”

Elain hissed, her outrage making itself known. “A few months?!” She screeched at him. “You’re going to throw away a decade over a few months?!”

“I’m not… I’m not throwing it away, Elain, this is something I have to do. She’s my mate,” he sighed. He didn’t want to argue with her. “I don’t want you to leave my life, either. But the connection between us… it’s always there. I can feel her all the time, Elain, and I don’t want to do you a disservice by being unfaithful to you in my heart.”

Elain, who up until this point had been glaring at him, looked off into the distance, contemplating.

“So, don’t leave my life,” she stated plainly.

“I… what?” Azriel asked in disbelief.

“Stay in my life, stay with me, and you can have your little mate. Just as long as you know that you come home to me after missions, after anything important. I take precedence over her. And she won’t be welcome at any family gatherings. If they ask about her, say that she’s better suited as a friend.”

She said it all as if it was simple, as if it made sense. So Azriel believed her.

Because that way, he could have the female he’d loved for so long, and he could also have his mate.

It was truly the best of both worlds.

“Alright, Elain. That’s a fair enough deal. Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?” He asked, prowling towards her and grabbing her by the waist.

“Oh, Azzie, I promise I’ll be fine with it. Do I love that you might fuck another female? No, but as long as I can send you to her covered in my scent, I’ll be fine,” Elain purred, running a hand up his chest.

“Oh?” Azriel smirked down at her, taking her face in his hand. “And how will you do that?” He breathed in her ear, kissing her neck gently.

“I have a few ways. Come to the bed and I’ll show you, Azzie.”

Matching grins covered their faces as Azriel picked her up and tossed her gently on the bed.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would tell Y/N that he wanted to be serious.

Tonight, however… tonight he would spend worshipping Elain’s body like the goddess she is deserves.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

5 Years Later

Shit, Azriel thought to himself. Shit shit shit.

He was late. So, very late.

Elain had wanted him to spend the night together, but it was his and Y/N’s fifth anniversary the next morning.

So, he’d left in the middle of the night after his mate’s breathing had evened out, flying off in the direction of the town house. He landed in front of a simpering Elain, obviously pleased with how the night was playing out.

They had spent the night wrapped in each other, falling asleep under the sheets together as the new day dawned upon them.

Azriel had, of course, planned ahead for the possibility of sleeping in a bit too long to return home before his mate awoken, a bouquet of roses, sapphire blue for him and a pale yellow for his sweet, sunshiney mate, and love note on the nightstand. He’d also left out a coffee and book he’d spent an agonizing amount of time convincing his mate’s favorite author to give him in advance of the commercial release on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t thought that he’d be so late though, the sun having risen nearly to the halfway point in the sky.

He only hoped his mate wouldn’t scent Elain’s arousal, still mixed heavily with his scent. She had never said anything in the past, and he believed she wouldn’t now.

With the speed he was flying towards her house, most of it should be whisked off of him by the time he reached her.

Once he landed, he made sure to take a moment to collect himself, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open, greeted by his mate’s lovely scent, coming from the window seat to the right of the door.

You ran to him, and he greeted you with his arms first, the weight of you so perfect in his arms, as though the two of you were carved out of the same flesh, finally put back together for the moment.

The day was perfect, ending with the two of you snuggled together in bed.

The dagger you had gifted him was perfect, ornate enough to be worn on his belt during ceremonies, and the curved blade had fascinated him at first. He realized that you had meant it more as a way to keep you with him on his missions, rather than to do much killing. Though, it would make some wicked stab wounds, possibly helpful in interrogations. However, he didn’t think he could bear using something so precious as a gift from you during the… messier parts of his occupation.

Nonetheless, it was a perfect, thoughtful gift, and he loved it, loved you so deeply.

He sighed.

It was nights like these when his conscious kicked in, reminding him of the traitorous double life he was living. Sure, Elain was well aware of the situation, maybe not of the depth of his emotions towards you, but that wasn’t something she needed to know.

You, however… you were completely in the dark, unaware that the best friend he went on about is really his life partner of a decade and a half.

He felt so guilty, but he didn’t know how to stop, with either one of you. Elain, they had so much history and you, well, you are his mate, the person the Mother had made just for him.

He breathed in your scent, his mind relaxing as he did so. Azriel reminded himself that he still had six years left before he needed to make a true decision between the two perfect females.

Six years didn’t feel like near enough time, it felt almost cruel that he had to limit himself to a decade until he made a decision about the mating bond. He supposed Elain didn’t know that detail, either.

And now that you wanted to meet his family… well. That decision may end up coming sooner rather than later.

It all depended on how he swung it.

He knew that Elain would be difficult to convince, but he believed he would be able to. His plan was to inform the family to not make any comments about his and Elain’s relationship, and tell them that you knew about them but are still very sensitive to the subject, preferring to avoid it overall. They already knew that the you and Azriel are “friends,” Azriel having been unable to keep you a complete secret from his nosy family.

Azriel had to make it happen, or you would know something is off.

He was lucky, all things considered, that you had waited five years to ask to meet his family.

The next morning after a nice lie-in with you, he took off for the townhouse, ready to rip the gauze off. He approached Elain, in the gardens as she normally was this time of day, working on the garden before the heat climbed up too high.

“Elain, can we talk in our room?” He asked her, relieved when she followed him without question.

“What is it?” She questioned, knowing he was here with a purpose.

“Y/N wants to meet the family.”

Elain immediately started to shake her head, infuriated by the idea. “No. No, Azriel! We agreed that she would not enter our lives before you started this, that won’t change now.”

“Baby, it would just be one dinner, I will tell her not to show any affection towards me, and her curiosity will be satisfied, I promise.”

Elain thought about it for a moment, her face still pinched in anger, before it relaxed in resignation. “If this dinner is to happen, you will fuck me in this very room while she sits in the living room. If not, my answer is no, Azriel.”

Azriel considered it, the nodded, knowing it was his only way forward. And, he couldn’t deny that the thought of fucking Elain with you in the next room excited him, the riskiness of it so tempting.

“Then, inform the rest of the family. Tell them whatever you need to to keep your silly little relationship with your mate a secret. I will not be embarrassed by this, Azriel,” Elain warned, a danger in her eyes.

“Thank you, Elain.” He moved in towards her, and whispered lowly in her ear, “The sex we will have in here on that night will rival every other time we’ve been together, baby.” A shiver ran down Elain’s spine, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“It better, Azzie. Otherwise I just might crush her heart myself,” She said in a sweet tone, but Azriel took it as the threat it was.

Still, as long as everything went to plan, he will keep his two females as his, for years to come.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

The dinner went perfectly, Y/N feeling insecure, while it pained him, truly worked out for the better. The less comfortable that first meeting had felt, the less likely she was to insist on attending another family dinner.

Over the next few months, he could tell you were preparing something, most likely some kind of surprise for his birthday. Every year, you outdid yourself. When he was in town- or rather, not with Elain- you would wake him up with his favorite pastries from his favorite café, or his favorite dish from Kalia’s, a wonderful little breakfast restaurant located along the Sidra. And every year, you gave him a different custom made item, from the spider silk gloves that were fire and tear proof to the fortified, comfortable boots that he wore to this day.

During that time as well, Elain was becoming bolder with her requests of his time, drawing him away most nights after you fell asleep, only to return a few hours later, slipping back into your bed with jasmine and honey coating his senses.

That didn’t matter though, not when he was more enamored with you than ever. You were so kind, so focused on his happiness, he hardly deserved the honor of being your mate. The guilt of the situation had been weighing on him heavily, especially when he had felt you measuring his ring finger while you believed him to be dead asleep.

He was nearly ready to cut things off with Elain, her attitude as of late was bitter and angry, and while he avoided bringing you up around her, every time he did she said something condescending about you. The only problem was their history with each other, so many years that they had been together, and realized that he would be throwing it away, there was no way that Elain would ever be fine only being his friend, and seeing you near her family. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Elain attempted to take your life, her hatred of you ran that deeply.

He’d realized things were getting to dangerous territory when you had come back to your house, gushing to Azriel about how you and Elain might be becoming friends, and how you could see why Azriel liked her so much, she’s just so nice.

It was the day before his birthday now, and he had just returned to your home when you burst through the doors, bags filling your arms.

“Azriel!” You exclaimed, quickly walking over to the counter to deposit the bags, then made your way to your mate. You leaned up, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. “Listen, I know this will sound a little weird, but I’d like you to stay at your spare room in the townhouse tonight, if you’re willing. I want to set up a little surprise for you here,” you tell him, a smile gracing your face, and a matching expression lit up his face. “I’ll come get you in the morning, around 9 if that sounds reasonable to you?”

“Of course, babydoll,” he replied, claiming your mouth again in kiss more heated than the last. “Do I have to leave at this very moment?”

You hummed, your body relaxing against him as he kissed down your neck. “No, not yet, mate. You can stick around for a while.”

“Hmm, so I can take my sweet, thoughtful mate into our bedroom and devour her like the goddess she is?” He asked, already lifting you by your ass, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips.

“I’d love that, Az,” you say, peppering kisses along his jawline as he carried you to the bed.

He left a few hours later, walking back to the townhouse at a slow pace, reminiscing on the feeling of your skin and soft sighs, how much he was looking forward to whatever you’re planning for tomorrow.

He entered the townhouse a few minutes later, breezing into his room that he shares with Elain. She was inside, already naked on the bed and touching herself.

“Oh, Azzie, I’m so glad you could make it,” she said, pouncing towards him the moment the door snicked shut behind him. Once she reached him, though, she wrinkled her nose. “Let’s go get you in the bath, Azzie, I don’t want to kiss you while you smell so gross.” Elain pushed him towards the bath, where they spent a good hour basking in each other’s presence before making their way to the bed. They remained there until dinner, getting a quick meal from the kitchen before returning to the haven.

The night passed quickly, and Elain woke him by sucking his cock to life, the climbing on top of him. She rode him at a slow, torturous pace for a few minutes, before he tired her teasing and flipped her onto her back, continuing their activities, even as the door to their room opened wide, a gasp sounding from the doorway, and Elain’s arms wrapped tighter around his neck, legs wrapping around his hips, pressing his lower half tighter against her.

The scent hit him- autumnal rain and sweet apples- and his blood ran cold. He wanted to run, wanted to explain to you, but the grip of Elain’s heavenly cunt was too much, and he finished inside of her, pulling out as soon as he was able to.

His eyes were wide, he could barely process the situation, he tried to sit up and look at the doorway, but Elain’s grip around his neck was tighter than he expected. She was grinning from ear to ear, looking positively pleased with herself.

“Elain, I need to go talk to her,” he stated frantically, still attempting to pull away from her gently. He could hear her yelling outside, Feyre’s soft voice following it.

“No, you don’t Azriel. She just saw you cheating on her, she’ll want nothing to do with you now,” Elain declared proudly.

