#then maybe use that time for looking this shit up

[babyleostuff]

― FIRST SNOW

there is a superstition that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you like, true love will blossom between both and it will be long-lasting.

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, cuddly and in love love gyu 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!mingyu x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 518

💌 natalia’s note: ik it may be a bit early for winter fics but recently we had first snow in poland and i just had this urge to write something about it [edit: and now korea also had its first snow so yippie]

“look!” 

you hummed and nodded weakly, though instead of opening your eyes you snuggled further into mingyu's warm chest, basking in the softness of his sweater and the steady beat of his heart underneath your ear. 

days off were the best. 

“baby,” your boyfriend murmured excitedly against your temple and ran his cold finger along your cheek. “it’s snowing!” 

with mingyu’s arm holding your waist in a tight grip; not that you complained, the afternoon teddy bear cuddles, especially in the colder weather were the best, it was a bit difficult for you to actually move to see the supposed snow. 

“it’s so pretty,” he said in awe, as if it was his first time seeing it. “look, look!” he said and pointed at the window that was behind you.

“gyu?” you mumbled and propped yourself on his chest as much as you could. “i’d really love to see it, but you’re holding me hostage and my neck is too sore to turn it all the way around”. 

mingyu’s eyes widened, and a small pout appeared on his face. “oh shit, right. sorry.”

you cupped his chin and placed a kiss at the tip of his nose. "'s okay," you said, before sitting all the way up and turning around towards the window.

and your boyfriend was right. even though your view of the city below was very blurry due to mingyu's apartment being on a high floor, you could still imagine how pretty the streets must look now, covered in the white fluff. 

“i can’t wait to beat your ass in a snowball fight,” you said and turned back to your boyfriend. 

you weren’t sure if it was due to the bad lightning, since mingyu insisted on turning all the lights off and lightning some candles, but you could’ve sworn he was blushing, but before you could ask him about that he took a hold of your hand and pulled you back to his chest. 

“you know what the first snow means, right?” he asked after a beat of silence. 

nodding, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. 

“we’ve been together for five years, gyu. i don’t think that superstition counts for us anymore.” 

he hummed and nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head. “maybe,” he said. “but i like to believe that every first snowfall we witness in this life will allow us to meet our next ones,” you felt his hand brush the hair from your neck in a gentle manner, “and i hope to witness as many of them as we can.” 

not really knowing what to say, because who the hell says things like that, you lifted your head from the crook of mingyu’s neck and looked at his ruffled dark hair and shiny brown eyes that were looking at you with more love than it should be legal. 

“you’re impossible, kim mingyu,” you shook your head with a laugh. 

all you got in response was an irresistibly devastating grin, before he leaned in and sealed your lips in a kiss that could melt any amount of snow.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot  @iamawkwardandshy  @icyminghao @heeseungthel0ml @goyangiiwonu @bath1lda @ruurooozz @ny0sang @luuxian @onerubii  @hurrican3-insert-nam3 @mekuiikore @luvseungcheol @thenotoriousegg @yuuyeonie @soffiyuhh @svtficsarchive @hyperdramas @huen1ngk41 @lesuneczka @oc3anfloor @gyuguys @fr-freak @bewoyewo

[chestersturniolo]

special candy

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader x Chris Sturniolo

Summary; you unknowingly eat some of dealer!matt & dealer!chris’ “special candy” whilst they’re out on their runs..

warnings; chratt poly relationship dynamic! if you are not comfortable with this, do not read // drug use (ofc) , pet names, tripping out (ish) — based on this request

Matt and Chris were currently out handling business, leaving you to your own devices for a couple of hours. As hunger creeps in, you lug yourself off of the couch to scrounge the kitchen, you spot a bag of gummies on the kitchen counter. You don’t think twice. You grab one, then two, then three- before you know it, you’ve polished off almost the entire bag.

