#task 5: with a bitter look

[chaoticwriting]

Old Friend 2

Part 1

In the car

Vlad: So, young Daniel. I'm not really trying to pry but may I know how you know young Cassandra?

Danny: *Grunts* We met a long time ago. Way before I became Phantom. I was kidnapped when I was young by a group of cultists.

Vlad: What!? I never knew any of this.

Danny: Of course you don't. My family never dares to bring up the topic since they are afraid it will trigger my trauma or something.

Vlad:.......

Danny: And for the longest time, they are not wrong. Imagine, you are 5 years old, waiting for your parents who go out to hunt some ghosts when suddenly a group of men in fully black clothing cover your face with black clothing and knock you up. Next thing you know, you are standing in the middle of a group of children. Scared just as much as you while being surrounded by a group of assassins.

Danny releases a sigh as he remembers his past.

Danny: It is not easy to survive. They train you like you are a robot. If you don't complete your task, they will either punish you or ignore any of your needs. Sometimes both. For them, kids who fail to complete tasks are as worthless as a grain of sand.

Danny: I stayed there for a full 4 years. Training, fighting and killing. I do whatever it takes to survive. Just to see mom, dad and Jazz again. It was there I met her. She's just like me although her circumstances are different.

Danny: A kid who is raised unwillingly as an assassin. We used to escape our observes eyes and meet up in a forest. For the longest time, it was like that. Sometimes we talk about escaping. But most of the time we just talk, or show each other things that we found interesting while we were out on a mission.

Heavy silence falls in the car as Danny stops talking.

Danny: However, things changed one night. I waited and waited in the forest. But she never came. When I returned back to the base, I heard a commotion. "The Perfect Weapon has escaped". I don't know what to feel then. It felt like I was betrayed and yet I felt relieved and happy to know that she was no longer there.

As Danny stops speaking, they arrive at the hotel Vlad booked. Vlad is not good at comforting people but he knows from Jazz that sometimes giving people time alone is a good way to comfort them.

They eat dinner from the room service and decide to go to bed early tonight. As Danny lays on his bed, visions of the past return to him. The bitter and the sweet. Looking at the clock that is past midnight, Danny gets out of bed and takes out a long coat. If he can't sleep, might as well get rid of this excess energy.

---Wayne Manor---

Bruce silently nods as he hears his daughter's story. Honestly, it frustrates him that such a thing could happen and yet he cannot do anything about it. Sometimes, he wonders if he should really just kill all his rogues.

No. He shouldn't think like that. Returning his focus to his daughter, Bruce calmly rubs her head.

Bruce: It's fine. I'm sure you could talk it out with him. From what I see, he is not fully hostile to you. I'm sure he would understand if you explain it to him.

Cass: Hmmm.

Bruce: Do you still want to go on patrol tonight? I think Tim is free to fill in your spot if you don't feel like it.

Cass: No. I'm okay and will be. Just need to process my thoughts.

Bruce: Alright sweetheart.

Suddenly, his phone starts ringing.

Oracle: Hey, Bruce.

Bruce: Yeah?

Oracle: You might want to check in soon. There have been reported shootings at a factory near Scarecrow's territory.

Bruce: Alright. Inform the others to get ready.

As the call is cut off, Cass quickly goes down to the Batcave. She will think about how to contact Danny later. First, there is a shooting to quell.

Part 3

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Tags: Angst, Found Family, Dark Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Drama, Unreliable Narrators.

Warnings: Body Horror, Mentions of Emotional Neglect, Pregnancy Complications, Nightmare Imagery.

A/N: The mystery Hunk is finally here! We’re diving headfirst into the start of an alternate ending I had previously intended for this fic mid first scene, so buckle up. I promised this chapter wouldn’t have funny bits, but apparently, Mystery Hunk had other plans. Also, the husbands will be getting an earful of their own shit. If you’re here for cursed energy-infused pregnancy drama and Mystery Hunk stealing hearts with his black cat husband energy while side-eyeing Karens, you’re in the right place, and yes, he’s stealing the spotlight unapologetically. Let me know in the comments: Is he the best worst fake husband ever?

Previous Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp

You didn’t even have time to react before his hand snaked around your leg. The two of them dragged you out of your hiding spot, your thrashing limbs no match for their combined strength.

They had found you.

“Running away doesn’t suit you,” Gojo said, his tone mocking, dangerous.

You glared at him, removing the scarf from your mouth, your movements jerky, your hands trembling as you shoved both their hands off you. “Don’t touch me.” You tried to stand.

The effort was futile—your legs buckled, and you sank back down. Pain radiated from your swollen belly, grotesque.

Their gazes dropped to your stomach, the sheer size of it impossible to ignore, finally noticing what you’d been trying to hide.

Even at just five and a half months, your uterus had already distended to a grotesque parody of its former shape. The two tornadoes brewing inside you made you look eight months pregnant, their relentless growth stretching your abdominal wall to its limits. Your stomach bulged outward, a taut and swollen orb that seemed to strain against the confines of your skin, as if the very fabric of your body was being slowly, inexorably torn apart from the inside out.

Nanami’s eyes widened. “You’re…”

Gojo’s expression cracked, his six eyes glowing faintly as they locked onto your swollen stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

The twins squirmed beneath their stares, sending sharp jolts of pain through your abdomen. You bit your lip, refusing to show weakness, to clutch your belly, even as your body betrayed you.

You didn’t dignify their obvious revelation with a response, focusing instead on pulling yourself upright. Every attempt to rise felt monumental, the strain making your head swim, but you managed to straighten up, your breathing ragged. Their awkward, hesitant hands reached toward you, only for you to glare them down.

They stood there, helpless, as you hobbled past them toward the living room. Each step felt like dragging yourself uphill in a storm, the strain making your vision blur. By the time you reached the couch, you were shaking so badly that you had to clutch the back of a chair for balance. Lowering yourself onto the cushions was its own Herculean task, the pain so intense you had to bite back a scream. Your hand moved instinctively to your belly, rubbing slow, trembling circles over the taut, aching skin.

You spoke low but firm, “Leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Nanami replied, his voice firm but strained, his face a storm of conflict. “You’re pregnant, my love. You didn’t even tell us.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. “What’s there to tell? It’s just a medical condition, right?”

“At least lie better,” Gojo said, his tone mocking as his eyes lingered on your stomach, then continued, “Although I thought you had had a hysterectomy?”

Nanami’s hand twitched; his jaw tightened at Gojo’s casual demeanor. “Don’t.”

Your anger flared, the months of humiliation and abandonment clawing their way to the surface. “Don’t what? Diminish it? You mean like you two diminished me?”

You had deduced earlier that Gojo’s RCT might have detected your lack of a uterus and classified it as an error, then corrected the said error. Or perhaps it was Nanami’s RCT’s doing, considering he could now heal himself and was immune to attacks like fire since becoming a special grade. Although as far as you knew they couldn’t heal people but it might have changed when they would have been inside you. You didn’t care to find out any more, and you certainly wouldn’t let them in on it.

The words hit like a slap, the air between you crackling with tension.

“It’s none of your business,” you spat, your voice shaking with rage.

“None of our business?” Nanami’s voice was low, his usual calm cracking. “We’re your—”

“You’re nothing to me anymore,” you interrupted, your tone icy. “You made sure of that.”

“That’s not true,” Gojo flinched as if struck, his voice breaking in a way like it was about him, making you hate him more. “We—”

“You abandoned me!” The words tore from your chest before you could stop them. “You left me alone for months! You laughed, you fucked each other, then posted all your OMG-I’m-so-in-love photos online for my employees to stare at and give me looks of sympathy. While... while I sat there and died inside!”

“You left without telling us!” Gojo’s voice rose, desperation creeping into his tone.

“And you didn’t notice for six weeks!” You yelled, your voice breaking. “You were too busy fucking each other to even see me! I could have been tortured, raped, killed and buried long ago with evidence wiped, but you both were too busy fucking each other to see me!”

Gojo’s expression twisted, the pain in his eyes cutting deeper than any accusation. “We didn’t know how to reach you. We thought you needed space.”

“Space?” You laughed again, the sound hollow. “You gave me space to suffocate. 

Nanami visibly recoiled, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “We made a mistake—”

“Mistake?” You cut him off, your voice cracking under the weight of your fury. “Mistakes don’t last for months. Mistakes don’t make someone feel so invisible they disappear. Mistakes don’t force someone to flee halfway across the world just to fucking breathe! You think I’ll forgive you just because you decided to find me now?” You huffed and continued, “Well, guess what? I learned to live without you two a long time before I left, so why don’t you both go fuck each other some more and leave me alone!”

Gojo spoke softly, inching to touch you. “We’re here. We care about you.”

“Care?” You laughed bitterly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You humiliated me. Your stunt at my office nearly destroyed everything I’ve built. Do you think anyone respects a CEO whose husbands storm her building and beat up her employees?”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. Gojo opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“And let’s not forget the internet is a circus, and you’re the clowns.,” you hissed, your voice shaking, ears burning with humiliation. “I’m being dragged into the spotlight for something I never wanted public. All because of you. They’re calling me a sexual deviant and undermining everything I have ever done while simultaneously thirsting over you two, because, of course, men don’t get the same treatment. #TwoHolesForAReason is still trending. What the actual fuck, Nanami? You too?”

Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, and your breathing grew heavier, each word feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest. The injustice of it all clawed at you, the betrayal stinging sharper than any physical wound. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless as the world turned your life into a spectacle, and the very people you loved were at the center of it.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and sorrow. “We were wrong. We should have been there for you. We should have…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.”

You could see the guilt etched on their faces, the way they shifted uncomfortably, as if your words were a physical weight pressing down on them.

“Tell me,” you said, your voice low and trembling, “did you even think about me when you were together? Did I ever cross your minds?”

Gojo opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he looked at Nanami, a silent plea for understanding passing between them, but Nanami kept staring at your stomach. The moment stretched, and you could feel the desperation radiating from them, but it only fueled your anger.

“Don’t look at him,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You both made this choice together. You both decided I was expendable.” The image of Gojo grabbing Nanami’s pecks mid-fight at your company came to your mind, and you resisted the urge to bash his head in.

Nanami’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him. “We were selfish,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. 

Gojocut him off, his hands trembling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “We love you.”

“You love each other,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, breaking. “And I was just... there. An afterthought. An inconvenience.”

Silence.

Nanami stepped closer, his hand reaching out instinctively, but you shrank further. “Please,” he said softly. “Let us help.”

Gojo stepped forward, his hands outstretched, but you recoiled, the instinct to protect yourself overwhelming. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

The hurt in his eyes was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel sympathy. Not now. Not when the wounds were still fresh, still bleeding.

“Just go,” you said, your voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

Nanami’s face fell, the weight of your words crashing down on him. “We can’t just walk away,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “We love you. We want to be here for you. And the babies.”

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your body trembling from the effort of holding yourself upright, the weight of their presence suffocating. “I don’t need you. We don’t need you.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

The finality of your words made them both freeze, their faces pale and stricken.

You turned your face away, unwilling to look at them any longer. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

(alt ending 1.1)

“You heard her.”

The voice from the doorway made you freeze.

Sukuna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his tattoos stark against his pale skin. His grin was sharp, dangerous, and entirely out of place in your tiny apartment.

“And who the hell are you?” Gojo snapped, his six eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

Sukuna’s smirk widened. “None of your concern. But unlike you two, I don’t barge into her life uninvited.”

Nanami stepped forward, his gaze calculating. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re upsetting her,” Sukuna said, his tone light but edged with menace. His crimson eyes flicked to you, softening slightly. “You good, princess?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m fine. Just… please get them out of here, Ryo.”

The way you said his name weakly made Sukuna straighten, his grin turning feral as he rolled his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. “You heard her. Time to go.”

Gojo stepped toward Sukuna, his grin tight, his energy shifting. “You think you can just waltz in here and—”

Sukuna cut him off by closing the gap in a single step, towering over him. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Try me, pretty boy.”

Nanami's shoulders squared, his gaze calculating. “Leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked between them, his lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m here because she wants you out. Seems like it’s very much my concern.”

Gojo rolled his shoulders, the first hints of tension seeping into his movements. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. She’s our wife. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Both your wife. Eww, Sukuna grimaced.

Before Sukuna could continue berating them, Nanami moved. His fist lashed out, aimed for Sukuna’s jaw.

Sukuna caught it with an open palm, the force reverberating through the room.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Sukuna said, voice maniacal, before pushing Nanami’s fist just enough to force him to step back.

Gojo lunged, his speed almost imperceptible, but Sukuna sidestepped him lazily, his movements fluid. “Do you two always resort to fists first?”

“Do you always waltz into someone else’s business uninvited?” Nanami countered, already throwing another strike.

You tried to rise, your voice strained. “Stop—”

Your attempt was cut off by a sharp, tearing pain in your abdomen. A cry escaped your lips as your hands instinctively cradled your belly.

Nanami faltered mid-punch, his head snapping toward you. “She’s in pain. Gojo, stop!”

Gojo hesitated, his fists lowering as he glanced back at you. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

You couldn’t answer, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Sukuna moved before either of them could, crossing the room in a few steps. He knelt in front of you, his large hand resting gently on your knee.

“May I?” He asked, his voice calm.

You nodded weakly, unable to muster the energy to speak.

Sukuna’s hand moved to your belly, his palm warm against the strained skin. A faint glow surrounded his fingers as his RCT began to work. The relief was almost immediate, the tightness easing as the twins’ restless movements stilled.

Nanami stepped towards you, his fists clenched. “Get your hands off her.”

Sukuna didn’t look up, his focus entirely on you. “She needs this. Or would you rather let her suffer while you two throw tantrums?”

Gojo bristled, his hands twitching at his sides. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” Sukuna replied smoothly, his tone almost mocking. “I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m not the one who left her to deal with this alone.”

That struck a nerve.

You let out a shaky breath, your body finally relaxing as Sukuna pulled his hand away. “Better?” he asked, his gaze meeting yours.

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

Sukuna stood, his movements unhurried as he turned to face the two men. “She’s carrying enough weight without you two adding to it. If you really care about her, prove it by doing something useful. Like fucking off.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Gojo and Nanami glared at him, their fists tightening at their sides.

Before Gojo could move, Nanami placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Enough. This isn’t good for her.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t resist.

“We’ll be back,” Nanami said, his gaze steady as it locked onto yours. His voice was low, carrying both regret and resolve.

Sukuna snorted. “Not if I can help it.”

Without another word, they turned and left.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence rushed in, oppressive and heavy.

Sukuna turned back to you, his expression softening. “You need to rest.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay?”

He smiled faintly, taking a seat next to you on the couch with respectable space between you two.

Your head swam, a sudden wave of dizziness taking hold. They were coming more frequently now, spells that left you breathless and trembling.

But before you could fall off the couch on your head, Sukuna was there, one of his large, calloused hands wrapping securely around your upper arm. The heat of his touch grounded you as he guided you carefully to the other side of the couch.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble. The sharp edge was still there, but muted, like a blade sheathed. “You don’t need to waste energy on those idiots.”

A weak laugh slipped past your lips as you wiped your eyes, though it sounded more like a gasp. “They’re not idiots. They’re just… pain in my ass.”

His eyebrow arched, he chuckled, the sound warm. “Could’ve fooled me. Barging in here like they own the damn place. If it were me—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head even as your hand trembled against the couch cushion. “I don’t need more madness, Sukuna.”

His grin softened, though it didn’t lose its devil-may-care quality. “Fair enough. But you’ve gotta be smarter about this. They’re not going to stop just because you want them to.”

“I know,” you whispered, barely audible, as your hands cradled your belly. The motion was protective, almost subconscious, as you rubbed soothing circles on it.

His sharp crimson eyes followed the movement, narrowing as they settled on the curve of your stomach. “You gonna tell me the truth now?”

Your throat tightened, the walls closing in as panic tried to claw its way to the surface. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice dropped lower, almost a purr, as he leaned back against the couch. “I’m not here to judge. Just saying, if you need someone to run interference, I’m your guy.”

You blinked at him, your heart hammering as you searched his expression. “Why are you helping me?” You asked, the words trembling in the air.

His grin returned, sly and self-assured as always. “Because it pisses them off. And because I like you, princess. Not in a ‘love thy neighbor’ way, but in a ‘let me take you on a date’ way. You’ve got guts.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, shaky and wet with leftover tears but real nonetheless. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

“Anytime.” He shifted, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch, though the movement seemed deliberate, protective. “Now, what’s the plan? Because those two aren’t going to stop sniffing around just because I scared them off.”

You let your head fall back, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, heavier than ever. “I don’t know. I just need... time.”

“Then time’s what we’ll give you,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Let me handle the sorcerer boy band.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a small flicker of hope.

-

Sukuna didn’t waste time. The same night, after Gojo and Nanami showed up, he had you telling him what you wanted packed. His demeanor calm, though his crimson eyes burned with quiet determination.

“We’ll leave at midnight,” he said, tossing your suitcase onto the bed. “New place, new names.”

You hesitated. “Sukuna, this is… too much.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin not unkind. “It’s not. They’re sorcerers, princess. And the strongest too, but not stronger than me.” His tone was laced with a smug confidence. “If you want to stay hidden, you don’t half-ass it.”

By dawn, you were in another country; your new apartment was upscale and screamed money, but it was cozy too. The marble floors, high ceilings, and soft leather couches were a far cry from your tiny space.

Sukuna waved off your questions about how he’d managed it all so quickly, his smirk the only answer you’d get. He had taken care of everything—paperwork, flights, even a fake backstory in case anyone asked too many questions.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he said, tossing you the keys. “Welcome to your new life, and just enjoy the upgrade.” He lounged on your new couch, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

He refused to leave your side, and you didn’t argue. It was a relief to have him there, especially since you were certain they would show up eventually. Also, you needed someone around, not just for protection but also because you weren’t exactly the icon of flexpertise right now. The morning sickness and dizzy spells had become a regular part of your day, making even simple tasks feel daunting. Plus, he could help pick things up from the floor and assist you when you needed it. His RCT would also come in handy if you got sick.

The following days blurred into one another, Sukuna taking charge in ways that left you both grateful and unsettled. He was relentless, managing everything from your meals to your prenatal vitamins.

One day he dragged you somewhere the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets as Sukuna pulled you along, his grip firm yet gentle around your arm. You could feel the heat radiating from the pavement, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and street food. It was a stark contrast to the anxiety swirling in your chest.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, glancing around nervously. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone who recognized you from the controversy that had followed you like a shadow. The thought of being exposed made your stomach churn, the twins inside you shifting restlessly in response to your unease.

Sukuna paused, turning to face you, his crimson eyes piercing yet reassuring. “Trust me. No one will recognize you here.” He flashed a grin, the kind that made your heart race despite the worry gnawing at you. “Besides, I’ll be your husband today. No one will question us.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “Husband? What if someone asks questions?”

“Then I’ll just tell them I’m the luckiest man alive,” he replied smoothly, his tone playful. “And you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if anyone gets too nosy, they’ll be disposed off.”

You thought he was just joking at the last bit, but little did you know he was serious.

You couldn’t help but smile at his bravado, even as a flutter of anxiety twisted in your stomach. “You really think this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely,” he said, resuming his pace, his hand still firmly guiding you by the arm. “You need to get out, meet other birthgivers, and enjoy this experience. It’s good for you and the brats.”

As you approached the community center, the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft strumming of a guitar. The vibrant colors of the decorations and the cheerful atmosphere were infectious, but your nerves still danced beneath the surface.

Sukuna opened the door for you, his demeanor shifting to one of quiet authority as he ushered you inside. The room was filled with expectant mothers, some cradling their bellies, others bouncing babies in their arms, some even with their partners. You felt a pang of envy at their ease, their confidence radiating like the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“See? Just regular people,” Sukuna said, his voice low and steady as he scanned the room. “You’ll fit right in.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“Your mask won’t let them. And if someone does recognize you, I’ll tell them you just look like the CEO, but you have been my wife and have never been to Japan,” he replied, his tone light but firm. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll make sure they forget they ever saw you.”

His confidence was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly as he led you to a circle. He settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight. As the instructor began to speak, you felt Sukuna’s hand rest on your knee, a grounding touch that eased the tension in your body.

After a brief round of introductions, the instructor clapped her hands, her voice that chipper mix of optimism and oblivion. “Alright, everyone, before we start our poses, let’s share a bit about our experiences as parents! Who’d like to go first?”

Sukuna leaned back, arms draped lazily over his knees, his smirk sharp enough to slice through the tension. “I’ll go,” he said, his tone dripping with casual confidence. “So there we were—me and my lovely wife—on a little trip to the beach. You know, just a casual day in the sun.”