Azriel furrowed his brow at her, a sinking feeling in his gut, and he looked at the clock- only 8 in the morning. “Did you know she was going to show up this early?” He questioned, hoping the answer was no. If it was yes…

“Of course, it was my idea to have you stay here last night.” Her voice held no remorse, and Azriel pried her hands from his neck and sat up, moving to the edge of the bed.

He placed his head in his hands, panic overtaking his mind.

His mate… his sweet, kind, caring, attentive mate… had just seen him fucking Elain, her supposed friend. Fuck. This is bad.

He got up, throwing on a pair of leathers as quickly as he could, before Elain’s hand caught his.

“You’re seriously going after her? What the fuck is wrong with you, Azriel?!” She yelled at him, before Feyre’s voice cut through.

“What in the hells is wrong with you, Azriel?! You’re not only cheating on Elain, but Y/N didn’t even know the two of you were together?! How could you do that to your mate?!”

Elain’s anger was one thing, more unsettling than anything else, but Feyre’s? Feyre’s rage was terrifying, and Azriel had the common sense to cower as night coalesced around her.

It was then that he noticed his shadows had left him, and he could still hear them screaming about Y/N from wherever they had ran to.

“Feyre, I know how bad it seems, but I never meant for her to get hurt. And Elain knew about my relationship with her, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with it without her approval,” he said, trying to get the truth out before Feyre eviscerated him.

Elain scoffed, grabbing her nightgown from the floor next to their bed.

Azriel turned to cock a brow at her, daring her to voice whatever was rattling around in her head.

“You should have cut her sorry ass off years ago, Azzie. She’s not worthy of you, she never has been, and she never will be,” Elain spat at him, just as his gut fell through the floor and to the core of the earth.

The bond- the precious, delicate string tying you to him- severed in a single moment.

He dropped to his knees, a wail leaving his body of its own accord, the grief striking him in every nerve ending of his body as your presence left him, as he was left with a gaping hole in his soul that you used to occupy.

“Azriel?” Feyre called frantically, shaking him by the shoulders, but he could do nothing more than to loose gut wrenching cries of pain at the loss of his mate.

Rhys appeared a moment later, diving into his mind with a gentleness he did not deserve.

“Y/N…” he sighed, a tear rolling down his face. “She’s died.”

“Died?!” Feyre exclaimed. “She was just in the garden fifteen minutes ago, how could she have-?” She cut herself off, realizing exactly what happened. “Rhys, get her address from him.”

He did as she said, and she bolted away, leaving Rhys, Elain, and Azriel in the room.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

Feyre

She sprinted through the streets, making her way to the area that Rhys said your house was located in. It was orange, with a stained glass door according to Azriel’s memories.

Feyre still couldn’t believe what he had done, how he had betrayed his mate.

You was awkward at times, yes, and a little shy, but you were so sweet and it was obvious to Feyre how much you cared for Azriel- obviously not the way you cared for him, but the amount was there, always shining through your actions.

Once Feyre arrived at your house, she stopped to stare at it for a moment. The light orange and pretty stained glass window suited you, calming in nature and gave off a similar presence’s to the autumnal scent you gave off. She prepared herself as she approached the door, taking a few deep breaths before turning the knob.

Feyre still wasn’t prepared for the sight before her.

You were laying in a pool of blood- your blood- and covered in Azriel’s shadows. She rushed forward, and the shadows moved away from your neck, revealing the large gash there. A dagger was in your hands, and Feyre sobbed, pawing at your neck in an attempt to make the bleeding stop somehow, even as she could hear no heartbeat, no breathing coming from your chest.

The wound was hardly seeping anything as it was, but Feyre couldn’t believe it. You didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to leave so alone, so in pain.

Her tears fell on your body, and after a few moments she pulled your head into her lap, and recited the prayer she had learned all that time ago, back in Spring.

“Mother hold you. May you pass through the gates. May you smell that immortal land of milk and honey,” she finished. She whispered a final, added phrase. “May your next life be kinder to you, Y/N.”

Feyre stood, reaching out to Rhys through her mind.

“How is Az?”

Rhys sighed. “He’s not doing well, we haven’t been able to move him or get him to do anything cry cry,” he admitted, worrying in his tone. “How’s… how is Y/N?”

“She’s gone, Rhys. She took her own life,” Feyre cried through the bond. “Can you or Cassian come and help me move her to Madja’s office? We should… we should have her prepared for a funeral as soon as we can.”

“Of course, darling, I’ll send Cassian to help you. I’d like to be with Az in case he needs to be knocked out for his own good.”

Cassian arrived a few agonizing minutes later, and after stumbling into the house, stopped and gasped in horror. “Y/N!” He cried, moving quickly towards where Feyre was stood next to your cooling body.

“I know, Cassian. It’s awful, she didn’t deserve any of this,” Feyre said sadly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We need to move her, though.”

Cassian nodded and stooped over, collecting your limp body in his arms. The shadows were still gathered around your body, hiding as much of you from view as possible. They shifted just right, though, and Feyre caught sight of the knife belt resting upon your hips, tightened so much that she knew the belt was meant as a gift, having seen the dropped bags outside of Azriel’s door when she went to confront him.

She carefully pulled the belt of off you, noticing that the dagger you had used… matched the ones still secured in the belt.

You had used the gift you most likely intended for Azriel, to end your life. That hurt Feyre’s heart even more.

The two of them walked somberly towards Madja’s office, stares lingering on them and the body covered in shadows and held in Cassian’s arms.

They arrived in a few minutes, and Cassian gently set your body down on a stretcher Madja’s had set up in the back, the shadows still clinging relentlessly to your body, refusing to leave you even in death. Madja’s soft smile greets the both of them when they turn around.

“Rhys told me what happened, he said to prepare the body as soon as possible, is that correct?”

Feyre nodded in agreement, “Yes, just let us know when she is ready for the funeral, please, Madja.

“Of course Feyre. I’ll contact you once it’s done.”

With that, the two left the clinic, heading back toward your home to clean it up as much as they could.

💙🤍💙🩷💙

Azriel

His world was shattered. He watched as your coffin was lowered into the ground only two days after his birthday, the sky bright and sunny, just how you always loved it. But Azriel could barely stand in its rays, so overtaken with grief and rage at himself.

He had found the box among the remains of the presents you dropped at his door when you saw him fucking- he couldn’t even bear to think her name anymore.

The two rings, so perfectly Azriel that it made him sob harder than before.

You had always known exactly how to design something to scream his name, always known what he would prefer to have as a gift.

Azriel had wanted to place the ring made for your fingers on you before you were buried, but he couldn’t bear to sully your… your corpse with his hands.

He also didn’t deserve to have a ring matching one that you wear in your grave, he had betrayed you so thoroughly. So he kept the both of them.

Time passed so slowly now.

It was like the world had stopped moving once you passed, the broken tether to your soul holding him in place, not allowing him to move past the moment of your death.

He left the rings in his nightstand, pulling the box out when the pain became too much to bear. He had purchased your home, finally moving all of his things in, like he should have while you were alive.

Even though your life had ended here, he felt closest to you inside the four walls where your relationship had blossomed, bringing you out of your shy, anxious, and adorable little shell.

Azriel barely left the house anymore, only leaving when his family forced him, or the hunger in his stomach became unbearable enough that he ventured out to your favorite restaurant and ordered your favorite dish, just one more way to get any semblance of closeness to you again.

The first six months since your passing were hell. Absolute hell.

The broken string within him chafed with every breath, only subsiding when he drowned himself in vodka enough that he couldn’t see straight, passing out into an oblivion where you still existed, where his heart still beat your name happily, not in the overwhelming loss that had made it lose its rhythm.

His family had dragged him out tonight into their townhome, insisting that they hadn’t seen him in so long and they needed to get together.

He was feeling an extra pain, today. It was the anniversary of the beginning of your mateship. It would have been the sixth, if you were still here.

So, he strung the two rings on a silver chain, looping it over his head and wearing it over the top of his jacket. With them on, he felt like your presence was with him. One of the few remaining things he owned of you.

Feyre had given him the knife belt a month after your funeral, and he had promptly shoved it into the lowest drawer of the dresser. He knew, he just knew that one of those knives had been the end of you-

But that wasn’t true.

He was the end of you.

Azriel sighed. That train of thought wouldn’t make getting through this night easier. One thing might, however.

He stood up from the couch he was seated on and made his way over to the drink cart, pouring a generous amount of vodka into a crystal glass.

You had commented on the glasses your second dinner here, admiring the way they caught the light.

Tears burned at his eyes, and he downed half of the glass in one gulp, the burn distracting him enough that he didn’t jump when Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, brother. Will you be coming to the training ring again soon?” He asked, his tone gentle.

“We’ll see, Cassian,” Azriel answered, the one that he had given Cassian the past four times he had dared to ask the Shadowsinger.

“Okay, hopefully sometime soon. Or we could go out for a meal, just the two of us, hm? Just like the old days when we were stuck here, it could be fun,” Cassian suggested, and Azriel nodded in agreement just to get him to stop asking.

Cassian walked away, and Azriel could see him making a pointed expression at Feyre, probably urging her to come talk to him. He downed the rest of his drink, and poured another of the same amount.

By the time he had sat back down on the couch, Feyre was joining him.

She didn’t say anything, just sat with him as he sipped on his drink, relishing in the burn it carved through him.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Azriel’s left hand crept out, grasping Feyre’s right. The tears that had burned his eyes for six months, six long months of drinking himself to sleep as the tear in his soul grew, consuming him whole, had begun to fall, carving lines into his skin. Feyre’s hand squeezed his, and when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, she thankfully had her eyes turned away from him, giving him the privacy he needed.

A minute or an hour could have passed before Azriel stood abruptly, making for the front door. He burst through it, tears still streaming down his face as he walked home as quickly as he could, the alcohol doing more to him now that he had lost weight from so many skipped meals. He could hear footsteps behind him, and if he dared enough it bet on anything anymore, he would say it’s Feyre.

She had told him at the funeral how guilty she felt for not realizing that Y/N was a danger to herself, but Azriel had brushed her off, telling her it was no one’s fault but his own.

Azriel knew she still carried it, though.

“I don’t need a minder, Feyre,” he drawled, slowing his pace so she could catch up from where she had been following him at a distance.

“From my eyes, you do Az.”

Her concerned tone made him sigh, the tears flowing even more freely now. He didn’t want to worry anyone, he simply wanted to waste away into nothing.

“I will be fine, Feyre, I promise,” he reassured her once she was at his side, though he didn’t fully believe it himself. “Just go home, go enjoy the dinner everyone has been slaving over for hours, Feyre.”

It was Feyre’s turn to sigh. “Do you promise you’ll eat something tonight?”

Azriel nodded his head.

Another sigh. “I suppose I’ll head back, then. Be safe please, Azriel. We love you. I love you. Remember that, okay?”

Azriel nodding again, swallowing a sob until he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore. He finally reached your house, opening the beautiful door that you loved so much.

He loved that you’d had it custom made, wanting something to honor your Autumn heritage, so far from home. He closed it, running a hand along its surface.

You had loved everything fiercely, him included, even if he didn’t deserve it in any way.