You return to the couch, sinking into the cushions, opening your book back up. A chunk of time goes by before things start to feel…strange. Your breathing feels too deliberate, manual even, like you have to focus on every inhale and exhale. Your stomach churns, and time becomes a bizarre concept- minutes feel like hours, or maybe it’s the other way around. The words in the pages of your book start to morph. You squeeze your eyes shut to refocus them, trying to control your breaths and ignore this abnormal feeling.

A small while later you hear front door open, footsteps echoing up the stairs. Matt is the first to reach the living room. He spots you on the couch, grinning as he makes his way over. “Hey sweetheart” he says, cupping your cheek with a gentle hand.

You skip the usual greeting as you jut your lip out “I don’t feel well” you whine, eyes glossy.

Matt frowns, sitting down next to you, “Ah what’s wrong, baby?” he coos, frowning with concern, before brushing a soft kiss to your lips. The moment his lips leave yours, his expression shifts. His eyes widen. “You taste like…blue raspberry” His voice is slow, laced with panic. He grips your jaw, coaxing your mouth open “Fuck” he mutters under his breath, as his eyes land on your bright blue tongue.

Just in time , Chris reaches the top of the stairs, a couple of duffle bags he had retrieved from the trunk slung over his shoulder. Matt stands abruptly,marching over to him “Where the fuck did you leave that batch, Chris?!”

Chris blinked, confused “On the counter…?” he shrugs casually. The confusion lasts only a second until Matt flails his hands toward you. Chris’s eyes widen, and the duffel bags drop to the floor with a thud. He hurries over, crouching down in front of you, hooking a finger under your chin to inspect you

You blink at him slowly, your eyes heavy lidded “I’m sorry I ate your candy..i was hungry-“ you mumble “-I’ll buy you more, I promise!”

Chris ran a hand over his face, “No, you don’t understand, that was special candy, kid. Product!”

From the kitchen, Matt’s voice was frantic “She ate most of them!” he says, as he holds up the bag in the air , a couple of stray blue bears at the bottom. He chucked it down on the counter as he comes back to the couch, raking a hand through his hair.

Panic welled up inside you, your breathing growing shallow. “I-I didn’t mean to…Is this really bad?- am I gonna die?” fear in your voice

In that moment, the boys realise that they need to push their own freaking out aside and help you ride this out. Matt immediately sat beside you, placing his hand on your cheek “No, hey, listen to me - don’t panic, okay?” He shot a glare at Chris, who was pacing now, before turning back to you. “I need you to relax, baby. Talk to me, what are you feeling?”

Tears welled up in your eyes “Time is moving really…slow..and I feel like I’m tingly,and in..in bubble wrap” you pause for what feels like an hour “don’t feel good Matt” Your voice cracked, and you clung to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Chris lets out a big sigh before rummaging through the duffel bags, pulling out a bag of identical blue gummies. Matt’s eyes narrowed “The fuck are you doin’?”

Chris muttered, more to himself than anyone else “Shit’s my fault” He looked at you, guilt in his eyes. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? Look, I’m gonna do it with you” he says in a reassuring voice before quite literally shovelling them into his mouth.

The batch wasn’t majorly strong, but since you barely ever used substances, it was hitting you hard. He knew that taking them wouldn’t put him on the same level as you, considering his tolerance was worlds apart from yours, but he also knew that you seeing him doing so, would calm you down

And it worked, as you watched him chew, you felt a sense of reassurance, knowing you’re not alone in it.

~

Matt had tucked you into a blanket, you were sinking deeper into the couch as the initial waves of panic began to subside. The room felt both too quiet and too loud, and it was almost like you could hear the air bouncing around the room. The lights seemed brighter, and everything felt far away. Each breath still felt like work.