The other mothers leaned in, their eyes sparkling with interest, while their husbands shot daggers at Sukuna, their expressions a mix of envy and irritation. He was tall, muscular, and exuded an effortless charm that made him the center of attention. You could practically feel the heat radiating from the glares directed at him, but Sukuna seemed unfazed, basking in the admiration like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Of course, I had to carry her to the water,” he continued, gesturing dramatically. “She was so heavy with those twins, I thought I might need a forklift!” Laughter erupted from the mothers, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Turning back to you, his expression triumphant. “So, I heroically carried her through the waves, and she screamed like a banshee when the water hit her feet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. “I did not scream like a banshee!” you protested, but the laughter bubbling up made it hard to keep a straight face.

“Sure you did,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I was the brave knight saving you from the evil ocean.”

“Look at him,” one mother whispered to her friend, her eyes sparkling. “He’s like a model or something!”

“Right? And he’s so sweet with her,” her friend replied, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and envy.

Soft giggles bubbled through the room, accompanied by fluttering lashes and whispers. Sukuna exuded a kind of dangerous magnetism.

One mom whispered too loudly, “He’s like... a walking romance novel,” her husband coughing pointedly beside her.

Sukuna caught the comment and scowled. “Eyes up front, lady,” he muttered under his breath, annoyed but not surprised. When another woman blatantly winked, he leaned closer to you, slipping an arm around your waist with exaggerated intimacy. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he cooed, voice low enough for only you to hear. “These vultures are giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him off.

The instructor spoke. “Okay! Let’s get into couples’ poses. First, the trust fall!”

Sukuna stood, cracking his neck like he was prepping for a fight. You shot him a warning glance. “Don’t drop me.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

As you leaned back, trusting his arms to catch you, another mom muttered something about his “strong, capable hands.” Sukuna sighed, catching you effortlessly before twirling you upright with unnecessary flair. “Keep staring, and I might start charging admission,” he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and smugness.

“I got one more.” He didn’t wait for approval, because, of course, he didn’t. “So there we were, me and my beloved wife”—his crimson eyes flicked to you with a smirk that screamed chaos—“on a romantic hike in the wilderness. Out of nowhere, she decides to wrestle a goat because it wouldn’t let her pet it.”

The room froze. A couple of moms paused mid-stretch, their jaws dropping like they’d just heard the start of a soap opera. The dads exchanged side-eyes that translated roughly to, Who the hell is this guy?

“And, naturally,” Sukuna continued, his voice syrupy with faux affection, “I couldn’t let her handle it alone. She’s fearless, sure, but not exactly built for a one-on-one with livestock.”

“Oh my god,” you hissed under your breath, digging your nails into your mat. “Stop lying.”

Sukuna ignored you, gesturing dramatically like he was recounting a battle for survival. “So I stepped in, took down the goat, and carried her—my delicate, fragile wife—back to safety.” His grin widened, exposing sharp canines. “All in a day’s work.”

A collective sigh swept through the room, a mix of disbelief and blatant swooning. One mom muttered, “That’s so... romantic.” Another just stared, eyes tracing the veins in his forearms like she was drafting fan fiction in real time.

The dads? All glaring, but none of them dared to say a word. Sukuna, at 6’6” with biceps that looked capable of cracking skulls, radiated the kind of energy that said, Try me. I dare you.

“Alright, Romeo,” you muttered, elbowing him. “Enough.”

Before he could retort, a woman in leopard print, Karen—yes, she had the haircut and everything—stood up, arms crossed and nose wrinkled like she smelled bullshit.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice whiney, “but that story sounds ridiculous. And frankly, this is a yoga class, not open mic night.”

Sukuna turned his head slowly, like a predator catching the scent of fresh prey. “Oh? Didn’t realize we had a fact-checker in the room.”

Karen puffed up, undeterred. “I just think it’s important to set a good example for our kids. You’re just trying to make yourself look good in front of all these women. What kind of husband are you, anyway? And lying—”

“Lying?” Sukuna interrupted, his tone dangerously sweet. “I don’t lie, sweetheart. Some of us just have a sense of humor. You want proof? I’ll take you hiking. Maybe you’ll end up wrestling a goat too.”

Karen crossed her arms with a smug smile on her face and leaned in with a condescending tone. “So, what exactly makes you think you’re qualified to be a husband? I mean, can you even handle a simple pregnancy without making a joke out of it?”

Sukuna’s voice dripped with mock sincerity. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a terrible husband. I should’ve let her handle the goat alone, huh? Really prove her mettle.” His smile dropped as he deadpanned, “Maybe next time, I’ll wrestle your husband instead.”

The room went silent, save for a muffled snort from someone in the back. Karen’s husband, who had been trying to become one with the floor, suddenly found the need to tie his shoelaces.

“Well, no real husband would let his wife wrestle a goat. And clearly, this yoga class is for serious parents, not... posers. Some of us treat the miracle of life with the respect it deserves. I mean, she probably got pregnant out of wedlock, and you’re probably the chump who got stuck with it,” she spat, her eyes narrowing as she regarded you with open disdain.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna stood up, towering over her with an intimidating presence. The air crackled with tension as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and menacing.

“For the final time, I. AM. HER. HUSBAND. The kind who’s here to support his wife, unlike some people,” he said, his tone dripping with a dangerous edge. The room fell silent, the other husbands shifting uncomfortably, their glares intensifying as they sensed the storm brewing.

“Back off, lady,” one of the husbands muttered, clearly not wanting to get involved but unable to resist the urge to defend his pregnant wife.

Karen’s husband made a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a plea for help. Sukuna glanced at him, sizing him up like he was calculating the time it’d take to fold him into a yoga block. “You good over there, champ?”

The instructor, visibly sweating, clapped her hands again. “Okay, time for the next pose, the Partner Downward Dog! Let’s channel all that energy into our health!”

Sukuna groaned, muttering under his breath, “This woman and her yoga cult...” He shot a glance at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “You good to do this, or do I have to carry you like the delicate little penguin you are?”

“I’m fine,” you shot back, already struggling to maneuver your cumbersome body into position. Your stomach felt stretched beyond reason, and every movement brought a new kind of discomfort.

Sukuna was behind you in an instant, his large hands steadying your hips. His touch was firm but not rough, a quiet kind of reassurance he’d never acknowledge. “Alright, lean forward. I’ve got you.”

You could feel his gaze linger—not on the curve of your belly but lower. “Are you ogling my ass?”

“Shut up and focus on not falling,” he grumbled, though his smirk gave him away.

The instructor clapped again, her forced cheerfulness grating. “Great job, everyone! Now, onto the partner wheelbarrow pose.” 

You groaned, already dreading it. Sukuna, however, was unfazed. He easily lifted your legs, holding you steady as you awkwardly braced your arms on the mat.

Karen, the reigning queen of unsolicited advice, determined to assert dominance. “You’re supposed to engage your core more,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

Sukuna didn’t even glance at her. “You’re supposed to shut up, Karen.”

She gasped. “My name is not…How dare you—”

“Don’t care.” Sukuna set you down and stood, cracking his knuckles. “Focus on your own yoga or let’s take this outside, or are you gonna send your husband?”

Karen sputtered, her face turning red as her husband tugged nervously at her sleeve. Now actively sweating. “Uh, babe, maybe let it go.”

Karen turned on him. “Are you scared of him?!”

“...Yes.”

“Don’t you start!” She snapped on him.

“...Okay.” He shrank back, clearly regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Meanwhile, the instructor was frantically flipping through her clipboard. “Uh, next pose! Let’s try... uh, partner flying boat!”

Sukuna raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Flying what now?”

“Just lift me,” you muttered, too tired to argue.

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed your hands and hoisted you into the air. The ease with which he balanced you on his feet was almost insulting. He looked up at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “See? I’m a natural.”

“You’re a show-off,” you grumbled, though the slight flutter in your chest betrayed you.

Behind you, Karen tripped over her mat again because her husband was clumsy, landing face-first with a muffled shriek.

Sukuna grinned, all teeth. “Careful, Karen. Wouldn’t want your husband to have to wrestle me over that.”

Her husband? Already halfway out the door.

He didn’t stop there. With unnecessary flair, he spun you around, earning gasps from the other moms. “He’s so strong,” one whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

“I can hear you,” Sukuna said sharply, his glare cutting through the room like a knife. “Eyes off.”

The mom in question flushed, looking away quickly. Even Karen seemed momentarily stunned into silence.

When Sukuna finally set you down, his hands lingered on your arms, steadying you. “Alright, you’re done for today,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you protested weakly, already too exhausted to stand.

“I just did,” he shot back, his voice softer than usual as he guided you to sit. His attention was back on you, the rest of the room forgotten. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning against him. Despite his gruffness, you couldn’t deny the safety his presence brought.

Throughout the class, Sukuna was incredibly attentive, fetching water for you whenever you needed it and ensuring you stayed focused. You found yourself laughing openly after months, his unhinged stories and sassy comments bringing a lightness to the atmosphere. He reminded you of Megumi’s dad from years ago, the way he openly showed affection to Megumi’s mom. You couldn’t help but wonder how they were doing after his father passed away long before you reconnected with Megumi in college. The last you heard, his father had left a substantial sum to his mom to start their security solutions business, which Megumi had been managing while also pursuing his psychology degree.

He was quite a few years younger than you, and despite the years of no contact, he had come through for you when you needed him. But you couldn’t reach him now; he had a knack for tracking people down like his father. You remembered Megumi’s frustration when you had to leave your home country to marry the two men. He had been openly against your decision ever since he met them—he could warm up to Nanami, but Gojo? Marrying two men? That was a different story entirely. A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you realized how much you missed your college friends.

As you watched Sukuna’s antics, a swell of gratitude filled your heart. His unwavering support was a comforting presence, even as the reality of your situation loomed in the background.

After the class, as you stepped outside into the warm sunlight, Sukuna turned to you, a satisfied grin on his face. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through your earlier anxiety. “No, it was actually… nice.”

“Good. We’ll keep doing this,” he said, his tone resolute. “You need to enjoy this time, and I’ll make sure you do.”

As you walked back, the warmth of the sun on your skin and Sukuna’s presence beside you, you felt better. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this new life, one day at a time.

A couple of days later, the hum of your laptop was the only sound in the room, save for the occasional clack of your nails on the keyboard. Deadlines loomed, projects needed greenlighting, and your inbox was a battlefield of investors, board members, and department heads vying for your attention. You weren’t just the CEO of your company—you were the company. And even now, with your back aching and your feet swollen beyond recognition, you were determined to stay on top of it all.

Then, of course, Sukuna had to barge in.

“Are you seriously still working?” he drawled, leaning an arm against the door frame with that maddeningly smug look on his face.

You didn’t bother looking up. “I’m busy.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“And?”

“And you’re about to take a damn break,” he said, stalking into the room like a cat ready to knock something valuable off the table.

You scoffed, glancing at him over the rim of your blue lens glasses. “I can’t just stop working. This company doesn’t run itself.”

“Funny, I thought you hired executives for that,” he shot back, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“They still need me.”

Sukuna crossed the room in two strides, towering over you like a thundercloud. Before you could react, he reached down and unplugged your laptop with a decisive click.

“Hey!” you protested, scrambling to grab the cord, but he was faster. With infuriating ease, he tossed the power adapter onto a high shelf you had no hope of reaching in your current penguin state.

“What the hell, Sukuna?”

“Watch me,” he said, smirking. “Your job is to grow those little gremlins, not work yourself into the ground.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. The exhaustion hit like a freight train, your body sagging into the chair as if it finally realized it had permission to rest. Your glare softened, replaced by a quiet sigh of defeat. “I can’t just... stop,” you muttered, weaker now.

“You can,” he countered, crouching to meet your eye level. His voice was softer this time, the sharp edges smoothed out. “The company will survive without you for a few months. You? Not so much if you keep this up.”

He had a point, damn him.

“I still need to make arrangements,” you mumbled, leaning back and pressing a hand to your belly. The twins kicked in response, as if to echo his sentiment.

“Then make them,” Sukuna said, standing up and pulling your ergonomic gaming chair—he had gotten you one in your fav color—away from the desk with a gentle tug. “But from the couch. And only after you’ve eaten something.”

You wanted to argue, but the idea of sinking into the cushions and delegating for once was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, glaring half-heartedly as you stood. “But only because you’re being annoying.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, penguin.” His smirk widened as he helped you waddle toward the couch, ignoring your threats of retaliation.

And maybe, just maybe, you felt a little lighter knowing he was right there to catch you when you needed to let go.

The pregnancy itself felt alien. Your body, once familiar, now seemed foreign, stretched to the limits of what it could endure. Veins stood out like rivers on a map, and your skin itched with a ferocity that no cream could soothe. At night, under dim lights, you swore you saw the twins moving just beneath the surface, shapes pressing against your belly as if testing the boundaries of their world.

But when you spoke to them, the chaos stilled. Your voice, soft and uncertain, seemed to reach them in a way nothing else could. “You’re being good today,” you murmured one evening, your hand rubbing olive oil on the tight curve of your stomach. The twins stirred beneath your touch, a gentle nudge pressing against your palm as though answering your unspoken thoughts. Tears welled in your eyes as a fragile smile tugged at your lips. You blinked them away.

From the doorway, Sukuna watched, arms crossed and face unreadable. His presence was always imposing, even when he wasn’t trying to be, but tonight there was something almost tentative about the way he lingered.

“They listen to you,” he said finally, his tone an odd mix of observation and something softer, almost vulnerable.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The moment felt too delicate to break with words.

Sukuna pushed off the doorframe, his steps heavy but measured as he crossed the room. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the chair, shaking it out with a flick of his wrist before tucking it carefully over you. His hands moved with an ease that belied his usual brashness, adjusting the pregnancy pillows he’d insisted on buying—three of them, because one wasn’t enough, apparently.

You watched him as he worked, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. He paused when he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

He snorted, clearly not buying it, but didn’t press. Instead, he stepped back, as if retreating to a safe distance.

“Sukuna,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He stopped, half-turned toward the door.

“Do you want to feel them?” You gestured to your belly, your voice laced with genuine curiosity.

His reaction was instant and comically transparent. His shoulders stiffened, and his crimson eyes darted to your stomach like it might explode. “What? No. Why would I want to do that?”

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. “Because they’re your kids, oh faux husband?”

“They’re your kids,” he shot back, his voice gruff, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, turning a faint shade of pink.

You laughed, low and amused. “You’re scared.”

“Am not,” he snapped, but the defensive edge in his tone only confirmed it.

You pressed, grinning now. “Big bad Sukuna, terrified of a couple of unborn gremlins?”

He glared, sulking. “I’m not scared. I just... don’t see the point.”

“Right.” You patted the space next to you on the bed. “Come on. They won’t bite.”

He hesitated, looking like you’d asked him to stick his hand into a nest of vipers. But after a moment, he moved closer, his movements awkward and deliberate, like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Here,” you said, taking his hand and placing it gently on your ginormous stomach. His palm was warm and rough against your skin, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Soon, a tiny kick met his hand, tentative but unmistakable.

Sukuna froze. His eyes widened just a fraction, the briefest flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his face.

“They’re saying hi,” you teased, your voice soft.

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, stuffing it into his pocket and muttering, “Yeah, well, tell them to keep it down.”

You laughed again, a sound that filled the room and made his scowl deepen. But there was no mistaking the way his gaze lingered on you, softer now, as if the weight of the moment had settled somewhere he desperately wanted to acknowledge.

After ensuring you were comfortable, he retreated to his usual spot in the next room. You heard the creak of his bed as he settled in, close enough to hear you if you called out. The bed wasn’t weak; he was just a giant sequoia tree.

Later that night, when the nightmares came—vivid and merciless—you woke trembling; the images of Gojo’s cold eyes and Nanami’s unforgiving hands lingered, still fresh in your mind, as though they were still in the room. Sukuna was there before you could fully sit up, his hands steady on your shoulders.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

When your breaths came shallow and quick, he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat with you, his presence solid and grounding as the panic ebbed.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone gruff but edged with a care he’d never admit. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. Even when his hands trembled just the faintest bit from exhaustion, you knew he wouldn’t let go. You noticed his long nails were filed down now.

His care was relentless, though not without its abrasive edges. He harassed you to eat, to drink water, to rest. When you tried to push back, his response was always the same: “Argue all you want, princess, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t. You felt a sense of comfort in that. Your actual husbands, the fathers of your babies, had abandoned you months ago, while this man—who had no obligations to you—loved you as easily as breathing. You could see it in the way he ensured everything was always within reach for you, even when he wasn’t around. If you asked him for water fifteen times in a night, he’d fetch it for you every single time, despite his fatigue. He’d grumble and yell, but he’d still bring it to you without fail.

He hadn’t even mentioned the date he wanted since that day; he gave you the space you needed until you were ready. He did all of this for you without asking for anything in return. Even when you felt like a human submarine, he found ways to compliment you in his own unique manner, while your husbands had long ignored your existence, even before your pregnancy. You felt desirable, but right now, you simply didn’t have the energy to reciprocate anything.

One day the air in the apartment was stifling, even with the ocean breeze teasing the edges of the balcony curtains. You leaned against the railing, letting the salt-tinged wind kiss your skin. Sukuna was out, and for a few minutes, you allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the ocean breeze, to imagine a life where your past couldn’t find you.

Then you saw them.

Gojo’s stark white hair caught the light first, gleaming like a ghost under the streetlamp’s glow. His figure was impossible to miss, a beacon of anarchy, while Nanami’s shoulders were squared, his sharp gaze cutting through the night like a blade, locking onto you with unrelenting sharpness. His arm rose, a silent gesture to Gojo, and together they moved, their silhouettes bleeding from the street into your sanctuary like shadows with intent.

You immediately grabbed your phone.

Ryo: Please come home fast.

The knock was more a warning than a courtesy. Gojo didn’t wait for permission; the door swung open with an ease that felt invasive, wrong. They stepped inside, their presence heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself recoiled from their arrival.

“You’ve been busy,” Gojo said, his voice unnervingly calm. The cocky lilt you knew so well was gone, replaced by something jagged, something that cut.

Nanami’s eyes drifted downward, catching the curve of your stomach. His brows furrowed, confusion twisting into something darker as a ripple moved beneath your skin. It wasn’t subtle—an inhuman and ugly stretch, limbs pressing outward like trapped spirits testing the walls of their cage. You cursed yourself for wearing a crop top, but nothing else fit you these days, and it was too warm here in Schelles. His gaze snapped back to your face, but the damage was done. You saw it: the revulsion, the disbelief.

The air between the three of you crackled, silent but electric. Gojo’s eyes were locked onto yours, an ocean of emotions churning beneath the surface—rage, fear, something almost resembling grief.

“What’s going on?” Nanami finally asked, his voice tight, controlled, but teetering on the edge.

Your throat burned as you swallowed, the words threatening to choke you. Still, you forced yourself to stand straighter, your nails digging crescents into your palms. “Fine. You want the truth?” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “They’re Sukuna’s. I’m pregnant with his twins, and since he’s half a curse, so are they.”

The room plunged into a suffocating silence.

Gojo’s grin faltered, the carefully constructed mask he wore slipping. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. Nanami’s face was a study in restraint, but the tightness of his jaw betrayed him.

“You’re lying,” Gojo said, his voice low and icy.

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Why would I lie? You ignored me. You left me in a country where I didn’t even understand the language. Sukuna didn’t. He took care of me when you didn’t even notice I was breaking.”

“Disgusting,” Gojo spat, his words venomous.

Your vision blurred, but you refused to break. Not in front of them. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the counter, the only thing keeping you upright. “Then leave. And don’t come back.”

Nanami flinched—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to make your chest tighten with anger. “You expect us to believe that you… cheated?”

“I expect you to believe whatever lets you sleep at night,” you snapped, your voice trembling but resolute. “Because the truth doesn’t matter to either of you. It never did.”

Gojo’s hands shook now, the façade of control crumbling. “You think this is about us? Do you know what I’ve been through? What we’ve been through? I had to kill my best friend. Suguru—” His voice cracked.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you hissed, your anger flaring. “You’ve never mentioned him before. I don’t understand why you’d react like this over killing some long-lost friend I’ve never even heard of. You’ve spent years with Nanami—more time than you ever did with whoever that is, so for all intents and purposes, he should be your best friend. And even if you were so sad over your so-called best friend, why am I the one left to bear the brunt of your grief? What did I do to deserve this?”