You had loved your mystery books, your coffee, trying out new blends of tea you had made from herbs you’d grown in your small garden.

Then there were the things about him that you loved. His eyes, his hair. You always loved both of those. His hands… you had never shied away from them, in fact you had pulled them towards you, nuzzling your face into them whenever he was feeling insecure about them. You kissed every inch of them so often, Azriel had begun to love the scars, love the way you were able to make them beautiful.

Now though… he couldn’t think of them as anything but the hands that had sullied you, touching you after touching that other female.

Azriel made his way to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of vodka and your favorite, sapphire blue mug. He poured the liquid until the mug was nearly overflowing, and knocked back as much of it as he could managed in one go, a few drops trailing down his chin.

He regretted so many things in his life, but the way he had hurt you was the one he wished he could take back, at least trade his life for yours. You deserved to live, with your soft heart and open mind. Not him, with his unfaithfulness and betrayal of the worst degree.

His mate.

His mate!!!

He could hardly believe that six months had passed already, six months since that dreadful day.

Six months since your last kiss.

He could almost picture you now, as he walked into your bedroom. It had been on your bed, you were still naked from the earlier activities the two of you had indulged in. Azriel had just gotten his shirt on, and you made an adorable kissy noise, puckering your lips dramatically to draw him back to you. He hadn’t been able to resist, leaning back down and capturing your lips softly with his, tilting your chin up towards him gently with two fingers. It had been soft, sweet, all that he ever needed for the rest of his life.

But it was the last one. The last one, and he hadn’t even known it at the time.

And it was all. His. Fault.

Azriel sank down onto the bed, taking another large gulp of his drink. It was really kicking in now, he felt almost like he could sleep. Draining the rest of the cup, he placed it on the nightstand and laid down on his side of the bed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost trick himself into thinking you were there, sleeping beside him, almost hear your breathing and heart’s rhythm next to him.

He drifted off while clutching the pair of rings still around his neck, his heart still beating that broken, dying music that still sang your name.

Taglist: @j-pendragonx

[phyrestartr]

Heyyy I'm not sure if you take requests but I have an idea-

Reincarnated! Husband sukuna x Dead spouse (husband) Male Reader: this one is kind of like sukuna fucks up a lot, I think this can work out as an omegaverse? He cheats, fucks around, or doesn't even give af about m reader who is his fated pair, but then m! reader died and since they were mated he's like “shit I can't live without him” so he tries to be good to him the next life and they have happy family the end.

Replay (This Time I'll Get It Right) | Sukuna x Male!Reader (Part 1 of 2)

W/C: 1.6k #alpha!sukuna, omega!reader, mentions of suicide, mentions of murder, ABO dynamics, mentions of stalking, mentions of toxic exes, sukuna sucks, sukuna sucks less eventually, reincarnation, next lives, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, toxic relationships, infidelity/cheating

NOTE: Thank you for your patience!! It's still not quite done, but I wanted to post the first part up while i think of the rest of the story (got a vague idea of how it'll go, so should come out soon). Ty for the req!

tags: @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @memedealer-exe @tr4nniez @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @memedealer-exe @silvern1006

♪ Here With Me - d4vd

♪ Watch the sunrise along the coast

As we’re both getting old ♪

Sukuna puffed on a cigarette, staring out at the city lights. You always liked coming here, to this little cliff hanging above the city–especially when you were stuck on lyrics or tabs of whatever song you were working on. This hillside spot was cheesy and stupid, but you loved the way it felt like an old-school chick flick when you drove up here in your beater.

In this spot, Sukuna realized you had an old soul, one that basked in the simple, mundane things like stargazing and city-watching. It was a step away from feeding pigeons in the park, your producer decided. The way that made you laugh still sent his heart on a wild chase. That, too, was the first moment he realized he wanted you more than just a collaborator. 

And, maybe, if he had pushed aside the partying, the drugs, the women, he might’ve bothered checking his phone. He might’ve been able to apologize for wrongs done and words said, to get back on the right track. He might've not found out about you on the news. Maybe he could have given you everything you wanted–

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. 

♪ I can’t describe what I’m feeling

And all I know is we’re going home ♪

Even after locking you down and starting on that stupid journey to start a family, his spirit still yearned to wander free. 

So it did. 

Primal wants controlled him. He allowed them to steer him away from the safety of your touch and into the gnashing jaws of excitement, of danger. All because the two of you were starting to make it–you were starting to leave your mark on this world, and Sukuna let the fame and greed get to him. 

But how could he not jump at the chance to fuck the famous and infamous? How could he stay faithful to just you, a smalltown boy, when big city celebrities reached out to him, pulling him into big deals and bigger beds? How could he–

His phone blitzed to life again, ringing in the hollow quiet of a too-expensive car. The call went to voicemail, leaving him in the pits of Tartarus again, drowning in the frigid rain beating against his car windows like a million bullets trying to seek the death penalty.

Did angels do that? Take revenge for their own kind? He’d understand it. Jin, an angel in his own right, exiled his Luciferian twin from the celestial plane, barring him from what was left of that tiny spark of love and hope he called “family.” 

♪ So please don’t let me go, oh

Don’t let me go ♪

His phone rang again. He remembered picking it up once upon a time, listening to your shaky voice as you told him the worst and best news he’d ever heard in his entire existence: “I’m pregnant.” 

Sukuna didn’t know what true fear and excitement were until that moment. You laughed through waterworks, lifted by Sukuna’s uncontrolled motor-mouthing and celebrating as he hooted and hollered on the other line. The women your husband was with gave him weird looks, but he didn’t care–you were pregnant. You were going to–

You were going to have his kid. His pup. A shared little joy, a spark of hope for the future. And then–then someone took that away. 

The sorry waste of life, the obsessive ex you vehemently feared, left behind a note for whomever found the tragedy: “I'll take care of them from now on.”

Sukuna knew there had to be more to it, there had to be more of an explanation, but the media wasn't interested; they only wanted to use and abuse your name and face for articles and news reports, not to reminisce on you nor the woe of a murder-suicide.

How come no one cared? Why did no one fucking care?

♪ Save your tears, it’ll be okay

All I know is you’re here with me ♪

He snapped. Sukuna kicked the dashboard. His boot cracked against the console again and again and again until your siren song died in a quick fit of static. He crashed his heel into the broken screen a dozen more times, each impact punching shout after shout out of his tight throat as the weight of the fucking sky collapsed on him. He wasn’t Atlas. He couldn’t hold it up. He never could, not by himself.

Sukuna heaved in breaths. His stomach swirled and churned with nausea. He held his head and leaned back, screaming into the thunder that shook the world with a vital roar, hiding heartbroken howls.

Why? Why? Why? 

“Deep breaths, Sukuna,” your voice cooed. It came from the darkness, from the forgotten corners of his mind. Why were–ah, right. He’d been here before, overcome with agony and grief. Unable to breathe, unable to cope, unable to exist.  

He followed your instructions. 

“In. Out. In. Out.”

In. Out. In. Out.

The phone rang again. Sukuna answered. He hoped whoever it was would tell him this was all just a bad joke. A bad dream. It wasn’t real. 

“Finally,” Wasuke sighed on the other end of the line. “Kid, where the fuck are you?”

Sukuna stared up at the roof of the car. Words smeared and oozed like molasses in his mind. He couldn’t understand the words he knew he could understand. 

“Sukuna.” 

“What the fuck do I do?” Sukuna asked. His voice quivered. Chipped and cracked.

His father fell quiet. But he was wise. So fucking wise and so good at everything that came with life and death, morality and love. 

“Become a better man,” he said, like it was so simple. 

Sukuna scoffed. “H-How the fuck–”

“Quiet, kid.” Wasuke sighed. “That boy loved you. He had faith in you as a partner and a father. Remember that. Honour that, and become the man he knew you could be.”

Sukuna didn’t know his heart could break more, but it did. 

He sobbed. To his father, to himself, to you, to that unborn joy, to whatever fuckhead created life and love in the first place. He cried for forgiveness, for a second shot. 

“I’ll try,” Sukuna bit out. “I’ll try.” 

–

♪ I wish I could live through every memory again

Just one more time before we float off in the wind ♪

Sukuna woke up to that song. It was the same one that played in his nightmares, the same one that robbed him of sleep until he lost his mind and–and–

“What the fuck happened?” Sukuna croaked to whatever singing nymph fluttered around him. 

The damn song stopped, leaving Sukuna in just a second of tumultuous silence. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

The rhythmic chirping of some machine–a heart monitor, maybe? A metronome?--kicked up into double time, jamming an ice pick into his skull further and further with every hellish second that passed by. He could almost hear the radio static, the warp of a ballad calling to him. And it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop? Why? Why? Why?

“Hey,” your voice cooed. Your hand rested atop of Sukuna's and squeezed. “Can you hear me?” 

Sukuna cracked a tired eye open to look up at you; you were perfect. God-given. A blessing he needed to see right now with your gentle eyes and kind smile, the gentle scent of lavender and vanilla cutting through the disgusting sterility of the room. 

“Can hear you,” Sukuna rasped. His hand tried to turn to hold yours, and you helped by slipping your palm into his. His heart rate slowed with the rhythm of the machine. 

You nodded and covered your clasped hands with your other one. “Good. You probably don't remember, but you were in an accident. A car side-swiped you when you were on your motorcycle.”

“No shit.” 

“Yes shit. But you're alright. Would recommend wearing a helmet from now on.” You pat his hand before slipping both of yours free. “I'll call the doctor and your family. They'll be glad to know you're awake, Itadori-san.” 

He wanted to ask you to stay. He didn't want you to go, not right then, maybe not at all. 

But you flashed him another comforting smile and slipped out of the room before he could object.

–

His father came by. Jin and his son, too. Uraume and Yorozu scolded him for not wearing a helmet. The ragtag group of hooligans he unfortunately associated with (just for the sake of going to their fancy-ass parties, he reasoned) came and went, too; Gojo gave him headaches, Getou made it worse, Ieiri wasn’t so bad.

Then there was you. You were always humming some sort of tune, whether it be the song from his nightmares or something he'd never heard before. Sukuna liked it, the sound of your voice, but you'd always clam up the second you realized someone might hear. 

It led him to pretend to be asleep far too many times during his recovery. Your songs eased his wildfire spirit, let it simmer down and curl up comfortably in a ring of stones to keep those near safe and warm without the fear of being burned alive. Hell, they could probably even make some s’mores if they wanted. 

Eventually, though, Sukuna wanted to know more. And what better person to ask than the burgeoning med student herself?

“Oh, [Name]?” Ieiri asked, sitting beside Sukuna’s bed and looking over the machines connected to Sukuna with rapt attention. “He’s a new-ish nurse from what I get. Pretty cute, huh? Apparently passed his exams no problem and–” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “If you don’t know relevant shit then just–”

“He’s single. Omega. Likes men. Kinda older than us. Gojo and Getou got rejected already.” 

That shut Sukuna up. 

[gotham-daydreams]

First Sightings

Day 1 {Challenge Masterlist}

It's just another day in Gotham, until it isn't.

[Yandere Batfam × Gender Neutral! Cop Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Suicide and brief mentions of blood.](Note: Unless otherwise specified, it's to be believed that actions involved with harming, hurting, or heavily injuring the self are not talking about the Batfamily or the reader. Still, you have been warned.)

Just some set up, enjoy!

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

It was another bright day in Gotham. With traffic bustling, the streets full of all sorts of people, and everyone going about their daily lives, as if the city they lived in wasn’t so dangerous after all.

Duke was doing his usual patrols, staring bright and early as always - wanting to prove himself just as capable as his siblings as always, along with just generally trying to keep everyone safe while the rest of his family got some much needed rest. This is his city too, after all, and Duke would be damned if anything happened to it on his watch.

Though, as always, there wasn’t much to do. Even if there was the occasional petty criminal that tried to do some small crime they thought they could get away with - like now, with some shady guy running away with a… potted plant? Geez, Duke never thought someone would steal just for some home decor, but hey, he’s seen people try to steal weirder and smaller things during his life for one reason or another.

“Hey! Heads up!” He shouts, not giving the criminal any time to react as he already deals a swift kick to their back, knocking them down to the ground. The pot in their hands goes flying in the air as they let go of it unexpectedly, but Duke is swift to catch it, and keeps his foot on the criminal’s back. “Where are you even planning to bring this? You don’t even have a car to get away in? Man, you are seriously unprepared.” Duke chuckles, raising a brow as he looks down at the criminal. Just where was this guy planning to go, anyway? Back home? To wherever his other criminal friends are? Who knows, though Duke didn’t have enough information to really guess, now that he thought about it. This guy was unprepared, more so than Duke was expecting, actually.

Nevertheless, a petty crime is still a crime, prepared or not. So, going through the usual routine of his with things like this, Duke just restrained the criminal, and notified the GCPD as always.

While Duke was doing that, the criminal seemed to shake their head, and looked around, as if snapping out of a trance. The man’s brows furrow, and he looks to the young vigilante - only to struggle when he realizes what the young hero is doing, “HEY! What’s the big idea?! Let go of me you- you yellow weirdo!” The man barks out, actions as rough as his voice.

Again, Duke chuckles, “Nothing much, just handling petty thievery. Say, what was your idea for the pot? Doing some home decoration or something?” The man looks at the vigilante, seemingly more confused than before.

“The hell are you talkin’ about? I didn’t do nothin’-!” “Right, okay. I know it’s just one pot, but it’s still something that isn’t yours. Honestly, I’m just wondering why you didn’t pay for it, and only just stole one of them-”

“I DIDN’T TAKE NOTHIN’ EITHER!” The man shouts, only to take a quick breath when he sees that all the barking isn’t doing much, “Look- I dunno what you’re on about, I was just trying to go about my day! Now, if you would just let me go, I’m sure we could clear this whole understanding-!”

Duke sighs, “Are you even from around here? Seriously, who do you think you’re trying to fool with all that bullshit?”

The man scoffs, pointedly looking away, and ignoring the stares people give as they pass. “Fine, whatever, then.” He mumbles gruffly, seemingly giving up… that is, until, Duke is almost finished tying him up - then the man suddenly springs into actions as in one swift action he uses his leg to hook around the put, and kick it up to the vigilante, its content spilling out and causing Duke’s grip to loosen just enough for the man to stand and make a run for it.

It’s a miracle what a batton straight to the head can do, and it’s especially helpful that with enough strength it can knock someone out.

Huffing, Duke brushes the dirt off of him with one hand, seeing as he somehow caught the pot with his other. Though, it’s only now that he realizes the strange contents, making him furrow his brows.

Did dirt… always look this red?

Not knowing what to do about that little detail, Duke ignores it for now, and just continues with his ‘routine’ as he finishes apprehending the criminal who didn’t get very far, and went to return the pot to the floral shop. However, when he got there, he noticed that some of the employees were moving pots and bags of dirt out of the shop.

“Uh, I believe someone is looking for this?” He spoke out, holding up the almost-stolen pot in his hand, with only a small amount of dirt now left inside, the plant… missing, now that Duke was paying more attention. Was there anything in there initially? Was it just… a pot of dirt? Did floral shops even sell things like that?

Before Duke could delve into his own questions too much, a short woman approaches him, age written on her face as it sags her skin and wrinkles it, but still, she offers a sigh, and moves to take the pot off of the young vigilante’s hands, “Yes, thank you. It all happened so fast- he just came right in and snatched one for our calla lilies! Though, for a man who looked so focused, he sure didn’t get very far…” she huffs, shaking her head. The vigilante could only nod, and offer a hum.

Just as the woman was about to turn away, likely to go back to her job, Duke spoke up, “Hey, what’s with all this, anyway?” He gestures to the three or so employees who have been moving pots of varying sizes and bags of dirt from in the store, to outside and setting them to the side, out of the way. As if going to throw them out, or something along those lines - either way, the intent was to get rid of them, that much was obvious.

The woman stops, glancing at the work being done before looking back at Duke, “Just a bit of cleanup, so to speak. Woke up this morning and found that some of the dirt was turning a deep red. Don’t know what it is, but it’s affecting the plants, since- see, look here,” she gestures for one of the employees to come over, and when they do, the woman moves some of the dirt by the flower - showing the lower stem and roots. They look an odd, almost abnormal shade of red, like a strange mix of pink the further up the stem it goes, but the deeper in the ground it grows, the darker it gets, almost turning into a sickening shade of magenta, and so on. “I’m sure you can tell, but I’ll confirm- that’s not supposed to happen. Maybe it’s a virus or something, but we don’t want it to spread to the other plants, so, we’re getting rid of it. All of it.” Handing off the pot in her hands to the employee, she waves them off, letting them get back to work.

Though, with that she just sighs and shakes her head, “Honestly, haven’t seen something like this before, but what can you do? It’s a shame since it got to a lot of the pots, but anything that looks remotely wrong, we’re trying to just toss out. God bless those folks from Star City- said they’ll get rid of it, and hey, less work on our hands. Not like anyone else is willing to help out, but then again, this is Gotham.”

Now that caught Duke’s attention.

“Star City? Ain’t that a few ways away? What the hell are they doing here?” He asks, raising a brow.

The woman shrugs, “Beats me, but that ain’t my problem. Now- if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do and a shop to run, kid.” With that, the woman walks back into the store, and Duke is left on his own once again. A little confused, he lets out a small ‘huh’, but ultimately leaves it at that, but does look at the work being done one last time.

It’s only then that he notices people walking out of an alley nearby, taking some of the pots and bags of dirt the employees are putting down, and loading them into a truck that he could barely make out within the shades of darkness. Huh, weird. How… convenient. Weird, a little suspicious, and Duke was honestly skeptical, but they weren’t breaking any laws, right? Could he just leave this be as is? Though, what would anyone need for a bunch of dirt and plants that were probably dying or something? Sure, there was a certain someone that came to mind, but did that really make sense? This didn’t feel like Ivy, but who else could it really be? Was there someone new at play? Something else going on? Or was it really just some weird plant virus, and was he just overthinking this?

Sighing, Duke just shook his head at himself. He could leave it be for now, though he couldn’t deny it - for people outside of Gotham, they sure looked shady like any other Gothamite. If the lady hadn’t mentioned they were from Star City, Duke honestly wouldn’t have known otherwise, and it was usually easy to tell when someone came from out of the city - so that was saying something.

Regardless, Duke was clearly out of his element here, so he went to just go back on patrol…

… There was no harm in wasting one small tracker though, right? It was just one, after all, and besides - it couldn’t hurt to follow his gut just this once.

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

Finishing up the last criminal, and apprehending them as usual, Duke took a breath. Patrol was get about finishing up, and besides the usual hiccups and such here and there, everything went relatively smoothly - but damn, the dirt on his suit from earlier was still being stubborn, maybe he could ask Alfred to help him clean it when he got back-

“Hey! Don’t go off just yet,” a voice calls out, and Duke looks in the direction… only to be met with another unfamiliar face. One thing was for sure, though, they definitely weren’t from Gotham. “You’re the Signal, right? Wow, it’s incredible to meet you in person, and to see you in action! Though, I guess you’re about to call it, huh?” The vigilante can’t help but blink at their words. They were from out of town, and knew him? Well… that didn’t happen very often. Hell, some people in Gotham still don’t know who he is - not that Duke did this job for fame and recognition, but still it felt strangely… good? Refreshing? To be noticed and even recognized by an outsider?

Still, knowing he couldn’t just stand there like an idiot despite how surprised and taken aback he is, Duke clears his throat, and manages a, “Uh, yeah. Somethin’ like that, I guess.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he takes a quick breath before adding, “Anyway, what do you want-?” “Oh! I don’t want to take up too much of your time! I just wanted to give you something- y’know, as a thanks for doing what you do, and a general token of appreciation. ‘M sure you don’t get that a lot around here, but not everyone can do what you do, y’know? So, here! It’s just a little something, and besides, you look like you could use a small pick-me-up for the road.” The person hands Duke a small bag, and a coffee cup. It was a little suspicious, maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt if he just… takes it, right? No need to eat it, he can check it later - but he’s allowed to take it right? Not like he has to eat it. Definitely not. Nope.

Though, even as he does, Duke can’t help but be confused, “Wait, hold on- who are you? Why… do this?”

The person seems to blink at the question, as if not expecting it for a moment before they snicker to themselves, and shake their head, amused, “Right, sorry. The name’s [Last Name], just got transferred to Gotham for a case. No need to be skeptical, I’m a cop, and here, for proof- I’ve got my badge on me,” rummaging through your pocket, well, there it is. Your badge…

Huh, what’re you doing all the way from Metropolis?

Still, it does make Duke feel a bit better. Not entirely, granted, but some form of better regardless. Didn’t explain everything, and obviously he wouldn’t be any less careful, but again, he’d take it. For now.

“So… you’re on duty now?”

That gets another snicker out of you, “Not ‘til later, but that’s not important. I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you're as busy as a bird, yeah? Well, then we best be going our separate ways.” Before Duke even gets a chance to respond, you already turn on your heel, and begin to walk off. Waving behind you, a last, “See you soon,” is said and again, Duke is left by himself, and to think about that odd little encounter.

Were people from Metropolis this friendly? Bubbly? Personable? Weird? Well, anyway, Duke just looks down at the brown bag and coffee cup in his hands. The gesture was nice, if there wasn’t anything weird about what you gave him - even if the gesture itself was strange, and Duke definitely wasn’t used to it. How could he be? Forget about Gotham being Gotham for a second, how was he, as a vigilante, as a hero supposed to handle this? Was just, taking it and accepting the gesture, really the best move? Sure, you caught him a little off guard, but what did that say about him? Especially if a civilian can just sneak up on him like that.

The only thing Duke can figure to do now is just leave it be. It would be weird to give it back, and push comes to shove he can just throw it away. Nothing wrong with that, and it wasn’t anything personal either. Just… caution. Nothing wrong with being careful.