You aggressively wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek and continued, “I begged you—both of you—for any semblance of affection. I told you I was drowning, and you just... left me. You fucked each other for months while I cried myself to sleep in a corner of your penthouse, wondering why I was even there.”

Nanami stepped forward, his voice steady but strained. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Your voice was a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “When I came back to confront you, you were sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms. Like I didn’t exist. Like I wasn’t your wife.”

The words landed like physical blows. Neither of them moved.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo whispered, the words fragile, brittle.

You shook your head, tears burning tracks down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did. You don’t deserve forgiveness. And even if I could forgive you, I will never forget the night I became an intruder in my own marriage.”

Nanami reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, but you recoiled, crossing your arms protectively over your stomach. “Don’t. You don’t get to touch me!”

Gojo’s voice dropped, desperation leaking through the cracks. “We didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice shaking with fury. “You didn’t care enough to notice. Even with your six eyes and your oh-so-great curse signature reading abilities you always bragged about, you didn’t.”

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but unyielding. “Leave. Sukuna will send over the divorce papers. Sign them and don’t come back.”

They hesitated, their expressions unreadable, but when you pointed toward the door, they obeyed. The sound of it slamming shut echoed through the apartment, leaving you trembling in its wake.

It had to be this way if you were to keep your babies safe, away from the dangers of the sorcery world. You needed to ensure that no one could take them from you.

A few minutes later, Sukuna returned. Finding the front lock broken, he rushed inside, his presence filling the space with a warmth you hadn’t realized you needed until now. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and the shattered pieces of your resolve and said nothing. Instead, he crossed the room, his arms enveloping you in a hug, firm and grounding.

“They were here,” he stated, not asked.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I told them the twins are yours; I’m sorry nothing came to mind.”

He tilted his head, his crimson eyes studying you. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them when they come back.”

“They won’t,” you said, your voice hardening. “They don’t deserve to know them. Or me.”

Sukuna smirked, but it wasn’t mocking. “Good.”

And when he sighed, content, for the first time in a long time, you truly felt that you were safe.

You peered up at him.

Sukuna smirked, his arms still holding you close. “Told you I’d take care of you, princess.”

But even as you closed your eyes, the weight of your choices pressed down on you, heavier than ever.

-

The hum of the plane’s engines was a constant, hollow noise, drowning out the world outside. The cabin was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a reading light over Nanami’s seat. He stared blankly at the leather-bound hardcover of The Myth of Sisyphus in his lap, its pages untouched. Beside him, Gojo leaned against the window, his long legs stretched out in the aisle, his eyes obscured by the darkened lenses of his sunglasses.

Neither of them had spoken since takeoff. The silence between them was heavy, a chasm filled with unspoken truths and raw, festering wounds.

“She’s lying,” Gojo said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, like speaking it aloud would make it more real. “The twins… they’re ours.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He flipped the book closed and placed it on the tray table in front of him, his movements deliberate, mechanical. “I know.”

Gojo let out a hollow laugh, pressing his knuckles against his lips. “She doesn’t understand these things because she can’t see them. Those… those legs under her skin.” His voice cracked, and he turned his head toward the window, the faint reflection of his face pale and gaunt. “That’s not Sukuna’s cursed energy. One of them is mine, and one is yours.”

Nanami’s hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gojo turned to look at him, his sunglasses sliding down his nose enough to reveal his bloodshot eyes. “How can you say that? They’re our kids, Kento. She—she’s going to raise them with him.”

Nanami closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if releasing the air from his lungs could somehow ease the ache in his chest. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, a suffocating reminder of the choices they had made and the consequences that followed. “And what would we offer them, Satoru? A life filled with curses? A life of blood and death?” His voice trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil within. “She’s better off with him, away from us.”

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him, as if the fabric could somehow absorb his pain. “I’ve looked into him—he abandoned sorcery long ago and holds no loyalty to its hierarchy. He’s free from the chains that bind us, free from the expectations and the endless cycle of violence that defines our lives. He will prioritize her, unlike us, always off on missions with no guarantee of return.” The bitterness in his tone deepened, each word laced with regret. “He will be there for her, keeping her and the kids safe.”

Nanami’s mind raced with images of what could have been—a life untainted by the darkness of their world, where laughter replaced the echoes of sorrow and love flourished without the shadow of fear. He could almost see you smile, the warmth of your presence, and the innocence of their children, untouched by the burdens they carried. But that vision felt like a distant dream, slipping further away with each passing moment.

“Do you think we could have given them that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the thought aloud would make it more real. “A chance at a normal life, free from the horrors we’ve faced? We’ve only ever known how to fight, how to survive. What kind of future is that for them?”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken truths and the haunting realization that they had failed not just you, but the very lives they had hoped to protect. Nanami’s heart ached with the knowledge that their choices had led them to this moment, a crossroads where love and duty collided, leaving only fragments of what could have been.

Gojo slammed a fist against the armrest, the sound startling in the quiet cabin. “We didn’t even fight for her. Not once. We just… let her slip away. What the hell is wrong with us?”

 The weight of Nanami's eyes settling heavily on Gojo. “We broke her, Satoru. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the woman we claimed to love.” His voice was steady, but his words were sharp enough to cut. “And now she’s gone.”

Gojo’s head dropped into his hands, his shoulders trembling. “I thought… I thought I was doing what I had to. After Suguru, after everything, I just—” He choked on his words, his breath hitching. “I couldn’t lose you too. And I did. I lost both of you.”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his voice quieter now. “She begged us to see her. To hear her. And we didn’t.”

Gojo dragged a hand down his face, the stubble on his jaw rasping against his palm. “She looked at me like I was a stranger, Kento. Like I wasn’t even human. Like she was scared of me.”

“She had every right to,” Nanami said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “We left her alone. We left her angry, grieving, and drowning; we made her feel like she didn’t belong in her own home. Then we chased her relentlessly from one country to another. Any woman, pregnant or not, would be scared.”

Gojo’s laugh was bitter, devoid of humor.

The silence returned, heavier now, punctuated only by the muffled sound of Gojo’s uneven breathing. Nanami sat motionless, his hands resting limply on his lap; he looked utterly shattered.

“Do you think she’ll forgive us?” Gojo asked, his voice barely audible.

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the endless expanse of clouds outside the window, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think it matters.”

Gojo’s breath hitched again, and he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he could somehow escape the crushing weight of his own guilt. He murmured. “We could’ve—”

“Could’ve doesn’t change anything,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “She’s gone, Satoru. And she’s not coming back.”

The finality of those words settled between them, cold and unrelenting. Gojo turned his head toward the window, the light from the wing of the plane catching on the tears that slipped from beneath his sunglasses. Nanami sat motionless beside him, his gaze fixed on the book in front of him.

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the flight. The weight of what they had lost, what they had destroyed, was louder than any words could ever be.

-

The days after their visit felt heavier than anything you’d endured. The lie sat like a stone in your chest, each passing moment adding to its weight. You told yourself it was necessary, that it was for your children. But it didn’t stop the nightmares that came in fragments, jagged and disjointed, like shards of a shattered mirror slicing into your subconscious.

You stood in a darkened room, the walls pulsing faintly as if alive. A sickly red light seeped through the cracks, casting terrifying shadows that writhed and twisted. Your breath fogged in the cold air, the chill sinking into your bones.

Gojo was there first, his white hair glowing unnaturally in the dim light. His face was obscured, his features blurred as if smudged by unseen hands. But his voice was clear, cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife.

“You’re disgusting.”

The words echoed, multiplying, each iteration louder than the last until it became a deafening chant. His silhouette loomed larger, his hands outstretched, fingers impossibly long and claw-like. They reached for you, dragging through the air, each swipe leaving behind trails of darkness that spread like ink.

You tried to move, but your feet were rooted to the ground. When you looked down, black tendrils coiled around your ankles, slithering up your legs. They were cold and wet, like the touch of something ancient and decayed.

Behind him, Nanami appeared, his back to you. His suit was untouched by the darkness that surrounded you both. You called his name, your voice trembling and weak, but he didn’t turn.

“Ken!” you screamed, desperation clawing at your throat.

When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile. His lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, his skin cracked, fine lines spreading across his face like a porcelain doll dropped from a great height. From the fissures seeped black ichor, thick and oozing, dripping down to pool at his feet.

He turned fully then, and you wished he hadn’t. His eyes were empty voids, twin abysses that seemed to pull you in. His expression was blank, his mouth set in a line of quiet condemnation.

“Why did you lie?” His voice was soft but burrowed into your mind like a parasite.

“I had to,” you whispered, though your words felt small, swallowed by the growing shadows.

“Did you?” he pressed, his figure growing distant even as he stood still.

The tendrils tightened, pulling you downward. You clawed at them, your nails splitting as you tried to free yourself. But they only tightened, dragging you into the floor that had become a gaping maw, teeth lining the edges of the pit.

As you sank, Gojo and Nanami stood above you, unmoving. Their faces blurred together, features melding and twisting until they became something monstrous. Gojo’s laughter echoed, sharp and cruel, as Nanami’s voice droned in an endless loop:

“You should’ve told the truth.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was the faint ripple of movement beneath your skin, something inside you fighting against the pull. But even that wasn’t going to be enough.

You woke gasping, your hand clutching your stomach as though to protect the life within. The room was quiet, the shadows still. But their voices lingered, whispering accusations in the corners of your mind.

Sukuna was always there in an instant, holding you as you fought through the panic attack. He rubbed circles on your back and forced you to count and breathe.

A/N: So, mystery hunk (™) is officially in the chat, and yes, he’s soft for our girl in his own chaotic way. Also, the part about Nanami reading Camus? That wasn’t just for flavor text—yes, I went there. If you’ve ever wanted to cry about The Myth of Sisyphus and think about how life is just a series of rolling boulders uphill, congratulations—this chapter’s for you! What do you think Sukuna’s Ryo-side would say to Nanami’s Sisyphus-side? Also, people who are grumbling about Sukuna being our guy, I have my reasons; hear me out: Gojo and Nanami are both special grades in this fic, so you need someone stronk who can proteck and attack you/for you. I will write more fics in the future where you'll have your fav guys as your saviors, so in the meantime, if you have ideas or just want to yell at me, send them on my asks. I’m curious: do you think Gojo’s breakdown was justified, or was he being selfish again? Let’s talk about it! Oh, and if you had to wrestle a goat, which JJK character would you pick to help you? (Sukuna’s banned. Too OP.)

Also this is your manz -

And this is what you married -

Even the stable one is weird -

Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy

Disclaimer - I found these memes randomly on Pinterest, so lmk the creators if you know so that I can tag them.

[helliloveit]

Living Room Flow

This was kind of a disaster, longer than i thought it would be, but i like it. I don’t know if Frank is mean mean in here, but whatever this is i live for it. Feedback is always welcomed, kisses. English is not my native tongue.

Frank Castle x f!reader

Warnings: mdni, +18, Mean!Frank (half) he softens as the writing progresses, brat!reader, cop!reader, situationship, spanking, cursing (Frank is a sailor), smut with a plot(?, angst, rough, not a full happy ending.

W.c: 3.2k

Summary: It’s been a complicated day, you are not the best version of yourself, Frank isn’t patient with you this time. You don’t complain even if your feelings get in the way.

You hear the roaring of his truck outside the house and that made you jump over your seat in the couch. Yes, you had a dense afternoon, everything felt suffocating, your job that, thankfully you got out of early today left you with a bunch of tasks you even didn’t know how to start with. The fun thing is that every single friday is like this, and every single time of these Frank went even more bossy than he already is.

He is not your boyfriend, no, there is no love in the way you treat each other, you let him toss around your papers files as long as he offers you some protection, a deal.

Yet, you can’t deny he is sort of endearing, since you have nice amount of time knowing each other, besides the rare ‘friendship’ you had built, he stealthily made his way inside your life, your actions and your decisions in order to: “Ya needa be wise in this, anything you do wrong its a fuckin’ rope around ya neck.” Or whatever he says. Doesn’t matter how many times you roll your eyes, he’s right, being a detective in this city is not merely safe or fair.

Is not fair when you have to read and read and whatever conclusions you get with are rejected because there’s not enough proofs, even if you explained every detail thoroughly, a week of work, all destroyed in front of your face, and that’s exactly what happened to you today.

Something worth adding is that recently he drove his way into your desires too, you don’t even remember when it got to a breaking point, the only thing you know is that Frank carved his name with flames on the skin of your abdomen, he left you like a puzzle’s abandoned piece and you're sure you'll never find a half that fits you like he does. You are screwed. So much more when you realize his sex drive its lower than your willings to work, and that’s bold statement.

That’s also the reason of your bitterness, let’s be clear, you are not sweet, even less with Frank, that man has a sharp tongue, and he does use it. But today, you got to admit you were insufferable. So much that Frank better left the hustle for later, he could handle your back handed remarks, your disdainful looks too, but don’t you dare pushing him or swatting at him for tell you what is right.

The spare key jingles, then he enters the warm illuminated living room as you watch him from your place accommodated on the maroon sofa, the atmosphere grows heavier by seconds, the scowl of his face looks deeper and his movements determined, the creak of the wooden floor under his boots combined with the rumbling of the tv are playing an extra number on your anxiety.

— “You got the files, do you?” His harsh voice vibrates through the upholstered walls then your ears.

— “Yeah, they are in the kitchen aisle.” Your response comes out dry.

He looks back at you confused, where he’s standing he can clearly see the kitchen aisle… empty.

On Frank’s side, if he says he’s not upset with you, that’s pure bullshit. Already lost 5 of his seven patience bars trying to work along with you. And the way you inhale deeply and stand up from the cushions to stamp the documents where they are supposed to be, he already lost two more.

He leaves his jacket on the rack besides the entrance and walks down the little curve to the marbled surface. He exhales stressed when he finishes to read all the titles and none of them are the ones he needed.

—“Sweetheart… i know you are pressed but,” he raises the papers, kind of excusing himself, even if he’s tired of your attitude he doesn’t want to make you sicker.

—“These are not the ones i asked for.” And he attached to his very submissive tone.

That didn’t had any effect on you though, you went back, snatched the goddamn sheets out of his hands, checked for the right name and threw the new folder over the aisle again.

—“Let me know if you want me to read ‘em for you too.” You rumbled annoyed as you turned around to go away.

Hollow silence fills the space.

—“Hah, you little fuck. You stop right there.” It didn’t came out loud, if you wasn’t so attentive at his reaction you wouldn’t have noticed. You look back disgusted, who does he think he is to command you like that? You scoff and keep your tracks and that’s when he raises his voice.

—“I said stop right there, y’ didn’t hear me?” It was too much for you, you weren’t exactly obedient but for whatever reason you froze not so far from where you turned your back at him. You hear him walk, his heavy steps reaching you, suddenly your head feels heated, you love the thrill, and he always knows how to deliver it perfectly.

—“The fuck is wrong with you now, huh?” He lowers his head to get to your eye level. “That attitude is gonna get you places.” He slowly says as his arms rest behind your sides, grasping the cold aisle behind you, one of his hands moved to your face, fixing your jaw in his direction, dwarfing it in his pretty big extension.

—“Think you can blame your pent up frustration on me.” He nods slowly, analyzing every feature in you, something he’s pretty good at.

—“Let go.” You cling to the last bit of rebellion left in your body, lift your chin and slap his hand away with a curse, he backs up, chuckling. Oh, he’s amused. And you’re not sure if he likes the challenge or simply is hilarious to him to witness how deep into the trouble you are getting.

Your breath is growing faster and everything but steady, your hands cold, all of it provoked by the way he’s glaring at you, if you didn’t know him the way you do, you were sure he would be plotting your murder. Frank is one to intimidate people but that’s not quite what is happening to you now, you hate when he hovers over you and slightly tilts his head, even more when he is almost smirking thinking he has you wrapped around his finger.

And maybe he’s right because you kiss him.

Is not the first time it happens anyways, you fist the fabric of his henley, giving a fuck if it’s ruined by the time he needs to get home, you’re pouring every emotion in it and he knows, he pleases you, he lets you climb and tangle around him, press your torso at his firm one, yes, but he is not satisfied, not with the way you had treated him the whole day.

When you take a break he slightly pushes you back from your neck, your hands travel down his chest by the distance.

— “What is it now?” You ask hazy.

—“What it is now? Baby are you aware of the way you had talk to me?” You frown, of course you had been such an ass today but, he can’t deny you a good shake off, right?

—“But-” you start to display your best puppy eyes, he doesn’t let you finish though, you are looking at his own dark gaze until the clink of his belt draws you away from your trance.

—“Nah nothing sweet. Turn around.” The way he plays the the piece of leather off has you pretty distracted.

—“We can talk it over Frank.” He clearly hears the desperation in your voice, whether he wants to calm it is another matter.

—“Oh, we can talk it over now? That’s new.” His hand spins your shoulder until your back is a few inches away his chest, pushes your blade until you feel the cool surface breeze your nipples through the thin fabric of your old tank top.

At this point the anticipation have you teary eyed, you look back at his frame, it is so broad, he is so heavy in his presence it makes your back get goosebumps, even more so when he lifts up the hem of your top to look at it, he made it clear a few times, he loves your back, specifically how it arches when he caresses at your skin with his rusty palms.

The soft interlude ain’t last long.

Both of his hands tugs at the waistband of your sweatpants, so fast the panties get trapped in the motion, leaving you bare, he spreads your cheeks revealing your glistening parts for him to drool at them, he’s dying to bury his mouth in it but he won’t be nice, even if it gets to him more than it gets to you. He clicks his tongue.

—“I don’t think you get a release tonight, too bad for you.” He caresses your slit from start to finish, eliciting a shudder from you.

—“Frank please it’ll be good next time, make me feel good please, i swear.” You rise enough for his stubble to tickle at your temple, you wish you could melt in his body, all you need is a little bit of love and correction, also him to give you what you want.

It aches, he aches, doesn’t like to tell no to his pretty girl.

He hesitates for a few seconds, he needs you too, he feels it burn inside his core. Sadly, He’s a man known for his resilience.

—“Don’t wanna hear a single whine from your lips from now on.” He groans with wet lips in your ear, you’d have clenched your already soaked pussy if he hasn’t pulled your hips back and made you bend over again.

Suddenly you feel his fingers pressing the back of your neck against the gelid material you are lying on. Before you can protest a gasp leave your lips when instead of the leather of his belt a hand lands harshly on your ass, loud and painful.

He always preferred the traditional way.

—“Count five of those for me.” And it’s the shame to be so easily dominated. Subdued not only to his but your own body, you crave him.

—”Fuck you.” You try to wriggle his grip out uselessly, tears already streaming down your cheeks, you are always so brave it plays against you.

You yelp when your hair is pulled by his thick fingers, your neck sting at the forced flexion, and he hovers down to the shell of your ear again, squeezing your body under his, that’s when you notice his hard bulge against your messed folds, he’s as bad as you.

—“You can’t help yourself, can you? Why don’t you count ten instead, it’ll help you ease.” He surprises you with another hard spank.

By the time he has 5, you are sweating, biting your lips so your neighbors don’t have to deal with the consequences of your bitchy behavior too.

—“Ten.” You count anticipating the rough slap, but nothing comes, you look back timidly over your shoulder. He feels his cock twitch at your helpless face. Wet and colored cheeks, those eyes, god, you look like you haven’t been the most prolific brat for the past eight hours, almost like he is punishing you for your mere existence.

Tender strokes covers your manhandled cheek.

—“I think we can leave it like that. It’s been enough for you.”

Oh no, you don’t want to stop, you desperately look for his hand and grab it, leading its travel all over the side of your torso to your tit, you coax a squeeze out of his hand pressing over it. Your eyes enough of a message, a silent plead. His own mind liquid with lust.

—“Such a needy girl.” Frank lowers his head to merge in a tender kiss, your whole body is throbbing, the wet sounds of the smooch traveling right down your clit. You swear he reads it through you cause his point and middle fingers came down to indulge you, everything feels impossibly hotter, if hell has a nice place, this should be it.

The kiss doesn’t stop, and when it does Frank is all over your face, painting it with wet kisses and sweet praises you know you don’t deserve. He keeps rubbing it slowly until he decides it’s enough not for you but him and takes off your sweatpants that, at this point, where further down your shins.

He unbuttoned his pants earlier, predicting the big bother they would turn out, it wasn’t very useful after all, he tugged down the elastic of his boxer along his jeans, you glance down his girth, the tip coated in a wet deep pink.

—“Open up for me baby, would you?” You nod eagerly but he does it for you, rising one of your legs up to his shoulder since you are on your side, he slides part of his forearm down your other knee, guiding it to rest around his hip.