… Okay, he has to stop over thinking this. He’s been standing here for too long anyway, he has to get a move on. It was just a nice gesture, and he already accepted it. He can just throw it on the way back home, no big deal. There’s nothing to think about, nothing to mull over or debate. He should just focus on finishing up, and getting home so he can finally get some homework done, and turn in for the night. That’s all. That’s what should be on his mind.

Duke takes one final breath, before doing just that as he heads home. Brushing off the odd but short interaction to the side, and leaving it be for now.

… So, Metropolis, huh?

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

When the night rolls around, Gotham is as it always is. Trouble. Though that’s nothing new, and especially not for the vigilantes that protect the city - but if that’s a good thing or not is the part that’s up for debate.

Regardless, just as the day had gone and went relatively smoothly, so did the night - so far, anyway. Couple of thieves and gangs here and there, some sightings of henchmen and trying to put dents in the plans of bigger, more dangerous villains, and even some smugglers - which, Cassandra and Damian were able to track one group in particular much easier thanks to Duke following his gut. It was strange, to track down a truck just full of weird soil, but hey, this was Gotham, nothing phased any of them anymore. Even if that led to a small group, which seemed to be holding some weird ceremony or meeting  - Cassandra and Damian quickly dealt with it, and moved on with their night - going to take care of another small batch of criminals that were nearby and trying to break into a bank. Though, again, nothing noteworthy.

It was almost strange, but it was also good to not have a night that wasn’t exciting or thrilling. Left a little room to relax, especially for those that did this practically every night, so it was at least a little nice. As nice as a night in the city could be, that is, but refreshing nevertheless.

Honestly, even Bruce was starting to become a little convinced that nothing of note would really happen - that is, until he was going over something with Gordon on the rooftop of the GCPD. It started off normal enough, with plans being discussed, possibilities and near certainties thrown around, along with what the GCPD could do and so on, though all is interrupted by a new face.

“Commissioner! Officer [Last Name] has new information on the case-! Oh, um, am I interrupting something?”

It’s easy to tell when someone isn’t from Gotham, and when you’re someone like Batman, that becomes even easier to tell. Honestly, if he had to take a guess, he’d assume the officer was from one of the bigger cities. Maybe Metropolis, considering the accent and how the officer spoke, seeing as he lacked the certain gruffness all Gothamites held at the back of their throat. For Cassandra, it was how their body language read. Even if she couldn’t exactly deduce where the officer had come from, she could see they were new in some way, and obviously nervous like any rookie was when they see them for the first time. Damian… well, he didn’t care, and scowled at the sight of the officier regardless. After all, what kind of idiot just comes on the roof like this, and strolls up to their superior so casually? Don’t get him started on that tone.

Gordon, meanwhile, turns to the new face, and sighs, “You’re fine, what’d officer [Last Name] find?”

With that, the officer explains what was relayed to them - something about finding another one of the locations for some kind of cult, things of note that were found at the scene, more mentions of ‘that event’ again, and how the officer that found out this information got a hold of one of the members and wanted to know if it’d be possible to bring them in for questioning.

“And what happened to the other cult members at the scene?” Gordon asks gruffly, quirking a brow when he hears that you were only able to bring in one person, especially when it sounded like there was a whole ceremony going on. Surely there had to be a couple more than that, right? Not to mention that you couldn't have gone in by yourself, Gordon didn’t peg you for the type, not to mention that it just didn’t make any sense to assume that - were all of you folks from Metropolis just so incompetent that all you could manage to do was catch one guy?

The officer fidgets, seemingly nervous at the question, “Well… you see commissioner..” he drags on for a moment, averting his gaze for a moment before looking back at Gordon, “The rest killed themselves before they could be cuffed.”

What?

“How?”

The officer continues to fidgets, but a noticeable and physical effort is made to steel himself, “We’re looking into that right now- some shot themselves, others seemed to take some kind of poison- which took effect when they bit something in their mouths. We- we tried to stop some of them so that we could take in more members! Though… some already, uh, ‘got to it’ the moment we arrived.” It was more than obvious that the officer added that last bit about their efforts to lighten the situation a bit, though it was quickly ruined by that last thing he managed to say. Still, he tried to add, “There was only a handful, no more than nine members at the scene, but… well…” he noticeably swallows.

“I think it’s best you read the report when you’re… done with whatever you’re currently discussing, commissioner.” 

Gordon can really only stare at the officer for a moment, before sighing heavily and rubbing temple, “Is this normal?” He asks.

The officer seems taken aback by the question, “Pardon?”

“You’ve been on this case with the others who came in, yeah?” Gordon doesn’t wait for a response as asks, “So tell me, is this behavior normal?”

“Well- you see-”

“Just answer the question, son.”

“...” The officer grows quiet, before giving a hesitant nod, “Yes, commissioner.”

The only response Gordon can give is a harsh huff before he pulls out a cigarette, and lights it, “Just my god damn luck.”

Underneath the cowl, Bruce furrows his brows. Usually when strange activity starts to spike, he’s the first to know about it. He should be the first to know about it. However, besides an odd feeling he’s been having for the past few days, he hasn’t seen anything notable during his patrols. The fact that this was news to him immediately struck Bruce as a problem, and a very big one at that. If there was a cult in Gotham that killed themselves the moment they got caught - he shouldn’t know about it. Caught onto it first, but how had he not until now? Until tonight of all nights?

Aiming to correct this problem quickly, Bruce takes a step forward, “Commissioner,” he calls out gruffly, voice low, and holding a certain edge to it now. One that was more prominent now.

Gordon looks over to Batman as he takes a brag, letting the smoke escape his lungs with a harsh exhale, “A cult of sorts has been running around, trying to do who knows what, or why. Apparently, these guys,” he gestures to the officer who’s now standing there awkwardly, just a few steps away from the door, “have been following and trying to put a stop to this group for a while now. Even followed them all the way from Metropolis- and insisted on offering help, since we got enough problems to deal with here.”

They came all the way from Metropolis? Well, that didn’t make any sense. Especially considering the hero that looks over that city. How has this cult been able to come all the way to Gotham? How do they even still exist to begin with if they came from Metropolis? Something isn’t adding up here.

“Metropolis?” Bruce then looks to the officer, who immediately tenses under the gaze of the vigilante, “Who's behind the case?”

“That- that would be officer [Last Name]- uh, sir?” When Bruce narrows his eyes, the officer corrects himself, “I- I mean detective Greenwood!”

The older vigilante huffs through his nose, but accepts the response for now. At least this gives him places to start, even if it’s not much right now, Bruce could work with it. He’s worked with less before.

Even so, he moves onto the most obvious question, “Is the detective here right now?”

“I don’t believe so- I don’t think he even came in tonight,” talk about convenient, “but- but officer [Last Name] should’ve just gotten back, and- and some of the others are around the station!” Bruce only looks to the door, and out to the city before looking back at the unnamed officer.

As if understanding the silent ‘command’, the officer shuffles to the side with a slight shiver, and Bruce walks through the door, going down into the station. Cassandra and Damian, who have been watching and just sort of listening to everything, look at each other. Some kind of silent conversation seems to pass in between them before Cassandra offers a shrug, and Damian sucks his teeth. As they move to follow after Bruce, the officer moves away a bit more, and eventually looks at Gordon once the younger vigilantes head down the stairs.

“Are they… always like this?”

“You get used to it.”

———————————

It wasn’t hard to find the people the unnamed officer was talking about as Bruce could see a couple of people moving someone in cuffs to a prison cell, and the blood on some of their clothes also gave them away. They were only small splatters, but evident all the same, and the smell gave away what couldn’t be seen regardless. You seemed to stand out - having the most blood on you, and given the explanation from earlier, it was obvious who did and didn’t rush in immediately. The sight… must’ve been gruesome.

Regardless, despite how busy the station was, Bruce was able to make his way through without much trouble - people naturally moved out of his way, and despite moving silently, it’s like everyone knew to avoid him and not get in his way. The same could be said for Cassandra and Damian, albeit for different reasons.

Getting information was relatively easy, and most of the people in your little group were fairly cooperative, which definitely helped. Everyone shared the extent that they knew about what was happening, and gave some information about how it related back to some things they had seen in Metropolis, which in itself was especially interesting and appreciated. The main thing Bruce could take away was that whatever was happening was nothing new. If anything, the only thing ‘new’ about it was the sudden transfer from Metropolis to Gotham - to which, only you were skeptical if that was even new at all. Aside from that, however, most of what you and the other officers who came in from Metropolis had seen in Gotham, you’ve seen before. For how long? Well, Bruce had yet to get a definite response, and only you seemed to get him closer to an actual number than anyone else.

Speaking of, you were the only one who had personally come up to him first, saying, “You’re Batman, correct? I assume you’re here to talk about the case? I’m officer [Last Name], and have been working with detective Greenwood the longest.” Which wouldn’t be so odd if not for the small detail that you had also introduced yourself first. You were straight to the point, mentioned your position, relation to the case, and really, it was a little too convenient if Bruce had a say about it.

Regardless, speaking to you was just as easy as it was for the others, and if anything, Bruce hardly had to speak at all - like you already knew the information he was going to ask for. Your words were short, kept to the point, but not vague or misleading. Despite your monotone, almost cold voice, and looking as if you had no energy left, you explained what you could and gave what you were able to with what you personally experienced, but also had learned by working so closely with Greenwood. You held the same tone and directness when Damian rarely pitched in a remark or question of his own.

Safe to say, when the night came to an end, and the family headed in for the night, Bruce didn’t even bother trying to sleep as he got straight to work. It was time to catch up on some things, and he’d be damned to fall behind on things happening in his city.

[tradgedyinwaves]

part two (final) of this

Tw: coma, attempted suicide, successful suicide, death

The first few moments after you were hit were a blur to Kate. She heard the crunch and your scream, her own voice screaming into the mic of her phone as she called out to you.

Quickly, her rational brain took over and she ended the call with you, quickly calling emergency services. 

It took them 10 minutes to arrive, 25 to get you out, and 10 to the hospital. You were placed into a medically induced coma so that the swelling in your brain could go down and give your body a chance to possibly heal. 

Kate’s next call was to John.

“ ‘Ello?”  “St. John’s. Get your squad and get there” 

Click.

Kate kept her words to herself for the time being, bag already slung over her shoulder and out the door by the time her short conversation with John was over.

On the other end of the line, John sat still for all of 15 seconds as he processed Kate’s words. Shooting texts to each of the other members of the squad, he grabbed his coat and was out the door. 

The team arrived shortly after Kate, who was pacing in the waiting room. The doctor had already been out to speak with her and it hadn’t been good news. 

“What’s going on?” “What happened?” “Who got hurt?” “Are they dead?”

Kate stood and stared at the four men in front of her. She only knew from what you’d said that John and Soap were involved and she could see it from the way they stood close to each other. Stepping forward, she reached up and slapped John across the face before doing the same to Soap, tears staining her cheeks. The way the other two men stared, they had no clue about John’s infidelity.

“If she wakes up, I hope she kills you, John.” 

“If?”

“Who?” 

Kate turned to the other men and sighed, wiping her eyes as she whispered your name. “If, Kyle. Her brain is swelling too much. They’ve put her in a medically induced coma while they try to save her ability to walk.” Kate shot the Johns another glare, vowing to kill them for you if you couldn’t do it. 

Her announcement was followed with silence as the four men took seats in the waiting room. Kyle and Simon stayed close to Kate while Price and Soap sat off in the corner. They knew it was their fault. You wouldn’t have been on that road if you hadn’t seen them. 

Hours later and the doctor came back out. He approached Kate immediately, seeing as she was the first one there. The others gathered around to hear. 

“-lost a lot of blood, but we’re hoping that with the rest, her brain will stop swelling and her spine may heal enough that she could walk. But for now, she’s stable.” 

It had broken the team apart. Kyle and Simon were transferred to another team at their request. Soap was sent off to help other teams all the time in an effort to keep Price and him separated. Which only left the Captain. Except, the title was hollow. He didn’t have a team to lead anymore. 

Kate didn’t speak to him anymore either. So when he found out you’d woken up, it wasn’t for a couple weeks after the fact. When he did find the courage to visit you in the hospital, he was told you were no longer there. 

He called Kate, or Laswell as he was only allowed to refer to by her last name now, to ask where you were. 

“Not that you deserve to know, but she’s in the psych ward now. Tried to take her own life.”  “I-” “Don’t bother, Price. This is your fault.” 

A click on the phone and the call ended. He stared down at the device before throwing it and shattering it. He was weak and in that weakness, he’d ruined everything good he’d had and most importantly, your life. 

After a two month stint in the psych ward, you were cleared to go home. Which meant Kate set you up in a spare bedroom in her house. You’d been cleared, so she wasn’t worried that you’d try again. 

But boy, had she been wrong. A month later, you’d locked the door and broken the window, taking a piece of the glass and stabbing it into your legs that you could no longer feel. By the time they got the door open, it was too late. You’d lost too much blood, but you were finally free. 

When Price tried again a few months later, he was informed of your death. 

Seven months in a coma and you woke up to be told you were paralyzed from the waist down. Told you’d never walk on your own again. 

In another two, you would try to take your own life. 

Another three and you would succeed. 

In just a year, the world was left without your sunshine. 

John Price and John MacTavish never forgave themselves, living lives of solitude until the day they died.

Spoiled the hell out of you guys today. 2600 words that includes an alternate ending? Damn. lol

[rodolfoparras]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8okvv33/

Think he calls it his boomerang? (Especially if it has a little curve to it) Who said that 🤨

Anyways... Please ignore how horny my asks have been tonight.... It's very late 😋

-🐧

Thinking about how Digger has a humiliation kink, yet another thing he discovers accidentally. You’d been messing around in bed, kissing and feeling up each other, when Digger mentioned how you got his boomerang excited.

He’d thought you’d laugh it off or maybe scoff and roll your eyes at his words, but instead you had retorted back, mentioning something about his little boomerang.

The word had supringly stuck with him. Now don’t get it wrong he wasn’t offended by any means. Digger knew that he was big. It didn’t take much to see it. However something about you downplaying his size had him hot and bothered. And he wasn’t shy to let you know, either by his words or the grunts and groans rolling off of his tongue, hard cock pressing up against your thigh.

It doesn’t take much before you have him straddling your waist, surprisingly strong thighs working themselves up and down your length and his big cock uselessy rubbing against his stomach, smearing pre cum all over it.

Maybe you’d be so cruel to flick your finger against his tip, a faux look of disappointment on your face as you spoke about his cock as if it were non existent.

Or maybe you’d remind him of the size he’s got and how his big cock is practically useless because he’s such a slut.

Whatever you say has cries of pleasure, tumbling past his lips, with Digger practically bouncing on your dick, before tipping over the edge, ropes of cum painting both your abdomens.

It doesn’t take much before he’s realigning your cockhead up with his rim,and sinking down on your dick, his own cock fully hard, and with Digger eagerly awaiting to hear whatever you’ll say to him.

[rezwrites]

hi! could u do a rio x f!reader enemies to lovers? maybe a detective au? and maybe smut if ur comfortable with it

Of course!

Warnings: 18+MDNI TW: very minor mention of murder/suicide cases, cursing, office sex, risky sex, mutual fingering

Eyes flickering between the case file and your computer you typed fervently shrill rings of the office phones outside your door and the clacking of your keyboard filled the silence of your mind as you worked away. This case was pretty simple this time around, thankfully.

“Knock knock,” her silvery voice invaded your senses. Immediate irritation painted your face as you looked up to see Rio leaning against your doorframe, a small box in her hands.

You’ve dealt with years of her atrocious arrogance. You wanted to knock her down a few pegs whenever she oversaw your cases and barked orders at you, as if you didn’t know how to do your own job. Most interactions the two of you always ended in an argument. It has simmered down recently, but she still gets under your skin.

“Oh no.“ you stood up, rounding your desk, “This case isn’t anywhere near FBI jurisdiction what are you doing here?”

“Your chief asked me personally to work this case with you. Something about you do better when I’m around.” Rio’s lips ticked up.

Clenching your jaw you narrowed your eyes at her, “The case is over. I just finished the crime scene report and sent it over to the lawyer for the trial.”

“I’m only kidding.” She pushed herself off of the doorframe, “I just came by to see you and to give you these.” She held out the box of cookies, subconsciously fiddling with the side of the ribbon wrapped around the box.

This was the fourth time this month she came by with food. You turned her away every time, despite how good the desserts looked. You had to acknowledge her dedication, the tiredness in her features showing you that she did indeed put effort into these treats. Guilt started to gnaw at you now that you think about it but you steeled yourself before she saw you waver.

You glanced down at the cookies then at her, “definitely poisoned.” Taking the box and tossing it on your desk, you crossed your arms turning back to Rio, leaning back on your desk.

“They aren’t. I stayed up late to make them.” She frowned, picking up the box shoving it into your arms, “Just eat one.”

“Why do you want me to eat your food so insistently?” You gripped the side of the box slightly denting it.

“Because I want to know what you like.” Rio stared intensely into your eyes, it was a little unnerving. It was like her sepia orbs were searching for something. You could see the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep.

Reigning yourself in, you straightened yourself out , “I like… telling you to get the fuck out my office.”

There’s small twinge of pain in your chest when she sighs defeatedly, shoulders slumped as she walked out your office without so much as a witty comeback. Some part of you hoped she’d come back, guilt building the longer she didn’t. The rest of the day passed unusually quiet, the cookies left on the edge of your desk taunting you.

Stepping into your home quite late you were greeted by, Jupiter, weaving himself through your legs, meowing shrilly as he leads you to his bowl to fill. Putting his food up after filling his bowl, exhaustion hit you like a truck. Deciding to skip dinner you grabbed the box of cookies you had haphazardly tossed on the kitchen table, making your way to your bedroom.

The shower made your body heavy with tiredness, finally ready to stop fighting it you slipped into bed. Jupiter jumped up snuggling his small, orange body into your side. Flipping open the box lid, you hesitate picking up a cookie. Eventually, you took a bite savoring the way it was soft and chewy as it melted in your mouth.

After a few cookies your fingers slid over a slip of paper at the bottom of the box. Picking up and flipping over the bright pink note, the words in large black ink.

Delicious, right? ;)

Your face heated up, crumping the note in your fist tossing it back in the box. Shoving the box to the edge of the bed, you turned everything off and went to sleep.

Looking at the evidence board you're wracking your brain. It seems to be a simple murder-suicide but something in your gut says otherwise and the evidence to support your hunch isn’t there.

“Ugh, great. Feds are here. Again.” Your coworker grunted out. It seems you weren’t the only one aggravated when FBI got involved. Looking over your shoulder you see your chief escorting Rio into the meeting room. Chief explaining that the case now falls to the FBI due to the victims being part of an international theft ring.

That same coworker started going on a rant, shocking everyone including Rio. Fussing about getting cases taken away. He even had the nerve to insinuate that Rio had connections to higher-ups since she was always being the one to take cases.

For all your issues with Rio you could never deny that she knows what she’s doing and that she handles herself well on the field. You have to admit that you have learned a few skills from her throughout the years. All her decorations and medals are deserved. You’d be damned if someone that doesn’t know her at all slander her hard work.

You sat there seething until you couldn’t take it anymore. Slamming your palms on the table, everyone turning their heads to you as you stared this worm of a man down, “Enough! I completely understand the frustrations but we don’t have the resources nor manpower like they do. They are way more equipped to deal with criminals like these than we are. In the end we should be thankful the FBI is here. The only reason she gets these cases is because she’s great at doing her job. If you think your tough shit then go out there and try to do it yourself rather than sitting on your ass and complaining!”

The chiefs booming voice silences the whole room before anyone else could start mouthing off. He commanded everyone to go blow off steam, specifically instructing you to hand Rio all the files, evidence and reports.

Relief washed over you once you entered your quiet office, the soft click of the door closing behind Rio. Taking a deep sigh, you began to calm down compiling everything case-related into a Manila folder.

“You just defended me?” Rio stood there stunned, breaking the silence.

“I’m the only one who gets to be an ass to you.” You retorted quickly, a bite still evident in your tone.

“Aww, when did kitty get rid of her claws?” She teased, stepping towards you. Glancing over her shoulders you checked to make sure the blinds to your office windows were closed.

“Ugh, five minutes. Shut up for five minutes.” You exasperated.

A smirk grew in on her face, “I think I can find a way to occupy myself. Besides he did say to let off steam.” You watched as her eyes darted between your lips and eyes. Rio hovered in front of you, her warm breath fanning over your face. You leaned up initiating a gentle kiss. She cupped your face deepening the kiss, passionately. Breaths heaving as your fists twisted in her blazer, pulling her closer. Her hands fell to your side thumbs tracing patterns, sliding her thigh between your legs.

“I hate you,” you rasped out in between kisses, “I want to hate you.”

“I don’t want you to hate me. I never did.” she pulled back.

Can I?” Her fingertips stopped at the edge of the waistband of your slacks, her other hand on the small of your back keeping you upright. Eyes glossing over your face for any reaction.

“Yes.” You breathed out , “may I return the favor?”

“‘F course.”

Her hand slipped into your pants fingers ghosting over your sensitive bud, hips jerking for more pressure. Undoing her belt you’re sure she felt the same as her breaths stuttered when your fingers grazed her clit, drawing light circles.

“Already so wet from kissing?” Rio lightly mocked, running her fingers over your slick slit. As her fingers eased into you a low groan escaped you.

“Hush. You have no room to tease.” Your palm pushed against her as a digit slowly sunk into her own wetness making it easy. She could bury her face in the crook of your neck all she wants but you still feel the vibrations as she moaned when you added another finger.