His entrance not so complicated since your wet and slippery like that, the soft sting making you back up a little but he holds you steady, a palm anchored between the crease made of your abdomen and thigh, doesn’t waste his time, coating his thumb in your slick to circle on your swollen bud with the right pressure to make you squeal.

He recognizes when it’s too much for you, eyebrows scrunched and incoherent whimpers, even more now that you are bouncing so much by the force of every thrust he gives you.

He hits that spot over and over, it is so intense you feel the need to grasp onto something but there’s nothing to hold onto, you’re high, sweaty, head lulling until you fix on him, he’s concentrated, grunting over the way you make him feel, burying his fingers in the soft of your skin, and he’s drunk, glaring at you though hooded eyes, god, you’re close, you feel it like a effervescent pill, pushing its bubbles to the surface.

You’re are good at recognize when it’s to much for him too, the disorganized rubs over your clit make you clench on him repeatedly, you would laugh at his efforts to hold together if you weren’t so down bad yourself. His red cheeks, his red chest too, that vein he has on the left of his neck which seemed even more noticeable when was close.

—“Coating me so freaking good baby just keep it like that.” It came out hushed, and you don’t really know if it was the surprise or the shame at his words that shoved you straight into a catastrophic fall beyond the border, but you came, and you came hard, like an implosion, constricted inside of you, throat wrapped on itself.

He did the same, the pulses of your walls swallowed him, and let’s be honest, there was no more bearing left inside of him. His last thrusts came along with loud pants, leaving all his seed in your insides.

Soft strokes of his thumb on your belly were the stimuli which dragged you out of the cloud nine bliss. His head resting near the creek of your neck, his warm breaths over your skin sweet-talking you to doze off.

Your hand found a nice place on his head to scratch, his hair not long enough to tangle but to hide your fingers.

—“Hey, message from earth to the space, are you alright? Do you copy?” Following that, you feel the low rumble of his chest, at least he wasn’t that ‘mad’.

—“Yeah, i’m near the moon now, over.” A chaste kiss is left on your cheek as he raises himself from you. You blush.

—“Agh Frank, that was so corny.” You fake annoyance, the little pull of the corners of your mouth sells you out.

He disappears into the darkness of your hallway. You take the break to get up from the rigid marble table, realizing how much you needed that. After a satisfying stretch, you take your panties off the floor putting them back on you, and serve two glasses of water.

As you engulf your own, you hear him come back stepping more than needed in your leaving room, he drinks the glass you left for him and you turn around to see. You know you shouldn’t feel puzzled by it but you really thought he would stay the night.

Jacket on and his disheveled hair gone, you find yourself astonished by the way the rough angles of his face seemed to soften in such private moments, specially now that his features casted drastic shadows, evoked the looks of a skull, so severe, so stern, is like nothing happened.

You lay your back on the chilly plastic of your fridge, glass is still in hand.

—“Hey, you know you don’t need to leave? It’s pretty late and cold outside, i know you give a fuck about risky so i’m im not bringing that up.” You taunt him, he’s flipping through those goddamn papers again. Finally, he finds what he was searching for. He folds them and buries them in his pocket.

—“Work needs to be done.” And he’s using that cold edge to his voice. It shrinks your heart, but it doesn’t matter, what you feel, it doesn’t.

—“Yeah, whatever,” you do a brief pause, noticing the fidgeting of his fingers, he’s always anxious, despite knowing each other for so long, you can’t entirely read him the way you’d like.

—“I’ll close the door for you.”

—“I have keys y-”

—“Yes Frank i know you do, i gave ‘em to you, c’mon.” You walk down the main door again, the breeze of the night wrapping your bare legs which he is covering with his frame.

—“Take care Frank, i don’t want to stitch your ass together for the hundredth time.” It is a constant struggle, every time he goes away you live it as if it were the last time, it could be both death or the bitter realization that perhaps you weren’t as useful to him, not as relevant as you think you are, both reasons could take him away from you, although you never had him in first place.

You meet his eyes, he was already looking at you, he is pondering something, gears turning in that head of his.

—“Don’t worry about that,” Suddenly he wraps an arm around your waist, hugging you close enough to peck you on the forehead.

—“Y’know you ain’t needa worry ‘bout me.” He caresses the small of your back, you wish he was easier to convince, at this point, and with a lot of persuasion, he’d be happily sleeping on your bed.

You find yourself hugging him tighter, inhaling the scent of his clothes until you let go, your eyes shimmer with something raw, a fresh cut of your vulnerability, he’s aware, he kisses you on the lips, useless like a band-aid on a broken bone. There is no more he can do, regardless. Once you close the door, you are left with the frigid air lingering in your living room.

It’s not that late for a few tears and a couple of wine glasses.

[shadowbriar]

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter — Skeletons

Pairing : Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.4k Warning : Language. Domestic violence. This might be triggering so please proceed with caution. If you feel uncomfortable in any part of this fic, please just skip it entirely. Synopsis : Dex's paranoia lead him to lose his temper after she's been out of touch the whole day. Notes : I feel the need to remind that this is purely a piece of fiction. If you, or anyone else you know, is experiencing similar or any kind of abuse, please talk to someone about it. You matter. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

To say Dex was worried would be such a poor judement. He’s made one too many mistakes at work, perhaps provoked the beast that is Wilson Fisk a little too constantly, to ignite that silent wrath the powerful man often unleashes upon those who’d wronged him. A little spark in his heart hoped that he was just being paranoid, that he’s seen far too much violence in his job that it clouded his mind, but as the clock strikes midnight and her absence was still loud in their shared apartment, Dex knew that such possibility might have already become the bitter tragic reality.

His lips were starting to bleed from how much he chewed on them, fingers busy punching her name and redialling her number every time his calls went to voicemail. Any minute now, he was sure his heart would give in from the stress. Beads of sweat have started to drip from the back of his neck. Dex was worried and scared, but above all, he was angry.

He was angry at everyone at work for always throwing him under the bus. For giving him the most impractical tasks without any means of support and stomping on him whenever things went south. He was angry at Fisk for making him do his bidding. He was angry at her for giving him the silent treatment. Ultimately, he was angry at himself for letting things go so out of control.

Dex considered grabbing his jacket and just combed through the city to find her, but that little hope in his heart plants his feet to the ground, wishful that she would come through the front door any minute now. That, or he simply couldn’t bear the chance of facing the consequences of his mistakes.

His bubble of thought bursts as the sound of keys jingle from the other side of the apartment. He sprinted to the living room, waited with wide eyes as she opened the door, silently watching her from the corner of the room like a predator waiting for its prey to fall into their trap. He was too quiet for her to notice his presence as she hung her coat and scarf, kicking her shoes carelessly in the hallway.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice firm and cold.

“God, I thought you’re asleep, already,” she exclaims, clutching on her heart from the surprise “I had to stay for work. The system in my office was down the whole day, I could only start my tasks after 4pm, and I needed to finish them today.”

“And you couldn’t have called or texted?” he pressed, the veins on his forehead were becoming more visible “I’ve been worried sick, wondering where in the fucking hell you could be the whole time, do you know that?!”

She lets out a tired sigh, walking past him, “My phone died, and I didn’t bring a charger. Everyone else was already off at 5.”

“You said the system crashed, how are you the only one staying overtime for work?”

“Because, Dex, not everyone has the same deadline,” she seethes, clearly on the verge of her patience with all his pestering “Look, I’m sorry I made you worry, okay? I didn’t mean to. Now, can you please stop with the yelling and let me be? I’m exhausted, and I’m desperate for a bath.”

“No, we’re not done talking,” Dex persists as he follows her to their bedroom “You could’ve tried something, anything! Send me an email, for all I care! You don’t just go radio silent the whole day and not expect me to get angry about it!”

“Well, I’ve told you, I’m sorry, alright! I didn’t mean to get you worried and angry, I’m sorry!” she spat back, matching the rise of his voice now “And can you just shut up for a second, my head is already pounding as it is.”

“You don’t get to tell me to shut up, I have the right to be angry at you right now!”

“Fuck’s sake, Dex, what do you want from me?!” she yelled, facing him this time “I’ve told you, I’m sorry. What else do you want me to say?!”

Dex went quiet, watching her with his chest heaving. His temper was rising. The alarm in his ears was loud and he was seeing red. Turmoil was boiling in his veins and the voices in his head were begging him to grab the recordings and calm himself down, but as if he was paralysed, Dex couldn’t find it in him to move a muscle and could only let the other side of him, the worst and most shameful side of him, slowly taking the light.

“Just let this go, Dex, please,” she continues, running a hand through her hair as she walks to the bathroom “This is such bullshit.”

And that’s when it tipped him. The last words she muttered that weren't even supposed to reach his ears had become the final nail to his coffin. He grabbed her by the shoulders, twisting her so violently to the wall, hard enough to knock the pictures to the floor.

“I thought you were dead!” Dex yelled angrily, screaming to her face “I thought Fisk has gotten into you!”

She watches him with terror filled eyes. The sound of the frames breaking still rings, like gunshots to her ears, but even those didn’t match the loudness of Dex’s voice. He was angry, it was plain to see, and she knew that she’s jabbed on the monster he’s tried so hard to keep her away from. The man standing in front of her now was not her lover. No, he was entirely someone else. Someone that shouldn’t have been brought to life, in the first place.

The silence stretched forever. The only sound heard now was his loud panting and the small hissing of her lips as the tiny cracks of glass stab her bare feet. She was afraid, in pain, and above all, confused as to how their argument escalated this way.

“Dex,” she called with a voice barely above a whisper “Come back to me.”

And as if he’s been slapped across the face, the man slowly regained his composure. He blinks, taking a step back and retrieving his grip that would surely leave some bruise on her shoulders. His breathing hitch as he looks at the mess he’s made. There was a small pool of blood on the floor from her wounded feet, his own knuckles sore and bleeding from the impact to the wall, and when he looked up to see her face, that one lovely face that he worshiped so much of, now filled with horror and uncertainty, Dex knew that he’s came to a point of no return.

“I-I— I just— I’m sorry,” he breathed, swiftly taking her off of her feet and carrying her to the bed “I don’t know what came into me, I’m so sorry.”

She watches in silence as Dex hurriedly tends to her wounds. His body is still emitting rage, movement almost robotic as he kneels to clean the shards of glass. The muscles on his shoulders were still tense. One wrong movement and she fears she might unleash the beast once again.

She knew that Dex wrestled with his demons more nights than not. That the recordings with Dr. Mercer, though he still listens to every now and then, has had no effect to tame the fury in his head. The only thing he said to have brought him any sense of peace these days was her, but given the event that just happened, how there’s new dents the size of his knuckles and her head on the wall now, she wasn’t sure if she would still have such charm upon him.

“I’m sorry,” Dex says, this time with a firmer tone as if he was demanding her forgiveness “You have to forgive me.”

Still in silence, she waited for his next words.

“You— I mean, I wouldn’t have lashed out like this if you would just tell me where you were,” Dex reasoned, standing up and pacing a little further from her. He wipes his face with his palm, resting his hand on his jaw as he tries to recollect himself but such effort proved to be futile “You could’ve called me with your office phone. It wouldn’t even take ten seconds just to tell me you’ll be home late. Why didn’t you?!”

“Dex—,”

“I just— I thought you were hurt! I thought my job has finally bitten me back on the ass and got to you,” he pulls on his hair, still yelling in despair “I fucking love you, alright! You’re very special to me, don’t you see? I can’t lose you.”

Her gaze softened. The real Dex was coming back through the cracks of his voice.

“I just can’t lose you,” he finally cries.

Only mere moments ago, she was so afraid of the beast Dex has become, but now, standing a few feet away from her, choking in his own tears with both their wounds still bleeding, she couldn’t help but to feel sorry for him.

She opens her arms and Dex needs no words to run into it. He immediately succumbs to her embrace, burying his tear streaked face to the crook of her neck. She knew that the fear of her leaving came from a different sentiment than what a typical love would be. The fright plaguing his mind harboured from the slim chance of him finding anyone else that he could pin as his north star if she were to leave. No one understands his condition, no one bothers to listen and sit with him about it. Losing her would only make him drown in uncertainty once again.

“I love you, I’m sorry,” he repeats “Don’t leave me.”

“You’re right, I should’ve called, I’m sorry,” she whispers back, brushing the strands of his blond hair “I’m sorry, Dex.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he begs, pulling his face away so she could see the determination in his eyes “I’ll do whatever you want, just say it and it’ll be done. I’d kill for you, you know that, don’t you? Just never leave me, please.”

“Hey, listen to me, you don’t have to do anything, okay? I’m not going anywhere,” she soothes, wiping the tears off of his cheeks “Let’s not talk about it anymore, yeah? Let’s just call it a night and sleep, hm? What do you think?”

“But you said you wanted to take a bath.”

“I’m too tired for it,” she lies through her teeth “Could you get me fresh clothes, instead? I know how you hate outside clothes to touch our bed.”

Nodding like a child, Dex reaches into their closet and pulls out her pyjamas. He watches as she changes out of her dirty clothes, eyes locked on her as if he’s scared she’s bolt out of the door. Even with her gentle voice and that sweet smile plastered on her face, Dex was still on high alert.

“Come to bed, Dex,” she calls once she’s done changing “You must be tired, too.”

There was hesitation in his movement, but Dex climbed up the bed eventually. They were facing each other now, laying on their side but not particularly touching each other. This was the first fight they’ve ever had that actually brought his skeletons out and neither of them knew if the storm had truly passed. None of them dared to ask the question either as it felt like the topic was still too tender to touch.

So they only stared at each other. She studies the wrinkles on his face that slowly disappears. The way the muscles around his jaws were starting to relax, and how his breathing has come to a steady. The bloodshot anger in his eyes have dissipated too, replaced with daze and emptiness. It was as if his brain was trying its best to hit reset.

Slowly, her fingers find their way to caress his face. Dex fell into her touch in an instant. Sighing as if he’s awaited the gesture for so long. He closes his eyes, this time really trying to reach into that sense of solace that he usually was able to obtain much easier than now.

“Is this helping?” she asks softly.

“Yes,” he answers without opening his eyes “Plenty.”

“Okay,” she nods in acknowledgement “Go to sleep, baby.”

“No,” Dex shot his eyes open, fear once again filling them “You’re going to leave me.”

“I would never,” she reassures, inching closer to him “We’re in this together, aren’t we? Forever? You and me?”

He nods hesitantly.

“Then close your eyes and sleep, Dex,” she coaxes “I won’t go anywhere.”

Dex wanted to argue. He wanted to place his arms around her and pin her in place, trapping her just in case she decided to leave when he’s finally drifted to slumber, but he’s crossed too many lines tonight. He’s broken too many walls, burned too many bridges, to risk doing anything but what she asked for, so he forces himself to close those eyes and fall back into her touch. He tries to let her soothing gesture fill his senses, giving her the full control of his body.

“There we go, baby, just close those eyes,” she continues to coo, placing a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose “Rest those muscles, Dex, I know you’re tired.”

“I love you,” he whispers, begging “I just love you.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

Tears were starting to leak out of his eyes. Dex was frightened beyond words, but he promised to close his eyes, and so he did. He hates her for making him feel this way. For making him feel this helpless, full of anger yet has no power to release it, but he couldn’t find any better replacement. He couldn’t find anyone else that would keep him in line. Noone and nothing else that would guide him through the darkness of his wild ire.

Gently, she places his hand around her waist. The gesture made him let out a shaky breath, understanding that she’s giving him a chance to prove his words, “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

Dex shakes his head, “No, I promise.”

“Okay, I believe you,” she replies, her hands now brushing through his hair “Get some rest, baby.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I think you’ll wake up first than I do, actually.”

Dex lets out a nervous chuckle, easing himself down to her banter.

“I love you, Dex. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods, not saying a word.

With one last kiss to his lips, she closes her eyes. The road to land of Nod would be long and difficult tonight, but perhaps this too shall pass.

[lizzy-frizzle]

My girlfriend asked me what my experience with plurality was like, and after struggling to put it into short words/phrases, I decided to just describe my morning. So.

From the Perspective of Us

Silence fills the air as we awake into a darkened room. Samantha does a quick check on who woke up with us; Cait, Val, and Sapph check in. Samantha runs a deeper check in, and finds Elise hiding in a box.

Samantha addresses Cait, “Alright, Morning routine is primed to start, what’s the first task?”

Cait responds with an air of melancholy, “Sapphire wants some food, preferably the burger Liz left in the fridge last night. I need coffee before we do anything.”

Sam gently says, “No, unfortunately there is not enough time for coffee, I’d recommend pants first.”

“Fine.”

Val rubs the sleep out of the body’s eyes. Plants both feet on the ground next to her. Then groggily slides her pants on. She sits down at the computer, Sam turns the monitor on and opens firefox, putting on some music on youtube before continuing the morning routine.

“Don’t forget lola doesn’t have school today,” our wife says.

Val – Didn’t forget, unnecessary reminder.

Sam – don’t be like that val, it’s important to get reminders in case we did forget.

Wren – shut up shut up shut up shut up Cait – can we make coffee now?

“Yep, no problem. Did you sleep ok?” the body says.

“Mhm I slept ok.” my wife says as she begins getting ready for work.

We continue our groggy wakeup routine. We go to the kitchen to start making coffee.

Cait, “I hate when he makes it. Too bitter.”

Val, “Yea, it’s really frustrating. I got it though, no worries.”

Eventually we make it to the car. We sit down, hit the button.

Nothing.

“Fucking piece of shit fucking motherfucker ass fuck.”

“Wren, calm down.” Val holds the key up to the button, the car beeps and we turn the car on, “See? It’s fine.”

We put on more music, from our tablet, and sit until our wife gets into the car.

[unintelligible]

“Val, you gotta focus, we’re being spoken too.” Sam prods.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” the body speaks.

“I just said I was gonna be late.”

We look at the clock on the car, noting the time as 7:40am, “It only takes 5 minutes to get there?”

“I can’t clock in within a minute of entering the building.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” the body apologizes, a tint of sorrow seeps into our bones.

Wren – We failed her.

Sam – No we did- Val – I mean, she IS late.

Sam – That’s not our fau-

Cait – We need coffee.

Samantha gives control over the body to Wren, as it’s the best driver. The ride goes uneventfully, as Wren enjoys loud and angry music.

When we get home we sigh, the darkness fills the corners of the house, the blue light from the rising morning sun leaks through the cracks in the window. Samantha notes that our girlfriend, asleep on the couch, is blanketless.

“How does she sleep like that?” Cait asks.

Samantha goes to get a blanket from the closet, she picks out the blanket that our girlfriend got for christmas two years ago, and lays it on top of her, “No clue, hopefully she’s warm now though.”

Wren chimes in, “I know I’d want someone to put a blanket on us if we didn’t have one.”

We go and step into the bedroom, noting the mountain of laundry on the bed.

Wren – no no no no no no no no.

Val – no no no no no no no no.

Cait – Coffee. Now. Not Later.

Sapphire – I’m going to start crying.

Samantha – Ok everyone, calm down, it’s ok. We have all day to do it. Let’s start with some coffee and that burger. Then we do the laundry?

Liz – No.

Wren – No.

Elise – No.

Cait – Yes.

We leave the bedroom with our travel mug, and make ourselves a cup of coffee.

Val, “Can I play some of my games first? At least just the dailies…”

“No. Laundry first.” Sam says firmly.

Cait drinks the coffee, filling our mind with wonderfully pleasant chemicals, “Ahhhhhhhhhh.”

Wren sits the body down at the desk, “We’re picking the music. Internet Yamero.”

“Mori? Again?”

“Yes. Shut up. I like her.”

“Fine fine, just make it quiet enough to not wake up the whole damn house.”

Wren hears the microwave go off from across the house in the kitchen, and retrieves the burger from the hot box.

As we munch on the burger, we flick through tumblr and jam out to the music.

[kuntprodukt]

AMATO AMAR PERDONA

notes: the title is taken from The Divine Comedy, Canto 5(second circle) of Inferno. Initially this was an idea I wanted to include in my other fanfiction, so I guess this can be considered as a bonus.

Priest Leon S. Kennedy x female reader | 18+ MDNI. smut, female reader, light religious themes, Leon is a priest, blowjob, blasphemy kink, improper use of confessional booth, snowball kiss, semi public sex.

tags: @sprawberry

After years of fighting B.O.W, he finally sets on something calm, helping and saving people without risking his own life, but as time passes by, a bitter realization hits Leon harder than he expected; that not everyone was born for this. Maybe it is adrenaline addiction or without noticing he had found comfort in his misery at that time, but he is grateful that the routine incorporated easily into one’s life as deeds accumulate, overshadowing any thoughts about changing his life again and he didn’t have any other way other than focusing on the work.