Wrapping your legs around the back of her knees, you tried to keep your noises at a minimum as her fingers pumped in and out of your fluttering walls. Your movements faltered minimally before returning with fervor, both of your palms rubbing each others clits.

“I got you.” Whispering in her ear when you felt her knees quiver, curling your free arm around her. Her soft lips return to yours, nipping at your lower lip.

Curling your fingers into her warm depths, hitting the spongy spot her body started to shake. Holding onto her tighter you worked her through her orgasm, as she kissed you harder muffling herself, you swallowed her moans eagerly.

Releasing herself from your lips to breathe you bit her shoulder to fight your screams, as white hot pleasure crashed through you. Rio curled her fingers, an extra shock coursing through your body. Both of your shaky bodies stilled, coming down from your highs. Removing yourselves from each other you grabbed some tissues to clean up, your facing heating up when you turned back around to see her sucking your wetness off of her fingers.

“You ate the cookies, right?” Lifting your head to see her proudly smiling, “I may have added a love potion.”

“Stop,” you laughed, lightly pushing her shoulder, tucking her shirt back into she pants. Rio chuckled pecking your lips, smoothing your shirt.

“Let me take you on a lunch date.” Rio suggested starting to move over to grab the file. You grabbed her arm not wanting to leave your proximity yet, “Rio I-”

She looked at you quizzically as your words died out. You wanted to tell her how you felt, no doubt she felt the same after what just transpired but you still somewhat felt it wasn’t the right time.

“I love you too.” your eyes widened, a smile growing on both your faces,” Now let’s go get lunch.”

[creepling]

⋆.˚☀︎٠ ࣪⭑ A KNOCK AWAY

synopsis: returning packages and a broken washing machine lead you to spend the night with your hot neighbour, digger harkness.

tags: smut - minors dni. fem!reader. age difference (early 20s x late 30s). domestic elements. reader described as "shy" but not really. sexual tension. alcohol use. drinking games. awkward moments. oral (f receiving). couch sex. big dick (it's canon it's out of my control!!!). p in v. creampie. 4.4k words.

Your neighbour had a habit of ordering ludicrous amounts of packages but is never at home to collect them. It was almost every day they arrived and piled at your front door. The last few days you’ve knocked on his door to give them, but met by silence. Your small apartment is running out of room if any more decide to show up. You had been going in the afternoons once you came off work, but he either didn’t answer or wasn’t in. This time, on Saturday morning, you decided to knock on his door. Who cares if it’s the weekend, or it’s too early, you were determined to get those packages out of your house.

You knock gently at first and wait for a minute. No answer. A week. A whole week of this bullshit. Impatience clouds your sympathy, and you knock on the door harder. You hear a thud, a clank of glass, and a curse on the other side of the door. You knock again, calling up a groan of annoyance and an “I’m coming!”

The door opens, and you’re greeted by your neighbour for the first time since you moved here. He is shirtless, showing off a collection of tattoos. His mop of hair hadn’t met a comb yet; still scuffled by sleep. You could tell he was older, and you were taken aback by how attractive he was. Given in a rugged way. You half-expected a balding divorcee with a beer belly.

“You’re George, right? I live next door,” You introduce.

Eyes squint and bloodshot, he looks you up and down before nodding. “You know what time it is, sunshine? Too bloody early to be knocking on people’s doors.” He said, fighting through a hangover to communicate. The twang of an Aussie accent was the second thing to surprise you. Even with the twang of annoyance in his tone, you bite your cheek to fight off a flattered smile.

Your bashfulness forces you to ditch the defiant speech you prepared. “I’m aware of that- but I’ve tried to get a hold of you all week, but you seem to not be in during the afternoon.” You shuffle to your open door, grab one of the packages and gesture it to George, “There’s a ton of packages here for you.”

George’s annoyed face began to soften, and he let out an idle chuckle. “Shiiiiit, I forgot about those!”

He opened his door wider and began collecting the parcels from you. You got a peek inside his apartment. Your suspicions of his home were accurate, resembling what all men living alone succumb themself to; their own squaller.

“Thanks for holding onto them for me. And sorry for being cranky, hangovers, y’know?” George said, his tone now different, one more pleasant. You smile, feeling pleased that you have the chance to converse with a neighbour and know who lives next door.

“Hope you had a good night so it’s worth it,” you chuckle, taking a stack of the packages and shuffling to his door. George takes them from your hands swiftly. This left you standing by his door, looking around the living room, stumped on the small talk. You were never really good at this.

“I mean- it was alright. They just hit you more when you get older,” he dropped the remaining boxes by his door, rubbing his temples as he stretched. His abdomen extended, shifting the waistband of his pants, making you look away and stand in silence. George scratches the back of his neck as he looks at you, feeling the interaction fade to a farewell.

“I better get going, you’ve got a lot to unbox,” you say, slowly backing away.

George gets to the door, nodding and shooting you a smile. “Thanks again for keeping them safe.” You could have sworn he looked you up and down, in a different way this time. Sizing you up, for other means. Maybe it was your imagination.

You meekly wave before retreating to your apartment. With the packages gone, your eyes adjust to the clear space, and the lingering images of your neighbour hot in your thoughts.

The washing machine was stuck again, and no matter how hard you hit it, it was still broken. Today is not going well, and you were on the edge, especially since the only other machine in the block has an ‘out of order’ sign on it. You rub your hands along your face, the skin already flushed from anger. A shuffle of footsteps approaches the entrance, and you reveal yourself to see who is witnessing your self-pity.

“Useless fucking thing, ain’t it?” It was George, the first time you’ve seen him in clothes that weren’t pyjama pants with socks and slides. He looks like he’s back from work, or the gym, it is hard to tell. You did wonder what he did for a living.

“I’m lucky it broke before I put my laundry in,” You look at the bright side with heavy eyes and a half-assed smile.

“Well, I don’t wanna brag, but I do have a machine. Wouldn’t mind ya using it until they fix it,” George shrugs with a ‘no big deal’ attitude. Suddenly your neighbour was a beacon of hope, and the stress left you with a sigh of relief.

“That would be really helpful, thanks,” you pick up your laundry basket, following up the stairs. He hunched the duffle bags over his shoulder. Reaching the top of the stairs, he unlocks his front door and lets you in first, taking a look at his living room and huffing. “Sorry about the mess.”

Beer bottles and cans littering the coffee table, clothes on the floor or hanging from the couch and chairs. You take one breath and smell the stale air, keeping a straight face. “It’s okay,” You smile through it, not wanting to place judgment. Maybe he’s just a busy guy.

George quickly shows you the settings on the machine (which he wasn’t so sure about) before excusing himself to the shower. Before you could ask questions, he was dashing to the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices. You load the machine, press the button and hope for the best.

Alone in his apartment was daunting and you begin to explore. Mostly focused on the messiness, the environment nagging at your senses. Clean space, clean mind, as they say. You pick up the trash and throw it out, starting with the beer cans. Luckily you didn’t find anything too disgusting, with the odd dirty plate you could place in the sink. You open the curtains, coughing from the dust and open the window to release the smell of stale pizza and beer. Your mind is clearer, you go to wash your hands until you spot George standing by the entrance of the living room in awe. He is still in his towel, his right hand clenching the side to keep it in place, his hair wet and slicked back. You turn away immediately, looking anywhere but him, a kick of adrenaline overtaking your insides.

“Wasn’t aware I ordered room service,” he joked, amused by your embarrassment.

“I’m sorry- I should have just left and come back later for the laundry. But- I don’t know- your place looked like it needed a tidy-up. I can’t help myself, it’s a habit. God- I’m so stupid-”

“Don’t get your undies in a twist, it’s fine. I appreciate it,” George reassures, rubbing the back of his neck, “As you can see, I don’t get many visitors.”

When he closes the bedroom door to change, it’s safe for you to look again. That feeling in your stomach didn’t go away, it still brewed in the pit and crawled its way up your core. It makes you think about him again, like those sleepless nights after your first encounter, and your cheeks grow hot. Maybe this is a good time to slip out and avoid him like the plague. But what else would you be doing? Watching TV? Playing video games? All alone in your apartment, like you always are. That’s how your life has been, work, home, bed; absent of social life, of anything remotely adventurous. You keep your feet firmly on the ground, chewing your lip in thought. There was a time when you lived life on the edge, out every weekend, hooked up with people. Letting your old self come out to play wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

“Where do you keep your cleaning supplies? I could do the rest for you if you want,” you call, inching towards the bedroom door so he can hear you. He opens the door quickly, startling you, wearing casual grey sweatpants and a white tee.

“Are you like a freelance maid or something? This how you get clients?” He leaned an arm on the door frame, looking down at you. He becomes the only thing in eyesight and you freeze, giving a shy smile.

“No, I just like cleaning, that's all. You seem like you need it, being a busy guy and all.” You study his eyes, wondering if he sees right through you.

George slowly nods, then snaps his fingers, heading towards the front door and sliding his shoes on. “Tell you what, love. I have to run a few errands, while I’m out I’ll leave you to it.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “You’re just gonna leave me, your neighbour you’ve met like once, in your house alone? You trust me like that?”

He shrugs, taking one of the duffle bags full of… something. “I’ve got many weapons I can pull on you if you try anything. Plus, you’re young and don’t look that strong, so I think I can take you on.” You weren’t sure if he was joking, but there was a cheeky look in his eye that allowed you to chuckle.

“That would do it. You can trust me.”

George gives a little salute, exiting the door. “Stuff’s under the kitchen sink. Good luck!”

You look at his limited supply, an empty bottle of bleach and a mysterious liquid in a spray bottle. You decide to use your supplies, grab them from your apartment, and come back to start the work.

You collapse on the couch gasping for air. People underestimate how much energy it takes to clean, especially when cleaning George’s house. Within an hour you cleaned the living room and kitchen and hung up your laundry to dry in your apartment. The worst part was the vacuuming, as like not owning cleaning supplies, he also didn’t have a vacuum. Go figure.

George eventually returned, greeted by your efforts and your limp body sprawled on his couch. You quickly got up, hoping he didn’t mind. Heck, this guy doesn’t have a vacuum, he can’t be the judge. “So, what do you think?” You anticipate.

“You did a bloody good job, I’ll tell ya that,” a smile on his face, making you smile too. “And since ya the best neighbour on this side of Metropolis, I got ya a lil payment to say thanks.”

George pulls out a crate of beers and takeaway pizza, presenting them to you. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, but you smile at the thought. “Thanks, George.”

“Please, call me Digger, everyone calls me that,” he said, “Thought we could have a couple of beers and I’d feed ya, but I’m no chef, hence the pizza.”

“So, Digger… is this you inviting me over for dinner?” You ask, pursing your lips. He thought about it and then nodded his head. “I guess I am,” he smirks.

Pizza crusts and beer cans decorate the coffee table, the television musing low music. You laugh at a joke Digger told you, hiding your mouth to not spit all over the place. He sits low on the couch, his hands resting between his legs with a beer. With your legs close to your chest, you take a sip of beer when a silence falls between you.