The church is old and is not located in the best place, which tends to have windy weather. He suspected those are reasons why the building doesn’t have a lot of visitors, not like people are deeply religious nowadays either. Sometimes it feels like walls are thinner than paper, the wind brushes and whispers sweet, quiet nothings, barely audible to human ears while Leon prepares for his tasks or just lollygags during his free time. It has been said that airy currents can bring many unwanted things; pebbles, the leaves during the autumn season and the smells that disclose people’s secrets. He could never have expected it to bring a woman into his life, making it more colorful than any light arrays coming from the glass-stained windows in his church. From a small spark, a Great flame has risen.

The only thing he needed to do was to help you with your husband’s funeral, but he fucked this up. Really fucked up all this, his mind was repeating multiple times that it was his job to console you, he should have put down your little advances, but he couldn’t, deep down the urge to delve into something prohibited was stronger. The conflict between his morality and passion had died down in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Your appearance was like a quick bullet going through his routine and destroying it, adding the thrill that consumed the guilt he was supposed to feel. Little touches of your fingers, while no one is looking, quickly have moved to more intimate encounters, indulging in each other’s body on the altar, under the eyes of Jesus.

Some days, even the confessional booth was filled with your voice, telling him your desires and how much you want him to fuck your brains out of your head, to make you a dumb slut in front of the son of God and there has never been a trace of shame in your words. A long time ago he deduced a devil would sound like you; with a sweet-sweet intonation describing, in the holy place and not trying to hide all details, how his cock would fill nicely your pussy. Leon’s mind didn’t help much in those cases either. It has always vividly recalled how good your moans echo against the walls of the church. Either there is no need to imagine anything he hasn’t already done in this building, every cranny has heard and the All-seeing eye has witnessed you indulging in the temptation of each other’s body. The gentle love transforms into a deadly sin, but it is better to suffer in hell together, than alone.

His cock was already hard, tucked out, stroking it with his hand while his blue eyes are set on your knelt state. He tugs your hair, pulling you closer to his aching length, pushing it against your lips. They almost envelop its head, the soft and plush skin of them on it, he keeps tracing and brushing his tip, smearing a little bit of his already leaking precum but not letting you go any further. Almost all day passed without even a light touch which is too much for him, a man like him can have a quick good time, and teasing himself was a bad decision.

“Daddy Kennedy, that’s not polite to make a lady wait” Your tongue peeks out to lick away the bitter substance on your lips, teeth bite down slightly on the lower skin after tongue retreated. His grip on your hair tightened, cracking out a smile and pushing your head closer now.

“It is ‘Father Kennedy’” his correction leaves his mouth quickly, leading to a light slap on your lips with his cock as a silent command to open your mouth. “and I still didn’t hear any holy words from this mouth”

You loll out the tongue, feeling him dragging his leaking head against the exposed wet surface, smearing and filling your tastebuds with the bitterness of his precum, which makes more saliva pool in your mouth. The man in front of you not only teases himself but you too.

“What do we say?” He inquires breathlessly, his blue orbs almost shining from intensity and heat in the dimly lightened booth. He slaps his cock on your tongue inducing a soft wet sound to escape when it connects with the flesh.

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and corrupted your man.” Your eyes keep the contact with Leon’s as the prayer leaves your mouth quickly, something you have already repeated a billion times and he is already familiar with those words, not his first time to hear from one’s lips and it wouldn’t be the last time. This is so boring in the end, repenting feverly about something you can’t help but spit on. So why not alter it? Punishment is much more tempting than forgiveness. Your lips ghost on his aching cock, movements of your tongue brush more against the tip, flicking ‘accidentally’ at it and leaving him to covet for more. “Alas, I don’t detest all my sins cause the pain of hell is more alluring than the pleasures of heaven”

“Do I need to teach you everything?” Leon’s voice breaks the silence with a rough tone after you alter the prayer. You wish he would strike you, but he doesn’t. His attention shifts, watching a string of saliva dripping along his flesh from the tip of your tongue. Your eyes are on his face, meeting his gaze and not wavering. “Don’t you have any shame in that body of yours? Carrying on your whoring so openly in front of me” There is a silence, but even with the lack of his order you can grasp what he wants right now; the grip on your hair lessens, letting you be more free in your actions. “But be not afraid, my dove, this don’t disgust me, I am here to absolve you from your sins”

You don’t need to be ordered around to know what he implies. His body shudders when your lips embrace his cock in the wet and warm sensations around him, your hand slides down with your mouth along the length until you reach the base. Leon doesn’t notice how his own palm returns its grip on your hair, his hips buck up pushing you deeper to get more from your mouth already. A greedy bastard you would call him. Deep inside guilt tries to crawl out, but your mouth around him let this bullshit disappear and focus on how your tongue flicks against the head, playing with the sensitive spot under the tip, while your hand keeps pumping along the flesh, spreading the dripping saliva with every stroke. The acolyte corrupted by a widow, he should be drowning in guilt and beg for forgiveness of the Lord, but the sight of you in between his legs reminds him that God can’t give a blowjob in the confessional booth, maybe is that what’s tempting.

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned, my last confession was a year ago” Leon’s ears catch another woman’s voice, pulling him out of overflowing pleasure. This can’t be you, your mouth is busy with his cock and for a brief moment, he felt his blood hitch in his veins, at this hour usually there are no visitors, but seems this isn’t your lucky day. Your head halts its movements, keeping his cock in your warm and wet mouth, looking at him with a clear surprise. An idea sparkles in your mind, and you try to move more, to push his buttons and see him struggle cause of your doings, but his hand prevents this by giving a quick tap on the back of your head; ‘Don’t move’. A quiet sob before a trembling voice speaks up again. “I accuse myself of adultery, I have been eyeing and lusting for the man who isn’t my husband, God, I-…I am so sorry”

O the irony of the situation having someone confess the sin of lust while you are kneeling in between his legs. His hand grips harder your hair to tilt your head better so the tip rubs against the soft and velvet of your cheek, stretching it and he can feel your drool roll down, staining his pants. Leon takes a brief peek at the shadowed figure in the grilled window, trying to recollect himself. Shaky breath leaves his lips, listening to a woman’s words fill the space, his blue eyes dart down to your messy frame; trying to swallow your saliva. Leon can’t keep still himself, his hips start rolling into your mouth, enjoying the wetness of your tongue brushing along his sliding length. The pleasure makes it too hard to stay still, making him greedier for more. Your tongue flicks on his tip every time his cock moves back and forth slowly, leading his head rests against the wooden wall behind him, his half-lidded gaze keeps eye contact with you.

“Have you given into the temptation?” Leon asks. His voice feels so sensual to your ears, but they aren’t addressed to you. The poor woman whispers something, but you don’t catch her words cause your attention is mostly on the dick in your mouth.

His cock slides further, the tip rubs against the back of the throat provoking it to squeeze and tighten around him nicely and you try not to gag, not to sink too deep but your efforts are useless. His grip holds you well as he pushes you lower, highlighting his control over you right now. Drool drips more, its excess gathering at the corners of your mouth. There can be heard some noises coming from you, sending pleasant vibrations over every nerve of his body, but those wet sounds get muffled by his own heavy voice and shaky voice, trying to control it and not to get caught. This wouldn’t do anything good for his reputation.

“I can hear you rue your sin… my child, so…” he swallows hard, pausing to admire your messy state; eyes are watered, some tears roll down and your cheeks are stained with mascara, your face starts to get redder and the lack of oxygen makes you feel lightheaded, holding your breath to not mess with your gag reflex. “God is… All-forgiving..” Another heavy sigh leaves his mouth, trying to control his voice and not to groan as you swallow the excess saliva, provoking another jolt of pleasure running through his body. The warmth and how you struggle made him almost choke on the moan and forget what he was saying. If not for that lady, he would be already face fucking you without any obstacles. He swallows hard again, his tone is lower now, but there is an audible shakiness. “Repent your sins and pray to be shielded” A pause, staring at you with a darkened and burned gaze. “By the temptation of the devil… my child“

He knows well who is the devil here. His voice almost breaks in a high-pitched tone at the end of the sentence, when he rolled his hips into you, again to grind his tip into the back of your throat, his leaking tip from precum fills your taste buds again and you swallow some of the salivas, making tight walls clench around him, almost begging to cum. Personally, Leon doesn’t have the patience to keep that visitor any longer here, it gets much harder to keep his voice steady and right now his own pleasure is much more important than one’s problem. And he is nothing but a man. Hearing a mumble of prayer on the other side of the booth. His grip lessens on your hair, giving you control of your movements. You pull back, letting air to reach your lungs finally. Your lips create a strand of saliva between his dick and your glistening and swollen lips, inhaling greedily for air, while his mouth is covered by palm, trying to not groan which threatens to crawl out from his lips cause of the messy sight in front of him. His struggle is like an addiction, you can’t stay away from him right now, your lips return to pepper his cock with kisses, making him twitch in the hot air of narrow space and you sink down with your mouth, sucking on the tip while hand returns to pump his length, watching him struggling not to moan. Too bad he got lucky, the other voice ceased to exist, leaving him with you.

“That’s how you pray, sweet dove” Leon teases, the corners of his lip tugging up into a smirk. You hum, sending another wave of pleasure. Another flick and he feels his balls tighten, his cock throbbing in your mouth and his fingers return to your hair, taking control of your movements back into his hands. “Such a good little thing, fuck…” Leon mumbles, feeling beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He chases the rising pleasure in his body, his hips bucking to meet your face. Deepening thrusts, his head grinds against your throat. Another low moan escapes his lips. “Sucking so well, God made you for this, right?”

All he can see is your messy face, sloppily taking him so well, Leon is so focused on you and your mouth, his orgasm approaches quicker than he expected. His body shudders and with the last thrust his cock throbs for the last time and spurts out a load of cum, filling your mouth. His legs feel numb, and with a heavy gaze he is watching your mouth fill with his fluid so well. Leon’s mind is still under the influence of his orgasm and the post-nut clarity doesn’t hit him, so he doesn’t register how you get up so quickly, your hand lays on his stubbled cheek to pull him into a kiss. Mouth opened kiss. Your tongue doesn’t shy to intrude into his mouth, sloppily kissing him and passing the warm, slightly sticky, and salty substance into his mouth. His own cum. His taste. It fills his mouth and a moan crawls out against your lips. He pulled you tightly against his body, kissing you back harder, tongue probing and sliding against each other, playing and mixing his cum with your salivas. His Adam’s apple bobs and he swallowed it, the devil cocktail, feeling hot underneath his collar. Leon pulls back from a kiss, a string of fluids connects your lips, and if there was more time, he would fuck you on some of the wooden pews or better, on the altar. Alas, all he can do right now is to reach for your mouth to trace along the swollen and wet flesh of your lower lip. Not like his are better right now, he can still taste himself on the tip of his tongue.

“The god has freed you from your sins” he whispers, still panting heavily and his gaze is intently observing you with a deep, burning desire.

“Amen, Father” you respond.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Sheer Irony

(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)

—

Time written- 5:58 p.m

Titans!Jason Todd/fem!reader angst/fluff (TW: Suicide Mention/Attempt)

—

A faint breeze blows along your cheeks as you open the door, eyes glazing over a broad horizon full of dreary skies and rooftops. You find who you’re looking for standing ontop of a metallic platform framing along the edge of the building, his downturned head peering down at the dense, vacant streets below.

A long, harsh, catastrophic drop with just the wrong step.

Confusion rattled your mind when you wondered exactly what the hell was going on, never seeing such a trifling event happen in the common area. Millions of questions followed once you heard the screaming.

A million more followed suit when you walked in on the hostile environment, the air thick with static tension.

“You people are insane!” He had cried out by the second you entered the room, surprised to find a short crowd of people against him. Friends, colleagues, all glaring at him with accusations you didn’t fully hear.

“I’d rather be with Deathstroke than you assholes,” Jason states with an emotional quiver in his tone, growing more detectable towards the end of his words. “You think everything’s my fault.”

“Jason?” You call out to him, seeing his head lightly peek over his shoulder. Whether he heard you or not, he knew you arrived once the door was slammed shut behind you due to the wind.

“What do you want?” He asks with understandable bitterness wrapped up in a solemn tone, as if you were a stranger he could’ve cared less about.

Technically, you and Jason were colleagues for a long time, but never really reached the category of friends.

He was an obnoxious, painfully reckless Robin, but he was good. You were good, training yourself to set your differences aside to put the tasks at hand. You provided data, not violence.

The task now was to set those barriers of yours down with intentions to knock on his.

“To talk.” You reply, not wanting to approach further than you had to, but a huge part of you wanted to go further.

“Look. I don’t wanna hear any more bullshit—“

“Not about that,” you insist. “Just to talk, that’s all.”

To talk, to buy time. Anything.

Waves of guilt coursed through your veins for him, for his safety. The strong winds could easily sweep him off his feet if he allowed it, the tension in his braced legs preventing him from slipping off the ledge he stood on for now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jason states, his lungs burning with reach trembling breath he took. “The others think you’re crazy following me out here.”

“I don’t care what they think,” was your response, rooftop gravel crunching underneath your shoe as you took a slow step forward. “I don’t want you to be alone out here. That’s what matters.”

“Why?” He questions, refusing to turn around and face you with full disbelief on his face. “You hate me. You can’t stand me every time I’m around. No one can.”

“That’s not true,” you shake your head, slowly getting yourself to take another step forward. About four feet of distance remained between you and Jason, your mind cluttered with ideas on how to get him

“Jason, I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Jason mutters, not believing you for a good second. You understood that he wouldn’t trust anyone after what you witnessed. You didn’t want to be on that side.

The steel frames were tall enough for you to hop up yourself, but the height was unnerving.

He remained quiet, pondering his rancid emotions running nonstop in his head. He felt himself nothing but poison; black pitch that stuck to everyone who so much as touched him, costing their skin like a cancer until it killed them.

That’s what was happening now, wasn’t it? Everyone was hating him, blaming him for things he didn’t understand. Now, here you were, coming up to add onto the pile. He assumed that on the spot. Why else were you here?

Bracing your hands along the beam, you push yourself up on it, fighting back your fear of heights to put yourself into this vulnerable position. Thinking slowly, you ponder over what else you could do, thinking over in your mind.

“Wanna sit?” You say, hoping he’d take the hand that offered such an innocent suggestion. “Talking is easier to do when sitting.”

To show this, you move into a sitting position beside him, feeling a little less tense on your concerns for falling. Jason doesn’t take the bait at first, only wondering as to why you were still even trying with him.

“You don’t need to be here,” he reverberates, but you weren’t going to have it.

“Neither do you,” you glanced up at him, seeing his attention fully focused on you, sitting beside him as of the ledge was just an every day public park bench.

Reluctantly, he shifts his position, leaving you to thank the Gods. With Jason sitting, you had much better control and opportunity to catch him, with the roof behind you to break both your fall.

“Do you want the truth?” You hesitantly ask, wondering if that’s what he needed. Someone who didn’t follow the others, who didn’t view him as a scapegoat to their problems, just because the unintentional category he fell into without realizing.

Just a glance of his bruised face in your direction after staring ahead for so long gave you the sign, smoothing your sweaty palms over thighs.

“You can be… obnoxious sometimes,” you proceed, slowly making the decision to proceed. “But not dark, or annoying, or… Look. I don’t get why they accused you on the spot. I really don’t.”

Silence continued to rattle his physique. His shifting head slowly peering downwards after hearing your words. His heartbeat began drumming in his head, his lungs burning with an irritated sting, his throat going dry.

“I might not like how you are, Jason,” you blatantly confess, “But I tolerate you enough to understand that you didn’t deserve this.”

There it was. Catching him off guard by cold facts, only to soothe the blow with truth. Your truth, the truth that should matter.

Not everyone was against him.

A part of him appreciates it, but at the same time, he grew irritated at your persistence to tell him what he already knew. It only made his feelings for you that much harder to understand.

He was supposed to not like you.

You were smart, yes. You popped one liners when you helped relay information to the Titans, read books and kept journals by yourself during your free time, and listened to music when you were in desperate need of relief after plenty of audible overstimulation.

The way you had your hair styled on different days, your persistence of spraying perfume on yourself before going to bed.

You weren’t loud, you weren’t overtly quiet. You respected business and boundaries, despite your job to hack and defy the purpose of them behind a computer screen.

He hated how unique yet simple you were. No one would suspect you of your talents, balancing your double life with little to mo effort.

“You don’t deserve this, Jason,” you say in order to remind him, watching his calloused fingers slowly flexing in his lap, signifying his various difficult emotions. You’d say it as many times as you needed to, to ram it into his every day thoughts.

“I don’t hate you,” you shake your head, peering at his battered, slowly healing face. “And… maybe I don’t entirely hate just how annoying you are. Sometimes, it makes things fun on a boring night.”

The corner of his busted lip rose in a faint, subtle smile. That made an interesting amount of sense. Maybe he was the type to irritate you on purpose, especially during his much earlier days.

His much earlier, flirtier Robin days.

“How annoying?”

Maybe, just maybe, being his friend didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

“Horribly,” you instantly reply as it became your turn to smile. “I mean it. Every day I wake up and dread what stupid thing you’d say next. What could you possibly say today for me to cringe at.”

If the both of you weren’t sitting on the edge of a building, Jason would have half a heart to nudge you with his shoulder. But, he knew your fear of heights.

“You think of me?”

“It’s hard not to, Jay.”

—

“Did I miss a party?” You announce as you enter the dark, gloomy hallway, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of two tall men talking to one another. A pile of unconscious bodies explaining their rigorous treatments just moments before you arrived.

“You missed the fun,” Jason chides, an amused smirk quickly growing on his face. The first full bodied smile Tim had seen on Jason since they met.

“A little earlier, you coulda joined in on your kickass computer skills.”

“Oh, ha ha,” you say, catching sight of Jason’s said laptop abandoned on the ground, bits of broken glass hinting at an unsalvageable screen. “Looks like someone beat me to it already.”

“It’s you.” Tim’s voice makes your head raise, giving the man a smile as you take in his Robin uniform.

“It’s me,” you reply, feeling a nostalgic flutter in your chest upon seeing that uniform worn by someone new. “I see Dick passed on the torch. How’s it feel?”

“He’s learning fast,” Jason gestures with a raised finger before pointing towards the bodies. “Very fast.”

“I see that.”

Ever since you had made the choice to step back from your position with the Titans a while back, life had gotten more chaotic in very unexpected ways.

You changed; in heart, in mind, in maturity.

You’ve grieved your best friend’s death, silently took pleasure in violent justice in the deaths of those who’ve betrayed and harmed your colleagues. You grieved once more when masks were unveiled, and even aided the wrong crowds for a while.

At your age, you’ve seen it all, you’ve learned from other peoples mistakes, as well as your own. You hated it, but accepted the lessons learned. As off as that sounds, that’s the best way you could describe it.

You kept in touch with Dick when he needed the help from the ‘attractive computer geek,’ so you were at least aware of what was going on. Hearing it all from Tim’s perspective brought back the times when you used to work alongside a particular ex-Robin, who remained standing close to your side during all topics of discussion.

“I got to meet the great Red Hood,” you watched with a smile a few steps up on the staircase as Tim prods Jason’s chest in a friendly manner, causing a flare in his ego as he chuckles in response.

“Don’t forget her,” Jason gestures his head up towards you, Tim’s eyes catching the faint flush in your cheeks.

“Poor girl’s kept us from running around with our heads cut off for years.”

“Always gotta respect the tech workers,” Tim agrees with a nod, making you scoff in amusement. “At least you didn’t call me ‘customer support’. That’s Grayson’s favorite.”

You said you were leaving when Tim was considerate to offer you a ride, but you brush off that you had your own, intending to head out for a date in two hours.

But, you weren’t.

The Titans, old or new, didn’t need to know all your secrets, regardless if cracking them was your specialty.

“You gave him your bike?” You ask once he gets off the phone with said old bird, approaching him as he gazed up at a clear board with various equations scrawled on the surface.

“Just sits there getting dust in the corner. I trust him to take care of it.” Jason sips at his dark drink once more before trailing off to the side, setting the bottle down.

“Still on for tomorrow night?” Jason asks, watching smile form on your face. The date. It was kinda true.

“Of course. Just came by to get my lipgloss.” You smirk, raising up your cherry flavored lip product you had to fetch from under his bed where it had rolled. “Forgot it here last night, remember?”

“How could I ever.” Jason replies with a lowered rumble, recalling all the memories of the night prior, involving getting sticky, glittery cherry gloss along his lips, leaving remnants of it smeared on his neck after a very short, sexually tense conversation.

“Kinda thought you’d wear a scarf when you showed up,” he teases as he approached, amused at your eye roll.

“I don’t do scarves, Todd,” you state, feeling it harder to fight off a smile. Your hands ease off your hips to settle across Jason’s broad shoulders.

“Whatever you say, shortcake.”

By now, you should take up a job at being a makeup counter girl, especially considering how well you managed to cover up your hickies over the span of many, many months.

Your nose lightly brushes with his, his lips merely missing yours on purpose, planting a single kiss on the corner of your mouth before holding you closer, your hips smugly fitting into his hands.

You were a breath of fresh, rainstorm air after a dark storm, your perfume clinging to his clothes for days.

“Was thinkin’,” he murmurs. “We’d try to reenact last night for our date night.”

“Hmm, with a different flavor?”

“You taste a lot better without it.”

You giggle, settling your hands along his back to keep secure in this comforting embrace.

“You think of me like that?” The words softly leave your lips.

He smiles down at you, his eyes full of warmth and comfort in your presence, cradling your right cheek after fixing a bit of your hair. He can’t help but shift attention to your pretty lips; perfect petal soft skin that displayed the prettiest of smiles to his god awful humor.

“It’s hard not to, babe.”

[sallysavestheday]

First Lines Tag

Thank you to @dreamingthroughthenoise @starspray and @queerofthedagger for the tag!

I do like this one, as a writer of many little one-shots, because it always turns up something new.

The task: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway. (I will adapt it to say you can also post the first line of your last several chapters, for those who, unlike me, write longfics - there's no reason you shouldn't also get to share!)

I had a bit of a dry spell after getting whacked by DOGE in January, but I'm back in the saddle again...mostly. Even cranked out some cheery bits this week in anticipation of upcoming fandom events. Resilience, dammit.

So here we go with the most recent 10:

1. For the Eldar in Aman in the Years of the Trees, death was an infrequent occurrence.

With All Due Reverence (G: 1,900 words). A little faux-academic reflection on funerary rites among the Elves, ostensibly researched and written by Erestor and Pengolodh. For Silm Epistolary Week.

2. Fist-sized lump of malachite layered with copper ore, from a deposit in the hills behind Mahtan's forge.

Contents of Nerdanel's Strongbox, Preserved When Her Studio Burned (G: 176 words). What it says on the tin. Also for Silm Epistolary Week.

3. Ammë, do you remember how, when I was small and fractious, you would break coimas into the bright blue bowl and add a little water from the springs of Taniquetil, blessing and softening the crumbs?

Tender on the Tongue (T: 1,200 words). Excerpt from Lalwen's journal of the Helcaraxë, written as a letter to Indis. ALSO for Silm Epistolary week. Great event! You should try it next year!

4. It is Celeborn she asks to prick the memorial marks.

Steady Hands, Certain Heart (T: 425 words). Celeborn declares himself to Galadriel.

5. Idril has shed her shoes in their flight to the tunnel’s mouth.

A Bitter Premonition (G: 1,000 words). Idril and Glorfindel, at the Fall of Gondolin.

6. Fingon has never looked more like his father, Maedhros thinks, and winces.

Lodestone (T: 2,000 words). Fingon's plans to marry break Maedhros' heart.

7. The night’s storms have torn the canvas covering off the skeleton of the ship and blown sand around and through its standing ribs.

Hear Me in the Song of the Waves (M: 1,700 words). Sexy Tuor/Voronwë, with feelings (OK, mostly about feelings), for My Slashy Valentine. Honestly a new personal fave.

8. It is hard not to shout their joy to the heavens when they are all still grieving their losses.

Settling in My Bones (T: 300 words). My annual Valentine's Glorthelion, as the latest installment of The Flower and the Fountain.

9. Not even a direct order from Manwë himself could have persuaded Gildor to be King.

No Lark So Blithe As He (G: 730 words). Gildor Inglorion backstory, tra la la lally!

10. Tornel is taken young, swept into the nets of the Enemy’s forces as they descend on the wanderers’ camp.

Your turn, @tobermoriansass @melestasflight @polutrope @grey-gazania @eilinelsghost @idleleaves @shrikeseams @hhimring @dragonridersofficer-fiammag @katajainen. Give us your last 10 openings - old, new, chapters, fics, whatever. I can't wait to read!

Dream Dust (G: 1,500 words). Another Gil-galad origin story, and my first OC-centric fic (with a tiny peep of Maedhros at the end). For the 2025 Poetry Fiction Challenge - another event I highly recommend! This year's inspiration was Langston Hughes.

[mariacallous]

BERLIN (AP) — German opposition leader Friedrich Merz’s conservatives were on course for a lackluster victory in a national election Sunday, while Alternative for Germany nearly doubled its support, the strongest showing for a far-right party since World War II, projections showed.

Chancellor Olaf Scholz conceded defeat for his center-left Social Democrats after what he called “a bitter election result.” Projections for ARD and ZDF public television showed his party finishing in third place with its worst postwar result in a national parliamentary election.

Merz vowed to move quickly to put together a coalition government. But it wasn’t immediately clear how easy that will be.

A discontented nation

The election took place seven months earlier than originally planned after Scholz’s unpopular coalition collapsed in November, three years into a term that was increasingly marred by infighting. There was widespread discontent and not much enthusiasm for any of the candidates.

The campaign was dominated by worries about the years-long stagnation of Europe’s biggest economy and pressure to curb migration — something that caused friction after Merz pushed hard in recent weeks for a tougher approach. It took place against a background of growing uncertainty over the future of Ukraine and Europe’s alliance with the United States.

Germany is the most populous country in the 27-nation European Union and a leading member of NATO. It has been Ukraine’s second-biggest weapons supplier, after the U.S. It will be central to shaping the continent’s response to the challenges of the coming years, including the Trump administration’s confrontational foreign and trade policy.

The projections, based on exit polls and partial counting, put support for Merz’s Union bloc at just under 29% and Alternative for Germany, or AfD, about 20% — roughly double its result from 2021.

They put support for Scholz’s Social Democrats at just over 16%, far lower than in the last election and below their previous all-time low of 20.5% from 2017. The environmentalist Greens, their remaining partners in the outgoing government, were on 12-13%.

Out of three smaller parties, one — the hard-left Left Party — strengthened its position, winning up to 9% of the vote after a remarkable comeback during the campaign. Two other parties, the pro-business Free Democrats and the Sahra Wagenknecht Alliance, hovered around the threshold of the 5% support needed to win seats.

A difficult task for the winner

Whether Merz will have a majority to form a coalition with Scholz’s Social Democrats or need a second partner as well will depend on how many parties get into parliament. The conservative leader said that “the most important thing is to re-establish a viable government in Germany as quickly as possible.”

“I am aware of the responsibility,” Merz said. “I am also aware of the scale of the task that now lies ahead of us. I approach it with the utmost respect, and I know that it will not be easy.”

“The world out there isn’t waiting for us, and it isn’t waiting for long-drawn-out coalition talks and negotiations,” he told cheering supporters. “We must now become capable of acting quickly again.”

The Greens’ candidate for chancellor, Vice Chancellor Robert Habeck, said that Merz would do well to moderate his tone after a sometimes hard-fought election campaign.

“We have seen the center is weakened overall, and everyone should look at themselves and ask whether they didn’t contribute to that,” said Habeck. “Now he must see that he acts like a chancellor.”

The Greens were the party that suffered least from participating in Scholz’s unpopular government. The Social Democrats’ general secretary, Matthias Miersch, suggested that their defeat was no surprise — “this election wasn’t lost in the last eight weeks.”

A delighted far-right party

AfD’s candidate for chancellor, Alice Weidel, said that “we have become the second-strongest force.” The party’s strongest previous showing was 12.6% in 2017, when it first entered the national parliament.

She said that her party is “open for coalition negotiations” with Merz’s party, and that “otherwise, no change of policy is possible in Germany.” But Merz has repeatedly and categorically ruled out working with AfD, as have other mainstream parties.

AfD co-leader Tino Chrupalla told cheering supporters that “we have achieved something historic today.”

“We have gained 100%,” he said. “We are now the political center and we have left the fringes behind us.”

Scholz decried AfD’s success. He said that “that must never be something that we will accept. I will not accept it and never will.”

The head of Germany’s main Jewish organization, Josef Schuster, told daily newspaper Die Welt: “It must concern us all that a fifth of German voters are giving their vote to a party that is at least partly right-wing extremist, that openly seeks linguistic and ideological links to right-wing radicalism and neo-Nazism, that plays on people’s fears and only offers them ostensible solutions.”

More than 59 million people in the nation of 84 million were eligible to elect the 630 members of the lower house of parliament, the Bundestag, who will take their seats under the glass dome of Berlin’s landmark Reichstag building.

[icallhimjoey]

AAHH my favorite bitch back at it again! This will be a 5 chapter fic, correct? Because we best make him the FILTHIEST of martinis that makes him drop to his knees and kiss the floor we spill drinks on walk on. He better recognize we are more than just cute 😤😤😤

well, best we can do is TRY, isn't it? And that is, if Martin will let us... Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Surprise, surprise. Look who's back again. For the, what, fifth time this week, is it?”

“That’s... that’s no way to speak to a customer.”

You let your mouth smile so hard, it made your sarcastic eyes disappear entirely.

“What can I get you?”

“Oh, that’s all right, I think...” Joe started, and Martin reached to place a drink down on the bar where Joe would usually sit. Joe pointed at it for you to see, like you were dumb to even suggest you had to take his order. “I’ve already got one waiting. But thank you. Next time.”

Disrespectful idiot.

You didn’t like Joe.

You did. You liked Joe a lot. But you didn't like him, you know?

It had been a few weeks of this now, and the comments had become more and more biting. Always said with smiles – ones that didn’t reach your eyes, nor his. Never mean or actually bitter, but there was definitely a “you suck at this job you stupid cow” vibe coming from him, and a “you come here too often you sad sack of shit” vibe coming from you.

It made Martin bite away sly smirks and swallow his obvious laughter when he witnessed you interact with each other.

You just didn’t like how Joe seemed to act like he was above you in this bar, even though he didn’t even work there. Only vaguely knew the manager. Came in a couple nights a week, mostly by himself because he didn’t have any friends.

You didn’t know if that was true, but who the fuck spends hours in a bar by himself if they have actual friends to hang out with, you know? Man was a loner. A real loser.

Shame he looked so good. And shame that it always made your heart beat faster when you saw him walk in every couple of days. You’d tell it, fucking knock it off with the palpitations, I don’t have time for this shit, he called us inadequate, you stupid bitch.

Cute too, sure. He had called you cute as well. It was why he made you blush just by looking at you.

But he’d wished Martin good luck with that one and he obviously had meant you. So you didn’t like Joe. Even though you did. And even though he’d been right.

Because Martin really did need good luck with this one, you thought, mentally pointing a fat thumb at yourself. Martin hadn’t called you inadequate to your face, yet, but… the message was clear.

No one else got told to just go sit and to closely watch what he did. See how he made drinks. Learn from what you could observe. 

Martin had said it all politely, but had grabbed onto you by the shoulders and steered you around the bar without any hesitation. Gestured at the barstools there and… you were a little dumbfounded at first. 

“Just... so I just sit…? And watch?”  

“It’s a little too busy to have so many bodies behind the bar.” 

You were in everyone’s way a lot, is what he meant.

James had shoved you aside more than once and had dropped a bottle of sticky syrup when he bumped into you. Somehow that was your fault. You’d been standing in a spot you weren’t meant to be standing, because apparently you had to by now be able to anticipate his every next step all night long.  

You sat down closest to Martin’s station.  

Decided if you were going to be tasked to watch and learn, you might as well watch and learn from the best.  

It had been three days since you’d been called cute by a stranger and three days of trying to mix the perfect dirty martini.  

And it really shouldn’t be so difficult. You knew the steps. You knew what went into the glass. You could do everything exactly the same as Martin would do it, but somehow, you thought it always didn’t come out right.  

Martin said yours was good. Had tasted the dirty martini you’d mixed before opening just to show him you knew exactly how now, and he’d said, “Yea. Good. So that’s one drink down.”  

Only thirteen more to master from the current menu.  

And then whatever other random off menu drinks people would ask for. Like frozen cocktails that weren’t on the menu. But there was blender behind the bar, and people would go, “I see you have a blender, can I have this drink, but have it frozen, please?” and Chloé would tell them, of course! And then would have you try your hand at it. 

You weren’t sure if she was giving you the orders she knew you were going to fuck up just to mess with you.  

But you were kind of fucking everything up, off menu or not, so, probably not. It was likely more an issue of incapability on your end than a malicious thing on hers.  

Martin made you sit and watch him, and after a little while, he passed you a little notepad and a pen. It was weird to have someone rest their head on two stacked fists on the bar all night. Taking notes made it look like you were actually doing something. So Martin started giving instructions on what he was doing whenever he could, whenever he felt he had the time to do so, to give you things to write down.  

He didn’t have a lot of time to do so, though, so you just started writing down what you saw. Wrote down ingredients. Step by step instructions. Utensils and glassware used. 

You had to be quick though. 

Martin was fast.  

You had to keep eyes on his hands and hope that what you were writing down was still readable after.  

In your focus, you hadn’t noticed that someone sat down next to you. 

Someone who now had to sit at the long end of the bar, cringe, eyeroll, so very annoying, because you so happened to have taken the seat he’d usually occupy.  

Joe sat down and sort of watched you for a little bit. Looked at what you were doing. Puzzled together why you weren’t behind the bar doing your job, or trying to do so at least, and instead hogged his favourite seat.

He saw how you didn’t break eye-contact with Martin’s hands and chuckled to himself when he saw your handwriting.

There was no way you’d be able to decipher that. Didn’t even look like you were writing down words.

He looked on as your pen slipped off the paper and left a mark on the bar. 

“Careful, that’s the end of the note right there,” Joe said, condescending, too late to actually be helpful.  

You rubbed at it with a finger and quickly got your eyes back on Martin. 

You’d missed a step. 

Shit.  

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to pay attention because,” you paused, wrote down what Martin did with some lemon zest.  

“Because…” Joe egged you on. 

“Because apparently, I can’t mix my cocktails right.”  

“Oh,” you heard next to you as you watched Martin finish the drink, followed by, “So, you’re aware?” 

Hm?

What the fuck? 

You frowned as you looked down at your note and tried to process if what you just heard had been right. Then you slowly looked up, eyes first, then your head followed, and, oh no, this was the guy.

There wasn’t even time to think of a smart comeback quick enough, because the realization immediately made you move onto different things.

“Dirty martini!” you exclaimed, eyes wide, and you immediately got up. Well. You tried to immediately get up. The barstool scraped against the floor loudly, but it didn’t move back far enough, and you got caught between the chair and the bar and it made your tits land on the edge awkwardly before you turned and let your feet find the floor properly.

The whole scuffle of it made the little smile on his face break into an actual laugh.

“Careful,” Joe laughed as he hovered a hand near you that did nothing, all pretend helpful.

But the second you were off the seat, you got instructions to get back on.

“Sit back down.” Martin said, eyes not even on you, and it was stupid how quick you climbed back onto the seat again. It was also stupid how you were legitimately proud of yourself for succeeding at something Martin asked of you.

“This one’s for Joe,” Martin said as he placed the drink he’d just finished right in front of this guy. Joe, you’d just learnt. “But you can get him a dirty martini next if he’ll have one.”

Martin looked at you like you were a child, eyebrows raised up high on his forehead, and then when he turned to Joe, he broke into a grin. It felt like it was a smile that made fun of you a little, but then he said, “Let me know what you think, I need to sort the Christmas menu.” and you hadn’t even considered the menu changing soon.

Fuck.

That meant there were more drinks you were going to have to learn how to make. Things with seasonal ingredients. Things that were more festive. Things that included fire maybe, and you weren’t ready to light yourself on fire. You weren’t ready to see the horrified reflection of your hairdresser in the mirror as you explained that it was just an accident, and could she please fix it because you had a big New Year’s Eve party to attend soon?

 You didn’t get to make Joe his dirty martini that night.

Or the next time he came in.

Or the time after that.

Instead, you got to listen to him wince, hiss and then laugh when you dropped a full tray of drinks over yourself before you could even step around the bar to bring them over to the right table.

Instead, you got to see him hide a giggle when you held a bit of orange peel the wrong way when you squeezed it over a drink, spraying the juice right into your eyes.

Instead, you got to see how he seemed playfully impressed when you bit back at a comment Chloé made about you needing to get out of the way after she bumped her hip into you, and you’d said that it wasn’t your fault she had a fat arse.

When you looked at him though, he’d pretended to be absolutely scandalized. Like he was on her side for it. Like he was about to go, "Are you just going to take that, Chlo?" and egg this on.

When he didn't see you look, you'd seen him smile softly to himself and, you know what, he could actually piss off for real, who did he think he even was in the first place?

You’d apologized to Chloé immediately after, terrified Chloé would be offended, mortified you’d started an actual fight, but you’d seen a flicker of joy across her face, and you had felt comfortable enough to show a little of a smile in return. Felt like the first little bit of acceptance, of you speaking her language, and all it took was a little gas to the fire.

Instead of getting to make Joe a dirty martini, Martin made you do a million other things. He had you take peoples orders, had you learn how to close the bar to make opening easy and efficient the next day, had you prep ingredients the correct way, and had you do mundane shit like cleaning floors, tables, toilets, et cetera, et cetera.

You basically got to do anything but make drinks.

And Joe was the type of person to give you tips from where he was sat. Unwelcome shit. Things like, “Missed a spot here,” when you would wipe down the bar, or, “That table has been waiting for ages,” when you were just about to go over to take their order.

But Joe was a guest, and you were meant to be friendly and polite.

So you’d smile your most inauthentic smile and would tell him thanks in your flattest voice.

It always made him laugh.

Which, in turn, always made Martin smile.

Weird how that worked.

“Good evening,” you’d tell Joe when you’d see him walk in, all exaggerated faux politeness which he easily accepted from you. Before he’d even be able to go and sit down, before the coat was even off, you’d raise your pen to your pad and would ask, “What can I get you?”

And Joe’d just smile, like he couldn’t help the grin, and then he’d nod his head down, scrunch up his nose and point towards the bar before walking over to where he always sat. Where he’d take his coat off and reveal he was wearing a shirt with the first three buttons undone, sometimes even four, showing off literal cleavage. You didn’t need to get him anything. He’d get whatever Martin was already loudly shaking in his shaker.

It felt a little like you were put on the bench. By Martin. By Joe. Like you got to be a part of the football team, but didn’t actually get to play at all.

Didn’t get to take Joe’s order.

Didn’t get to make any drinks.

After a few shifts like that, James took pity on you, and when Martin left him in charge for the rest of the night, he’d given you an order to make.

Fuck yes.

Excellent.

And Joe was there, too!

Maybe if you did this right, James wouldn’t bat an eye if you just started on a dirty martini after, to slide over to Joe and to do what Martin always did. Ask him what he thought of it. Ask him to give a lengthy review which you knew was going to be nice words only, topped off by the satisfaction you’d get from him expecting the worst and then tasting the best.

You wanted to see that face. Feel it in your bones.

The Simon-Cowell-watching-Susan-Boyle-for-the-first-time face.

But then you didn’t do it right, did you?

You poured all liquids into the cocktail shaker and closed it properly, like you’d been shown how, but, you weren’t meant to put all liquids into the shaker, were you?

You were meant to keep the carbonated drink to the side and add that directly to the glass after you’d mixed the rest of it.

You only shook it twice.

Maybe three good, violent times, to really get the ice to rattle.

The cocktail shaker exploded in your hands.

You gasped as the cold drink hit your front, and stood there, frozen as the drink dripped down your face.

You saw Joe very slowly reach and wipe underneath his eye with his middle finger as he rapidly blinked, like a little drop had made it onto his face.

There was no way any of that had gotten onto him, but the fact that he pretended that it did was just as infuriating as it was embarrassing.

James and Chloé stood there frozen also, until James reached for a dishtowel and hit you in the face with it.

“I think maybe Frank needs help,” he had then said after you’d finished cleaning, and were sent upstairs to join Frank by the door.

Not the worst job.

Frank was nice, didn’t mind a break from playing solitaire on his phone for a chat, but... joining Frank by the entrance was the bar equivalent of being put on time out, and Frank knew it too.

When he saw you come into view as you dragged your feet up the stairs to where he was sat, he smiled and said, “What’d you do this time?”