“Thanks for having me, I’m having a lovely time.” You confess, a little tipsy. You get shy admitting that, focusing on the music, unaware of Digger’s eyes not leaving your sight.

“I didn’t have a college kid cleaning my house on my bingo card,” he muses teasingly, smirking at your bashful smile.

“I am not a college kid! I graduated ages ago.”

“And by ages ago you mean in the last five years?”

He chuckles at your look of defeat. “Says the guy who’s five years off getting a pension,” you tease in defence.

“I’m not that old!” He defended back, “Nowhere near it!”

“Well, you’re at least old enough to clean your own house and have a vacuum.”

“You got me there…” he says into his beer.

The silence fell between you once again, but surprisingly it was not awkward. The air was thick, and not with stale air like before. You convince yourself it’s one-sided, keeping yourself together. You had an idea, but it was juvenile. When he doesn't say anything to keep the conversation going, you go on and suggest it.

“How about we play truth or drink?”

“How old are you? Five?” He scoffs.

“We already established my age, remember? C’mon, it’ll be a good icebreaker. Don’t you wanna get to know your friendly neighbour?” You nudge his arm playfully, realising you’ve been going that a lot since you had a drink. Mostly when he told a joke. You try not to cringe, realising your inferiority. He probably thinks you’re immature, and you suddenly see yourself as a fool. But when he turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention while cracking open another beer, you feel a little better about yourself.

“Who’s asking first?” He asks.

You volunteered since you suggested playing. You turn towards him, fighting through a fit of giggles, liking the way his eyes smile at you. He has nice eyes, light in colour, a mix of blue and grey with crow's feet winging the sides.

“Okay, let’s start easy. How long have you lived on the block?” You ask.

“‘Bout five months, I’d say,” he says.

“Do you move around a lot?”

“Oi, thought you ask one question at a time?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just curious,” you dart your eyes to his smirking lips before looking away.

“To answer your other question, I do move around a bit. It’s a job thing.”

You look back at him, catching his stare, the one that never seems to fade from you. You like the way he stares at you, so attentive like he refuses to have you out of his sight. It’s the type of stare that makes someone feel special.

“My turn,” he chirps, “are you always this shy around people?”

“What? I’m not shy,” you scoff.

“Really? You’re not shy?”

“What happened to starting easy?”

“No, you said that. I didn’t. I never start easy,” he says haughtily.

You roll your eyes, taking the beer can to your lips and taking a sip. Digger scoffs in shock, “No way are you drinking to that.”

“It’s a ridiculous question, plus I technically did answer the question. I’m not shy.”

Digger shakes his head in disappointment, breaking eye contact to chuckle into his hand. You narrow your eyes, readying the next question.

“Do you have a wife and kids?” You ask.

Digger didn’t act like you struck a nerve, but he wasn’t laughing anymore. He shook his head, and you take that as an answer, not wanting to press further. Yet, he begins to speak, in a tone softer than the one you’ve been getting used to;

“I know at my age I probably should, but it’s never worked out, y’know? The whole love thing I’ve never gotten the hang of.”

You resonate with him, meekly returning a smile. “Me either.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Digger said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’re good-looking. Woulda bet somebody snagged ya by now.”

You can’t help but chuckle, hearing how wrong his words are. “I guess I’ve gotten close before, but it was never meant to be.”

Digger nods in agreement like he is in the same boat. You had a strong urge to move closer to him, but resort to fidgeting with a thread on the coach. “Who’s turn is it?”

“Mine,” Digger returns his gaze to you. It was more intense, and you feel him all over you. As you grow the courage to meet his eyes, you see them trailing from your lips to meet you, his icy eyes darkening and lips parting as he readies his words.

“How would you feel about kissing me?”

Your stillness speaks volumes to him, and from the look of shock in your eyes, Digger’s smile fades and turns sour. He hides his face in his hands, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck- Just drink to that, it was bloody stupid,” his self-depreciation eats at you and you try and find the words to explain yourself. He was right, you were shy, and it got in the way of your feelings. So much for being the big flirt like you planned.

“No, it’s fine, honestly-”

He cuts you off, “I just thought- why else would wanna hang out with an old fuck like me? Keep my packages, clean my house,” he groans out a sigh, “and the way you look at me, fuck, it’s been driving me insane all day.”

“Digger-” you catch his attention, softening your face, and placing your beer on the coffee table. You shift your body closer to his, your movement swift but gentle. “I’d like it if you kissed me.”

He blinks, adjusting his eyes to the proximity, noticing the small details of your features, the softness of your lips. He swallows back his nerves, “Nah- you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

There is only one way to prove him wrong, and you did it by making the first move. You press your lips against him, and you're struck with his immediate touch as he engulfs you in his arms. Your hands snake up his chest to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss as he beckons you to press your body against him with his firm hold. He grins into the kiss at the sound of your whimpers, holding the small of your waist and guiding you to his lap. You go with the motion, swinging your leg around and straddling him, enamoured by the hold he has on you. The makeout was sloppy, tipsy on beer and getting more drunk on each other’s lips. Digger’s kisses were firm and deep, his chapped lips coated in your sweet spot as he glided his tongue along yours. His hands lay haven on your asses, rubbing his callous palm around the fabric of your pants, enchanting your hips to move ever so slightly.

“Ain’t so shy now, are ya?” He grunts into your ear, migrating his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling on your faint skin. You see stars, closing your eyes in bliss, your fingers tugging at his shirt and fighting off the urge to rip it off. He takes the time to remove his t-shirt with your eager assistance, latching onto you once you discard it.

“Please, I need you,” you plead. You gaze down at him, your stare both close and far. His bucking hips invite your crotch to feel his length, the tip of his bulge grinding against your thigh.

He whispers to you, “Tell me what you want.”

 “Use me, I know you want to,” you taunt, enjoying the light that ignites in his eyes, his grip tighter on your skin.

“You’ll regret saying that, but I bet you can handle it,” he jesters, pulling your hair to expose your neck, his lips latching back onto your sweet skin. His other hand pushes your top over your breasts, exposing your hardening nipples. Licking towards your nipples, sucking on them gently and cupping your tits in his hands, grazing his teeth when you grind down on his erection.

Digger, hungry for more of you, lays you down on the couch. His eyes demand your attention, taking time to pull down your pants and underwear, drenched in your arousal. He lowers his head to your cunt, prying your legs open as you try to hide how wet you were.

“Don’t hide from me, love, show me how pretty you are,” he muses, admiring your glistening walls, lapping them tenderly with the tip of his fingers. Relishing in your squirms, he gazes at you under his lashes. “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

Your hands grip his hair when his tongue makes contact with your sensitive walls, his prominent nose snug on your clit as he eats you out. His movements are deep and steady, keeping himself in place between your quivering thighs, refusing to come up for breath as a rising feeling of release fills your insides. Shifting his tongue from your walls to your clit, his nose taking place not to neglect your pleasure, his eyes checking your reactions as his pride swelled from your raptured state. He takes a breath to tease you in between, his hoarse voice wavering against your heat, “Look at you, getting so worked up for me.”

“’m so close,” that was music to Digger’s ears, egging him on to keep up the pace.

Your whimpers rise into moans, and your thighs shiver under his grip and come undone. Digger doesn’t stop, pressing a firm hand on your stomach, keeping you in place so he rides out your high. You’re flushed in humility, but fuck it feels amazing. You break a sweat, shivering at the cooling of your hot skin, sighing in relief when Digger finally relaxes his hold on you. His face meets yours, your arousal coating the stubble on his chin and spreading to his chops. He is ferocious and light-headed – as if drunk on the taste of you.

“Hope you’ve still got some spunk in ya,” he pants, “I’m as stiff as a board here.”

Digger invites your hand to feel his erection. You didn’t think he could be harder than he was before, but he comes full of surprises. He slings the waistband of his trousers down and his cock springs free, twitching at the touch of your flinching fingers.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” Blessed by the man himself, his size was insane. You straighten in intimidation.

“I’ll go slow, okay? Just- fuck- I’m bursting at the seams here,” he begs, cupping your cheek with a reassuring hand.

You nod with a morbid curiosity, unable to deny the instinct to have him inside you, to feel every inch of him. Digger litters you in kisses, sloppy and idle as he dampens your cheeks and lips. Opening your legs wide, sucking in a breath, you watch as he lines his cock to your entrance. There was no fuss in sliding inside you, your dripping cunt lubing his tip and coating his shaft, the feeling of him inside you more filling than painful. It sets a spark in your mind, your eyes distant, the twitch of his cock against your walls melting your senses.

An unexpected moan escapes Digger’s lips, but he is attentive enough to coo for your attention, holding your face and bringing you back to earth.

“You still with me, hun?” He chuckles at your dazed look, trying to keep himself together as you tighten around him. You blink back to reality and wrap your legs around him, mewling at the slow thrusts coming into you. You eventually nod a reply, straining your neck to witness his cock buried inside you to train your hole for his massive size. He takes advantage of your position, locking a hand behind your head and picking up the pace. He is smitten by your squeaks. His rough hand clenches your hip, setting out to fuck you good. As you will soon learn, Digger has a habit of getting carried away. You learn a lot of dirty things about him that both shock you and fill you with sweetly sick lust.

Digger has you bent over the arm of the couch, his cock pummelling in and out of your abused cunt, muffling your feral moans with a hand clasped over your mouth. He arches your back and presses his lips against your ear, reminding you that he can see right through you.

“Is this what you wanted? To fuck you; get you drunk on my fat dick. Bet you didn’t think I had it in me.”

“You’re so good, so ‘fucking good,” you moan, your eyes glued to him with lust, a sly smile across your face. Digger sticks two fingers into your mouth, teasing your tongue to swirl around them, smirking at your eagerness.

“Shit, that’s enough to make me finish,” he says in a low voice, “And you wouldn’t want me cumming inside you, would ya?”

The way you clench around his dick and the sidious look in the dim light suggest the opposite. “No, come inside me,” you seal the deal.

“You’re so bloody dirty.” Digger’s eyes turn dark, his hand wrapping around your neck, rutting into you faster and harder than before. You see stars, giving into the numbing pleasure you succumb to. A dumbfound smile stretches across your lips once you feel the warmth of Digger’s seed filling your cunt, hitting against your womb. His weight falls on you momentarily, leaving kisses along your back while his energy is slowly sucked out of him. His cock slips out and before his heavy eyes close over, he gazes at the cum dripping from your slit, groping your ass for a better view.

Digger gathers his senses, only noticing you struggling to get up from your stiff knees. He brings you onto his lap, soothing your legs and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Well, that was something…” He chuckles, “Ya think we got a little carried away?”

“I think I’ll never be able to walk again,” you joke, yet anticipated the next few days entailing leg pain.

He felt guilty, knowing to make up for it he would need more than pizza and beer. He continues to sooth your legs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“How’s about I run you a bath?” He suggests.

There he is again, that beacon of hope. He is going to find it hard to get rid of you now. “That’d be amazing.”