You plonked onto the barstool next to him in the small little hallway and sighed as you leant back against the wall.

“Put fizzy drink into a shaker.”

You bonked your head against the wall behind you, once, twice, three times.

“Shook it.”

Frank huffed a laugh, said, “Nice.” and got back to his game on his phone.

“When do you think I'll get fired?” you asked jokingly.

“Hmm, a week, give or take.” Frank answered, eyes on his phone, and you couldn't help but laugh.

“Nice.”

As the night came to a close, you saw people out along with Frank. Opened the door for them. Wished them a lovely rest of their night.

Just when you thought you might as well go down to help James and Chloé with closing, the both of them came up the stairs, talking, laughing, both in their coats already.

“Hey, what’s...” you faltered, confused. There was no way they’d actually finished already.

“We’ve done most, you’ll be fine finishing up, yea?” Chloé asked. It wasn’t a question for you to answer though. She was already standing outside when James tried to give you some last instructions.

“Use the key in the cash register, leave it in the letterbox after locking up.”

You just looked at him. Blinked a few times, because, were you allowed to do this on your own? Would Martin be okay with you closing the place by yourself?

“You got this!” James smiled, and you knew it was just that he was happy to be fucking off early for once.

When the heavy door fell shut behind them, you stared at it a second before you huffed a humourless laugh.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I still got half an hour on my clock,” Frank said after checking. “Do you need any help?”

You considered it for a moment.

“That's kind of you, but... I actually don’t, thanks.”

You didn’t.

Martin had practically let you close on your own before. He’d just been sat at the bar whilst you worked around him, big grey folder opened and pen in hand, doing whatever admin needed doing.

“Join them. Have a... somewhat early night.”

It was late.

“You sure? Can’t place blame with me for anything if I’m not around.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

You said goodbye to Frank, closed the door behind him and sighed.

Fine.

This was fine. You could close by yourself. Lock up by yourself. You’d be there for opening the next day anyway, so if you were to leave anything undone, you’d be able to pick up where you left off, stepping on your own toes, no one else’s.

You made your way back down the stairs.

Around the corner. 

Past the toilets.

Down the dark hallway. 

Into the bar, where... there was loud music playing. Loud music.

When you stepped inside, you were fully expecting to be alone but then realised: you'd not said goodbye to Joe yet.

And there he was.

Behind the bar.

Hands near the sound system, like he was trying to figure out how to use it. The song skipped to the next one, and Joe clapped his hands together once before he held both arms out wide as he spun around.

Teeth bitten into his lip, he made eye-contact with you near the entrance and... danced. Did a stupid hip and shoulder shake to the beat before he clapped in his hands again.

You frowned, loudly shouted, “Guests aren’t allowed behind the bar!” as you made you way over.

Joe completely ignored you. Got really into his old-man-at-wedding dance as he lipsynced along, all playful, all goofy.

When you were close enough, he grabbed a wet dishcloth and was about to throw it over. He waited for you to hold you hands up, to get ready to catch it, but you just said, “Yea, great, the tables probably still need doing, thanks.” as you slapped him on the shoulder, passing behind him to get to work behind the bar.

Not before you changed the song to something you liked, asserting power over Joe, because you worked here. Not Joe.

He could treat this place like a second home all he wanted.

You were closing the bar, so you got to choose the music.

And you expected to turn back around and see Joe get into his coat, dishcloth abandoned on the side.

You expected an overdone smile, a snarky comment, a mocking smile with narrowed eyes as he’d insincerely wish you good luck.

You expected to have to go and look to see if Joe paid for this drinks.

You expected he probably hadn’t, because by now you’d clocked in on this weird agreement Martin and Joe had, but you were going to make him pay regardless.

What you weren’t expecting was to turn back around and to see Joe bent over a table, hips wiggling as he wiped it down, focussing on a seemingly extra sticky bit, mouth pouted and brow furrowed.

Oh shit.

You didn’t like how that worked something in the pit of your stomach.

You also didn’t like how you watched Joe clean a few tables and then saw him catch you staring.

You snapped out of it and pretended you dropped something, just so you could duck down behind the bar for a second.

When you got back up, Joe had moved on to do more tables, and you were glad that he ignored the staring. He could’ve absolutely made a sassy comment to embarrass you, but he’d chosen peace over violence tonight, so it seemed.

Dirty martini.

Yes.

A filthy one.

You could make him a dirty martini as a silent thank you, because there was not a chance you were going to say those words aloud.

Just make one and then leave it out on the bar for him to find as you cleaned up behind the bar so you could pretend you didn’t even care if he liked it or not. Be all casual about it.

But then Joe looked up at you again, and a small smile grew into a wider one and there was no way he wasn’t going to slag you off for something, so you abandoned all plans and just... went for it. Asked him in an almost challenging way, no smile to be detected, with eyebrows slightly raised,

“Dirty martini?”

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[sserajeans]

you are in love | 52. the christmas fair pt. 2 (written)

it took the group of 12 about an hour to finish all the food they bought, trying a dish from almost every stall in the fair. from boxes of chicken and pizza to plates of corndogs and cups of drinks, the table was a mess once they were done.

deciding to play a lengthy game of rock, paper, scissors to determine the unlucky one responsible for cleaning up, leehan ended up victim after wonyoung gaslit him into thinking she did rock when he did scissors (she initially formed paper).

"can we at least watch the fireworks through the ferris wheel?" leehan sighed and started with his own trash, stuffing everything in a plastic bag.

"wouldn't it be cute to watch it together though?" jiwoo suggested as she scrolled through her pinterest feed and found cute couple pictures to recreate when the fireworks show would start.

"we can watch the first round together by the fences, then those who wants to catch it on the wheel can go?" yunjin suggested after pondering for a minute, handing leehan both her and kazuha's garbage.

"sounds cool!" y/n exclaimed as she helped danielle with an unusually large pile of garbage that the two gathered while waiting for leehan to reach their side.

"thanks guys..." leehan muttered and huffed before dumping the now overflowing trash bag into the nearest garbage can.

everyone around the table laughed at leehan's continued bitterness of having to be in charge of the garbage, despite being finished with the task. wonyoung handed him a wet wipe as minji took a candid photo and drew a garbage bag with flies around the boy. that was going to be one hell of a birthday post.

"we still got about 45 minutes before the show starts... so... games section?" kazuha asked with a knowing tone that came with a pinch of excitement.

the rest of the table cheered and nodded long as they pulled out maps of the fairgrounds, huddling up together to figure out an efficient route that would allow them to spend time together while hitting all the activity stalls they each wanted to do. (minji’s idea, and she was quite frankly, very good at it.)

to put their 45 minute activity extravaganza in summary, hanni is a good shot with a pellet gun which scared the shit out of minji, y/n could be a fisherman as an alternative career choice (while leehan cried beside her to have mercy on the fish), wonyoung can throw darts like a mad woman, and kazuha’s eyes are extremely sharp chasing around ping pong balls under cups.

“fireworks show in a minute!” yunjin announced, leading the rest of the group by the edge of the fairgrounds bounded by metal fencing to overlook the rest of the town.

“wait i’ll catch up in a bit!” y/n yelled back, doing her best to aim 5 individual sandbags into the holes in a tilted wooden board. she was oddly determined to win the stall’s grand prize, a bunny plushie that she told danielle looked “extra adorable” and that she “must win it no matter what.”

“y/n, you can win it later! come on it just struck 9:00!” danielle nagged the lee, who almost ignored her in suit of determination if it weren’t for the brief “just one more!” y/n muttered before landing the winning throw right after.

the stall’s employee handed y/n the bunny plushie, her eyes tired after entertaining the hundredth customer. the two girls raced for the metal fences where everyone else was waiting with their eyes fixed on the sky, expecting the fireworks any minute.

and just as lee y/n stumbled in front of the metal fences, the first firework shot to the sky, bursting in colors of red, orange, and yellow.

her face froze in awe at the marveling shades of colors painting the night sky, their chosen viewpoint provided near zero obstructions to block the view, so the city lights combined with the fireworks was one of the most truly beautiful sights to remember. they’d capture it in camera if any device did it justice.

this view, accompanied by her heart racing as she tried to catch her breath, created a surreal experience for y/n.

the show was scheduled to go on for another 10 minutes, so once the initial shock settled in, y/n came to the rest of her senses, and felt something warm. a soft and warm something that grazed her right hand.

if it were up to her physical instinct, she would’ve grabbed it in desperation, given the 1 degree weather they were in that caused her hands to go ice cold. but it’d be awkward, obviously, because she knew danielle was on her left since they ran there together, and she was in too much of a rush to notice who was on her right.

allowing curiosity to get to the best of her, she turned to her right, eyes locking with the damned ones she was avoiding the whole night.

of course, it was hanni, who already was looking at her before she took a glance. for almost half a minute they stared and stared, eyes never leaving the other’s.

you know what people say? how eyes are windows to the soul?

hanni’s windows were glossy, an almost clear reflection of the red heart-shaped firework shone on her brown orbs. her eyes were windows to a soul bearing what felt like the weight of losing the world. vulnerability. a look of longing.

y/n’s windows were foggy, like a translucent glass pane filled from the condensation brought by the contrast of cold and warm weather. like the emotions she's felt the past few weeks. cold, a freezing cold, but also a warmth, a comforting warmth.

to hanni pham, she was beginning to realize in that moment that lee y/n was the world. the world she felt the weight of losing. but, to hanni pham, lee y/n was also the sun. the sun in which she revolves around.

it was the perfect description. y/n, her sun.

how could she live without her sun?

the earth without the sun would lose direction, light, and warmth.

the earth needs the sun, the way hanni pham needs lee y/n. and she’d never forgive herself for how stupid and selfish she had to be, and for how far things had to come, just for her to realize that.

to realize that she may love her best friends like family, but there would always be something more for lee y/n.

did she really, finally say that in her head?

that she loves lee y/n. and that she always has. finally putting a name to the unfamiliar and bewitching pull her childhood best friend had on her.

the intimate moment felt like hours for the two, stuck in their own world, their own universe with a completely different construct of time from reality.

but remember how the eyes were windows to the soul? windows that carry all emotion and thought?

it was very clear. one could look into them and see what was going on. any outsider could.

outsiders including their friends around them.

y/n felt a tug on her shoulder.

"y/n! gyuvin and leehan are gonna ditch us for the wheel!" wonyoung exclaimed, pointing at the two boys racing to take advantage of the almost non-existent queue.

"wait wha- okay but what about dan-"

"hey you're not the only one who's friends with her, you know!" jiwoo, who had overheard y/n's hesitance to leave danielle and struggle to reply, gave y/n a side eye as danielle let out a soft laugh, her eyes forming crescents with the warmest smile known to mankind.

"it's fine, y/n." she said, giving her date, a slight push towards wonyoung's direction. "i'll be fine."

"OKAY! you got the green light! now y/n use your swimmer legs and RUN! are you actually gonna let the boys win??"

masterlist. next.

taglist: @yyeonmis @lostamoeba @jisooftme @yoontoonwhs @awkwardtoafault @lcv3lies @limbforalimb @kaypanaq @manooffline @kimsgayness @justme-idle @mightymyo @sewiouslyz @txtbrainrot @li0ilthecxnt @captivq @paranoxic @sofakingwoso @pandafuriosa60 @haerinkisser @lesleepyyy @haechansbbg @rosiehrs @jiwoneiric @blue4hour @bzeus28 @keiji-jin

[itshobogizmo]

As of chapter 5, what are the cast's opinions on cross?

Ooo a fun one!

Firstly, I’m not going to do Horror, because I’m actively working on 5.5, which is in Horror’s POV, and will give inside on his opinion so far anyway.

Nightmare: Cross is an overachiever with standards set far to high, but his performance and precision are unmatched.

He needs to kick the lying habit, Nightmare isn’t sure how many he’s actually caught however. He lets the one about sleeping slide, the delicious savory flavors that crept from his subject was addicting.

There’s something about the OVERWRITES he needs to discuss.

Killer: Cross is a stupid little bitch baby who like lying like a dumb liar, he’s lied about all of them to their boss, and Killer thinks it’s stupid.

Also, Nightmare is taking a liking to Cross, and Killers soul squeezes with bitter jealousy. So what if he wasn’t as fast as Cross is when doing tasks, and Cross didn’t have outbreaks at all like he did. So what if Dust got manhandled like nothing while Killer struggled to get the maniac pinned half the time. So what if Dust liked it and is starting to like Cross and not Killer anymore.

And it’s sooooo fucking aggravating when he does his best to get under Cross’s metaphorical skin, and the guy doesn’t even seem to fucking notice. Brushes Killer off, like, he’s nothing.

But this time he did it!!! He got Cross to react.

But it was boring.

With no real enjoyment.

Probably because of the weird look in his eye at the door. Then answered quiet. Killer doesn’t like quiet, quiet is fucking terrible. Why would Cross want to go into it?..

Dust: Cross could throw him any time. Anywhere. Preferably in another fight. But not with this sickly, crazed and depraved version of Cross.

He began silently following the skeleton through the week, both because he had been put on survey duty and because he wanted to make sure Cross was… a safety risk … that’s what he and paps were telling himself anyways.

Fast, focused, intelligent, driven, a god damned powerhouse with incredible reflex’s. That’s what Cross is supposed to be. Not this exhausted angry crazed thing.

There’s that twitch in Cross’s eye, the flicker to the side of Dust’s hoodie and his eye light seems to roam over Dust’s face in a wiggly but precise manner. Following something, all the way back to meet Dust’s stare.

So, much to Killers shock and later displeasure, he let Cross go. Dust knows that look in Cross’s eyes, he knows what Cross was seeing was real. As real as papyrus was to him. He’s going to have to check his own skull over again, just to make sure it wasn’t a new real thing for him to.

No use in letting Cross panic.

He’s kinda hot when he’s mad and crazed. He needs to find out the schedule to see where to admire stalk him for the day.

He wants to fight Cross again, both of their magic out, see who has more power.

[xmy-love-to-youx]

Forbidden fruit - Part 2

Pairings: John Price x Reader

Summary: What happens two different worlds meet? What happens when fire meets ice? The world was black and white until you arrived

Warnings: None

Ive been working with Task Force 141 for a few months now. 3 months 2 weeks and 5 days to be precise. I've gotten to know the team well enough. Gaz and Soap were open books, they were always willing to share information about themselves in exchange I do the same. Simon keeps his cards close to his chest but his slowly warming up to me and randomly drop small hints about himself like how he adores animals. As for the Captain, well, he knows more about me than I know about him. His always willing to learn about me and my personality and always open to conversation even if his in the middle of paper work.

At the end of day, I enjoy myself with the team, from Simon and Soap bickering to Gaz following Price like a puppy as well as the boys acting like my bodyguards. It's fun to be around them which brings us to tonight, we are at the local bar on a warm summer day.

The bar isn't crowded but it has quite a few people in the place. The bartenders serve the drinks to the customers, the customers drink and talk. We're no different. We are seated around a large round table, beer in hand and sharing stories. My tiny hand barely covers the glass I'm holding while the other's well... Thier glasses looks small in thier hands. Sometimes I feel like I'm invading thier circle, they talk about things I don't understand, they sometimes forget that I'm fragile or I'd get teased about my height or how small my frame is.

Even so... I still love it, my eyes scans the liquor in my glass, Gaz and Soap are explaining a current situation they were recently in while Simon silently watches them. Thier voice become background noises but I feel someone's eyes on me...

When I look up. It's the Captain. John Price had his eyes on me but the expression he had was unreadable. Once he noticed me staring, he flashed me a smile then joined the conversation.

It's not the first time he did this to me. Maybe he's second guessing his choice about me or is he still keeping me under his supervision.

Regardless, I brought the glass to my mouth and drank the liquor, I cringed slightly at the taste of it. I'm not used to beer, it's too bitter for my likings.

"Johnny, get us something stronger. I didn't come here to drink light weight" Simon says.

His voice broke me out of my trace and I immediately looked at him, confused until the realization kicked in.

"Aye sir" Soap got out of his chair with a smirk and happily marched to the bartender.

"Is that alright with you? You won't be needing this anymore" Gaz gently took the beer glass out of my hand with his charming smile of his.

Curse that man and his gentleness.

Simon must have picked up my hesitation because he left out a dark deep chuckle while his eyes scanned my face. I must have had a interesting look that just made him stare at me for a while.

"You never had liquor before... You're gonna be fucked up tonight" Simon says.

The looks on Price and Gaz's face told a whole story, they looked at Simon then looked at me for confirmation.

"Jesus. Then she shouldn't drink with us" Gaz says with concern in his voice.

"No, it's fine, I can handle it... I think" I said, trying to be brave.

The way Simon's eyes light up and the look he gave me, it was like for once, I impressed him. Maybe it's because I accepted his challenge.

Not long after the short conversation, Soap returns with a bottle and 5 glasses. He placed it in the center and Simon poured the first glass.

I watched as the liquid drained from the bottle and into the glass, the small of the liquid invades my nose.

It's strong.

Simon placed the glass in front of me and stared into my eyes. His cold eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

"Ladies drink first" He said, his eyes not leaving me.

I looked at the glass and hesitantly took it. I watched as the brown liquor swirl around. When I looked up, 2 pairs of blue and 2 pairs of brown eyes stared at me, they watched me to see my next move. Part of me wanted to chicken out but the part wanted to drink.

I let out a small sigh and downed the liquid, it burned my throat but the taste wasn't so good, it was actually soothing.

Once I placed the glass down, Soap cheered and Gaz glared at Simon. Simon being Simon wasn't bothered by the death glare Gaz threw his way and poured the next glass.

Although there was something different about him, maybe it was the alcohol but I thought I saw a flash of comfort in his eyes and a smile under his mask.

A few minutes later and Ash showed up, wearing a black skirt and crop top, he hair curled and she wore light makeup. She is every man's dream, beautiful and shows how to send him to heaven. Compared to me, she's an angel and I'm just the average female.

She placed herself on Soaps lap and his arms instantly wraps around her waist, his smile grew as he pulled her body close to his.

Ash is the other medic that's part of the team although she's been with them way longer than me. She's very friendly and talkative, she's also in a sexual relationship with Soap.

As the night went on, I started feeling the effects of alcohol, the started moving at a slower pace, I felt at peace and I felt good. But also as the night went on Ash and Soap started getting touchy and that's when we decided to head home. As I got to the door of my apartment, I searched in my bag for my keys which I found and dropped onto the floor.

I groaned and kneeled down to grab them but as I did, Simon had the keys in his hand already, he was towering over me with his hand in front me, in his palm was my keys.

"Damn. Even my keys look small in your hand" I said out loud.

"What?" he chuckles, his voice made the hairs on my arm stand up in a good way.

"Nothing, just thinking out loud" I said as I took the keys from his palm and unlocked the door.

"Will you be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine" I stumbled into my apartment.

"Are you sure?" He asked, following me.

His hands planted onto my waist, it just felt natural like his hand were meant for my waist.

My cheeks heats up with a blush and I'm glad that my back was faced towards him, he gently and carefully guides me to my bedroom. As we walked in, he didn't bother to turn the lights on and placed me on the bed, the light from the hallway shines into the room and gives enough light to see where everything is.

He got down on one knee and took my shoes off, I instantly tried to stop him but I held myself back, I loved the way his fingers left against me. I loved how gentle he was with me.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and I could feel how he relaxed under my touch, a small smile curled onto my face.

"Thank you" I placed my hand on his head.

"For what?" he asked.

"For taking care of me" I smiled and kissed his head.

I laid my heavy body on my bed and I could feel myself slip away. The last thing I remember seeing was him tower over me and gently stroke my hair, the sensation was so good that I fell asleep instantly.

Next chapter

Main Masterlist COD Masterlist

[wickerwax]

5 times outtake

This is the original first part of Five times Obi-Wan defended Quinlan with his words (and one time he skipped that step) when I was mucking about with having them meet properly earlier but then I started thinking about how that might shift other things and it didn't fit right anymore so I went back and wrote the one I actually used, which is very different and I like very much.

But I also still like this very much. And maybe one day I will go back and explore those changes but if you saw the size of my WIP list you would perhaps take pity on me (and give it a month or two).

Bruck sneered. “I don't know why you follow Oafy-Wan around when he’s obviously gonna wash out - what, are you too stupid to see how the Masters avoid him?”

Obi-Wan froze, in the middle of reaching for the door-pad to the hall.

Surely Padawan Vos wouldn’t fall for that – obviously he had been humouring the initiate who had helped him hide from a Master Nu on the warpath, and then struck up an unexpectedly wide-ranging friendship. (Obi-Wan would miss him when he got sent away, he thought, imagine adding another to his little family of crèchemates with this sort of timing. Typical.) If anyone was trailing after it was Obi-Wan, not Quinlan Vos.

“Jealous, Chun?” came Quinlan’s voice a moment later. “I think you should get your eyes checked, honestly.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bruck spat, and Obi-Wan didn't need to open the door to see the sour, scrunched up face he was making. He thought it looked menacing. (Obi-Wan thought it made him look constipated. Bant had almost thrown up laughing, and Mon Calamari didn’t even have a reflex for that.)

“Force, Chun,” Quin laughed, “I’m embarrassed for you, have you tried being less of a dickhead?”

Bruck made the tea-kettle sound that usually preceded throwing a punch. Obi-Wan hit the door-pad and rushed outside. Quinlan had caught Bruck’s fist in his hand and was laughing harder. “Dude, is that it? Someone’s been skipping his hand-to-hand.”

“He’s been skiving to do more ‘sabre katas. He thinks that’s what will draw in a Master.” someone said, cool and dry.

With a faint sense of alarm, Obi-Wan realised it had been him. He managed not to add, as though I’m not living proof that’s not the case.

They both looked over, Quin still grinning and Bruck going the sort of red-faced that clashed horribly with how pale his hair was. He yanked his hand free and stormed away without another word, which made it one of the friendlier interactions he’d had with him, of late.

Probably a good thing because he had several pointed comments locked and loaded, and he’d had a few moments recently where that sharpness of tongue had gotten him in trouble, even when he was trying to be good about the fighting – but no-one got to talk to Quinlan like that.

Unfortunately, it was kind of a long hallway, so they watched him leaving for a slightly awkward span of time. Quinlan snorted and draped himself over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the smaller boy yelping as the unexpected weight threw him off balance. “Wanna get midmeal out in the lower levels?”

“Quin, get off, you oversized tooka!” His shove was as bitter and black as it was effectual (that is, it was mostly sweetened milk and Quinlan didn't budge an inch). “I have an assignment due, I can’t sneak out.”

“You? My favourite little nerd? Left an assignment until the night before?” He shifted and then Obi-Wan’s escape attempt became more serious as Quin scruffed a hand through his hair. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“It’s - stop it, Quin! - true! I mixed up my dates!” He’d actually been trying to multi-task making plans with Quin and getting his notes cleaned up, and transposed some numbers wrong in his distraction. He just found it hard to look away when his friend was happy, and he smiled so bright, and the sun had turned his eyes all bronze-warm and layered and- and that was - it was normal to want to make your friends happy, that was all!

Suddenly overwhelmed by having Quinlan wrapped around him, he went limp, and rolled when Quin swore and dropped his dead weight. Popping back upright, he found his friend eyeing him with a worrying sort of consideration.

Obi-Wan drooped. “I heard what Bruck said.” he started, hoping to cut the whole thing short and save himself the trouble. “You don’t...you don’t have to spend time with me if you don’t want.”

Quinlan went very still. “What?” he said, sounding strangled.

Internally, he sighed, but obligingly hefted his feelings in a firm hand. “I said, it’s okay if you don’t want to spend time with me. You’re like...already a padawan. And really cool. And you know so many things, and you’re already going on missions and learning all this stuff that I’ll never – I mean, I just – IreallyadmireyoubutIdon’twanttoholdyouback-”

His friend relaxed entirely and strolled forwards to catch him back in a headlock, shaking him firmly. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Obes. And I literally just asked you to sneak out with me. ‘Fraid you’re stuck with me, my favourite little nerd.”

And if the headlock was a bit more like a really long hug, and Quin’s voice went soft at the end, and his whole self lit up gold and glowing tucked close beneath his arm – well, who was going to tell?

[tmntartblock]

TMNT LEOSAGI AU:

FIND ME IN THE FUTURE

Chapter 1/???

WARNINGS: BL00D, VIOLENCE

Introduction post:

CHAPTER 1: Everything changes

It had been a rough couple of months. Even though Shredder had been finally defeated, his little minions kept showing up. Leo was tired, always trying to keep up with their schemes but it was starting to get overwhelming. He spent countless nights planning strategies for every possible scenario, setting up his little ponds of everyone that Mikey had so kindly made for him. 

One late evening, as Leo was trying to come up a plan to invade an old storage house, Usagi appeared. Leo felt his heart filling up with warmth and the ponds dropped from his hands immediately as he went to hug his boyfriend that had been in his strict military realm for months. It was impossible to know when Usagi came to visit - sometimes it was only weeks, sometimes half a year. 

Usually it made Leo happy to see Usagi. Usagi made him feel at ease and he could focus on something else other than his responsibilities. But when Usagi appeared from a shiny blue portal, holding a little sack and tears in his eyes, the ease was nowhere to be found. 

“I am not going back”, Usagi said, voice trembling as he threw his belongings in the corner. 

“What do you mean?” Leo asked as he put his hand on Usagi’s shoulder. Usagi didn’t answer but hugged him, so tightly he could barely breathe. Leo felt Usagi’s body shaking so he held on as long as was needed. 

Usagi only started to talk when they went to bed. Leo sneaked some snacks for them from the kitchen and luckily nobody asked questions since everybody was already used to Leo spending days in solitude. 

“What happened?” Leo finally dared to ask. 

Usagi stared at his hands for a while. He didn’t touch the food Leo had brought.

“I… I had enough”, he said finally. Leo stared at him, eyes wide. They had been talking about it for years. Usagi hated the army and everything it represented. But he had vowed to his mother to keep his realm safe. It was about honor and Leo understood it too well.

“We don’t have to talk about it now”, Leo said. “Let’s talk with master Splinter in the morning. It won’t be a problem for you to stay here.”

Usagi smiled a little and gave him a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Leonardo-chan.” 

First days Leo felt happiness. Usagi was free. He was here, with him. But the inner struggle of leaving his home planet just seemed to eat Usagi’s mind, snickering in his consciousness. Usagi thought Leo couldn’t notice, but of course he did. Every time Leo asked what had happened, Usagi quickly redirected the focus on something else so Leo decided to leave it at that.

Leo could feel Usagi’s mind wonder. He could feel the distance growing every day between them. He wanted to  demand the answer but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had to focus on the tasks at hand - bringing down the rest of the Foot. As long as Usagi was physically safe near him, it could wait.

After some weeks, Leo’s plan had been formed and they had taken into all precautions. If the current leader of the New York’s Foot clan was in the warehouse like she was suppose to, it was going to be a hard hit for them. 

“Guys”, Leo said and looked at his brothers, Casey, April and Usagi. “It’s been a rough couple of months-”

“When was the last time it really wasn’t?” Mikey asked blantly, staring at the plan at hand. Leo sighed and Raph slapped Mikey on the back of his head.

“Hm? It was a genuine question.”

“If I recall correctly, about… 5 years ago”, Donnie said, defining his last piece of tech for the attack. “It was that one morning before the mouser attack.”

“I don’t need a reminder how shitty our lives have been, thanks Don”, Raph said. “Go on with your great speech, oh fearless leader.”

“You kinda killed the mood for that already”, Leo said trying to not sound bitter. He knew his brothers listened to him when it was necessary but any extra words went over their heads as they lost interest. “I hope everyone knows their positions.”

That night, Leo, Mikey, Raph and Casey were on top of the warehouse, waiting for Usagi to get the thermal camera to its position. 

“This waiting thing is always so boring. Why we just didn’t get here when the big boss arrives”, Mikey said, snacking on his popcorn that Leo had specifically told him not to bring.

“Because, Mikey, we don’t know when the big boss arrives.”

“But why not arrive later then?”

“We cannot let her get too comfortable. Surprise is our advantage. Like always.”

“Wait, what the shell is Usagi doing, Leo?” Raph said, interrupting them from their banter.

Leo went quickly back to the window and saw the shadow of Usagi wandering on the floor.

“Why is he not coming back up?” Raph said and looked at Leo, who felt the cold rushing through him. Leo saw Usagi stopping and waving at the darkness. What-

Foot ninja.

Leo didn’t hesitate. He broke the glass and jump through, landing on the boxes under him and then jumped on the floor. He drew his katana and put it on the ninja’s neck.

“One wrong move and you are dead.”

Leo knew he needed to pay attention to the enemy but he could not help himself but stare at Usagi who just stood there, doing nothing, staring with his big brown eyes, being impossible to read. 

“Leo! Watch out!” Raph yelled from the above and suddenly the whole warehouse was overflowing with ninjas. Others jumped in to help them. The whole plan had failed miserably but why- what- 

He was surrounded. He saw a blade coming from one direction that he had to block and then dodge the other one coming from his side. He air-kicked two other people before he could flee to clearer soil. He had been preparing for a fight but not like this. 

“Leo! Watch out!” He heard Mikey yelling somewhere above and moved just in time to not get crushed by huge containers that Mikey had been able to push to fall. This whole time Leo tried to catch a glimpse of Usagi.

The doors of the warehouse exploded open. Donnie and April had gotten the message that something had went wrong.

Then, in all the hassle, Leo saw something that made his heart drop.

Usagi, talking with the enemy. What was happening? What was Usagi doing? When Usagi shook the hand of the ninja, Leo realized.

Usagi had betrayed them. 

No. No he couldn’t. Usagi could never.

But he was the one who didn’t follow the plan. He didn’t draw his katana because he didn’t have to. It was all on ambush to get them all killed. But why? How could Usagi do this? It couldn’t be. He couldn’t. 

Leo’s mind was racing, he tried to make sense of all this. Was this the reason Usagi had been acting distant? How long he had known? Was this some long run plan of years trying to get him and his brothers?

Leo felt sick to his stomach. Time seemed as it had stopped. He stared at the man he had so wholeheartedly loved for years, betray him, just like that. He got snapped back to the reality by the cold blade cutting through his arm, sending sharp pain through his body.

Leo knew he was badly hurt. He could feel the blood flooding from his arm but the only pain he could feel was from his heart as he stared at Usagi. Usagi had stopped to look at him as he laid on the floor. If it wasn’t for Raph Leo would have been dead by now.

“Usagi, please” Leo cried and tried to get up from the ground as the blood smeared everywhere. “Usagi don’t do this.”

He knew it was pointless to plead but he couldn’t help himself. Usagi stepped into the portal and just like that, he was gone. Mikey and Donnie helped Leo back on his feet. His focus was gone, the attacks that were once easy to dodge, suddenly could reach him. 

Usagi’s betrayal made everything blurry for him. Others it filled with clarity – destroy Foot, get Leo out of there alive. Raph’s rage could be felt through the whole battlefield, and no one got spared. The current leader didn’t get a chance. She was destroyed.

The rest of the ninjas fled when the leader was killed. Leo felt the adrenaline fading with his consciousness. It took all of Leo’s power to not pass out on the way home but it was mainly due to his brothers’ annoyance that kept him conscious. 

“Leo! Stay awake or I’m gonna use your katanas to spread butter!” Mikey yelled and slapped him once more. 

When they got back home and all the injuries were taken care of, Leo could only sit and stare into an abyss. His heart was pounding heavily and all he could hear was the blood flowing through his ears. Images of Usagi filled his mind, the anger in his eyes when he last took a look at him. 

“How are you feeling, bro?” Mikey asked quietly and sat next to him. Leo wanted to smack Mikey but he’s arm was hurting.

“What do you expect, dimwit”, Raph said and scooched between them. Donnie followed and sat on the armrest. 

“We are here for you, Leo”, Donnie said and tapped gently on his head.

“Yeah. If that traitor bunny shows up again he’s gonna be a goner after that”, Raph said in a serious note. “Nobody messes with my brother’s heart without a consequence.”

| next chapter

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Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 5 - Preparations and impressive second impressions

Since I've accepted this train isn't apparently stopping, I promise at some point this week I'll try to learn how to format things so everything looks better~

Kyle attempted to pry the specifics of what happened in the prison from you on your way back to the estate, badgering you incessantly until you waved him off with the excuse that you needed a chance to sit down for a minute with a hot cup of tea and just breathe. Today had been filled with far more excitement for you than normal and you needed a break from it all to decompress after committing an act of thievery and lying through your teeth to break a man out of jail.

You slipped inside your father's old study upon your return and remained there for some minutes, scrawling out words only to crumple them up in frustration when they wouldn't come out right. Eventually you were satisfied with your task, handing off a few marked envelopes once finished to a passing servant to have them sent out through the post. With any luck the contents inside would assure that you wouldn't eventually end up in the same place you'd just come from for your deception.

Surprisingly Kyle did not bother you for the rest of the day, having parted ways at the bottom of the stairs to 'begin preparations' for this wild endeavor. You also suspected by how quickly he skittered away from you that part of it had something to do with the fact that it was a convenient way for your cousin to avoid bodily harm for failing to mention not only knowing the man you'd just met but also the explicit details of his 'extenuating circumstances' as well. He knew you most likely wouldn't have agreed to it just based off the latter, but after all was said and done it at least gave you some slight comfort to know the ruffian in question wasn't a complete unknown.

That being said, you weren't quite ready to acknowledge the idea that part of you was bitter at the fact Kyle hadn't felt like he could be honest with you either.

It took your cousin a few days to get everything in place for your departure, certain arrangements needing to be made regarding the procurement of supplies, travel tickets, and the handling of affairs here while you were gone. It hadn't really occurred to you just how much needed to be arranged for a plan like this - though to be fair this wasn't exactly your idea in the first place. You may have been the one to bring the artifact up in casual conversation, but he was the one dragging you along as always on this little adventure. Let him fuss over the details. Your area of expertise was within the city itself.

You also knew he would never say anything to you outloud, but you'd be surprised if he hadn't also left instructions for what to do should the worst happen and neither one of you returned. You might have lived a comfortably sheltered life up until this point, but that didn't mean you were naive enough to not realize the foolish dangers you were putting yourselves in either.

Kyle was a decorated war veteran and a man you could implicitly trust with your protection, his comrade just as fearsome if the stories weren't grossly overembellished. That didn't mean the three of you were invincible...

Still, what were the odds that the one person who could lead you to the lost City of the Dead just so happened to be him?

There were a handful of men that your cousin talked about often in years past, but MacTavish's name had come up in conversation far more frequently than the rest. Sure it was obvious that the two of them induced troublemaking tendencies within each other, but it wasn't all mischief and hijinks that he spoke of. There was an honest account of bravery in Kyle's recollections. For as uncouth as he made the man out to be at times, you couldn't deny having previously felt a sense of comfort when letters arrived home from distant battlefields of hard fought victories with John at his side. You'd trusted him enough to to look after your cousin back then.

But how well did Kyle really know this man now? It had been some years since the two of them would've served together, an awful long time for a person to change. How did he know that John was going to be the same soldier that once pushed him out of the way of enemy fire and took a bullet in the side meant for your cousin's heart? He obviously wasn't employed in his His Majesty's service anymore. Did he leave with a medal on his chest or was he dishonorably discharged? His previous incarceration suggested towards the latter, certainly not doing him any favors to earn your confidence in any case.

You were putting an awful lot of faith in this man. Let's just hope by the end of this that you wouldn't be proven wrong.

The servants helped you gather up your belongings the morning of your departure while your lady's maid got you situated, meeting your cousin at the car with a look that said he wasn't quite out of the dog house yet but that there were more pressing thoughts on your mind.

There was a nervous excitement bubbling in the pit of your stomach; you'd never done anything like this before. All travels with your family in the past tended to only go between Cairo and London and only for special occasions. This would be the first place you've gone to that was wholly and completely unfamiliar. Uncharted territory in every sense of the word.

The pier was crowded but not overly so, full of bustling tourists and merchants hauling in their wares. You stuck close to Kyle, your arm looped through his as he guided you down the docks towards the boat he chartered for you upriver. You'd kept your eye out for your third companion, the pessimist in you doubting he would even show. Why risk his life on a foolhardy endeavor when he'd just been granted his freedom?

"You trust my judgement so little you think I'd employ a man to help us who I thought wasn't up to it?" Kyle grinned down at you, amusement clear in his tone as he guided you out of the way of a fisherman passing by.

"Well I don't know," you replied in gentle exasperation, sidestepping a shipment of barrels smelling pungently of oil. "You obviously have more experience with him than I do, but I'm just saying: have you even minutely considered the possibility that we're about to board a vessel headed to a place neither of us knows the destination of and the one man who does isn't on it?"

"Relax, dolly. MacTavish is good for his word. No need to go gettin' hysterical on me now."

How could he be so at ease about this when you're just trying not to jump out of your skin in anxiousness?

"I hardly think expressing concern for the well-being of our expedition warrants the term hysterical. Or have you forgotten the part where your blessed happy reunion took place with one of you two wearing shackles? He's a criminal, Kyle."

The look your cousin gave you at the implication was one of mild disappointment at your faithlessness. "He's no crook, dolly. And frankly you best be gettin' past that part if we're to spend the next few days with him. Can't go on this voyage without him whether you object to the man or not."

You resisted the urge to pout at the reminder in his words that you did in fact need John for this entire undertaking. It still wasn't fair how Kyle could make you feel like a petulant child even if you thought you were being perfectly reasonable. Didn't mean you weren't going to grumble about it though.

"Can he at least stay in the cargo hold with the horses? Would certainly fit right in with them considering his lack of personal hygiene and barbaric nature."

"Ya wouldn't happen ta be talkin' 'bout me there, would ya lass?"

A surprised squeak left your mouth at the sudden interruption of a voice chiming in behind you, spinning on your heel and almost losing your balance if not for a steadying hand belonging to your cousin on your shoulder. Your face burned from being caught off guard so gracelessly, raising your eyes to view the owner of such a familiar accent and–

Oh.

Oh my.

This was not the same man you met not two days past. This man was... was....

Good lord.

Gone was the ruffian you first spotted behind the bars of the prison courtyard. The sweat and grime had been washed away to reveal fresh tanned skin dressed in fitted khaki; the subtle spice of cologne a welcome change to your senses that had the peculiar effect of blanketing the edges of your mind with a thin layer of warm fuzzy haze. His once fluffy beard was shaved down to a dark layer of stubble showcasing an attractive jawline and expectant smirk.

His hair... you could safely say in all your years you'd never seen a man with hair shorn on the sides leaving a thick stripe down the middle. You hadn't spent much time back in the UK, but perhaps it was a style more common the further you went up north?

And why on god's green earth did such a style have to look so unusually pleasing on him? Bizarre to be sure, but oddly appropriate.

If it wasn't for the familiar sparkle in those vibrant ocean blue eyes of his you'd have been sure you were looking at a different man entirely. This was the MacTavish your cousin spoke so reverently of in days of yore?

"Dolly here was just saying she thinks you'd fit in better company with the livestock rather than up on deck with the rest of polite society."

If you had the ability to speak you would have admonished your cousin for throwing you under the carriage like that. Alas your brain was still trying to comprehend the vision in front of you so at odds with your previous perceptions.

"Was she now?" The sleeves of his jacket strained against his arms as he crossed them over his chest, raising his eyebrows in a manner that suggested interest rather than insult. "Ye think me a brute there, hen?"

Your clever mind could not devise a way to talk itself out of this scenario, having the decency to at least look embarrassed at being caught while averting your gaze to one of the buttons on his white dress shirt instead.

"I apologize for my discourteous assessment of you, Mr. MacTavish. You did not exactly garner the best of first impressions."

"Hmmm. Ah might be a bit of an animal, lass, but one who's been well trained at least."

His gaze flicked down below your waist, shaking his head at what he discovered.

"Garrick, mate. Lettin' a lady carry 'er own bags?" He clicked his tongue in playful chastisement, reaching down to relieve you of the heavy burden with his own rucksack tossed over his shoulder, warm calloused fingers brushing against yours as he transferred your luggage to his hold instead. You refused to acknowledge the way your heart flutters at the gesture.

You stood there in mild shock as John skirted past you and climbed the ramp leading up to the vessel, flashing his ticket at one of the crew members onboard before disappearing inside with a confident swagger.

Kyle delighted in your stunned silence, leaning down into your space to gloat over your being caught so impossibly off guard. "Positively barbarous, isn't he dolly?"

The accompanying thwack on his chest and subsequent grunt of pain relieved some of the pent up tension you had as you followed along after your third companion, adding an unexpected variable to what should have been for all intents and purposes a relaxing boat ride up the Nile. The hard part would come once you reached the desired port and began the true struggle through the desert. For now, you just had to survive being in present company for a few days until you could turn your focus on the real challenge and prove yourself useful.

So why did you feel like you were in even more trouble now than when you began?

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[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]