Matt stayed close, his arm wrapped protectively around you. His hand moved in slow circles over your back,. “Just keep breathing with me, okay?” He took exaggerated deep breaths, guiding you. “In…and out, that’s it”

You tried to mimic him, but it felt like your body wasn’t quite yours “Matt…it’s weird, everything’s weird” you whispered,

Chris knelt in front of you, resting his hands on your knees “Listen to me ma, you’re okay..this is just the gummies messin’ with you, i feel it too” he bluffed. He barely felt a thing…and although he hated lying, in times like these, a little comforting white lie never hurt anyone,right?

“It’ll pass, I promise” he continues , reaching for your hands, holding them firmly “squeeze my hand when it feels too much, yeah?” he says, taking a seat on the other side of you. You nod, holding onto his hands for dear life.

Matt glaced at Chris, silently communicating something before standing and heading into the kitchen. You watched him leave, slight panic flaring again “Where’s he going?” you ask, your eyes trained on him. Chris cupped your face, forcing you to look at him “He’s just getting you some water angel, you need to stay hydrated. Focus on me, okay?” His eyes searched yours, softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

Matt returned moments later with a glass of water and a damp cloth. He sat back down in his spot beside you, pressing the cloth to your forehead, before guiding the glass of water to your lips “Small sips”

You took a few hesitant sips, the icy water doing wonders for your cotton mouth. You push the glass away after a few more sips before huffing, “It feels like…like I’m floating” you whispered, blinking slowly.

Matt set the water down on the coffee table, and his hand falls to your thigh “You’re on solid ground, baby. Feel the couch under you? Feel my hand?” he says, giving a small squeeze to your leg. He guided your hand to the blanket, letting you feel its texture. You nod slowly, playing with the soft fluff.

He pressed a kiss to your temple before glancing at Chris, nodding toward the TV “Put something on, something light”

Chris grabbed the remote, flicking through channels until he landed on a nature documentary. The calming voice of the narrator filled the room “This should help” he shrugs, glancing back at you.

You watched the screen, the vivid colors too bright, too intense “It’s…too much” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

Chris quickly turned the lights off, and turned the volume down “Better?”

You nodded, letting yourself get lost in the life of a polar bear.

~

As the initial anxiousness faded, a different sensation took over. Your stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet. You glanced up at Matt, with hazy puppy dog eyes “I’m…really hungry”

Matt exchanged a glance with Chris, a hint of amusement softening their worry “The munchies” Chris murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Matt chuckled, pulling out his phone “Alright baby,what do you want? We’ll get you whatever you need”

“Everything” you pleaded , pulling a chuckle from them both.

Within minutes, they had food on the way-pizza, burgers, fries, ice cream. Chris disappeared into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards and returning with snacks..chips, cookies, anything he could find. He handed you a bag of chips, watching you carefully. You practically snatched them from him

You crunched on them, eyes widening in delight. “These are the best chips I’ve ever had” you mumbled around a mouthful, crumbs falling onto the blanket.

Chris laughed softly, as he settled back in beside you, brushing them crumbs off your lap “Glad you’re feeling a little better” he smiled as he noticed a crumb on the corner of your mouth, reaching his thumb to wipe it off “pretty girl”

~

They stayed close,both planted either side of you. Whenever a random wave of strange feelings hit, they were there, talking you through it, grounding you.

Eventually the food arrived, they set everything up on the coffee table, letting you pick at whatever you wanted. It was the best meal you’d ever had, everything tasted like magic. You’d even lathered some ice cream on a pizza slice, making the most disgustingly delicious concoction. Matt and Chris watched you in awe.

Once you’d finished your food, and your belly was fulll, exhaustion set in. Your head drooped onto Chris’ shoulder, your eyes heavy. “M’tired” you mumbled.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head as Matt reaches and pulls the blanket over you further “Sleep sweetheart, we’ve got you”

It was seconds before you drifted off, feeling like the couch was swallowing you in its comfort. Every few minutes, Chris leaned in, carefully checking on your breathing, his ear close to your slightly open mouth.

Now you were asleep, Matt took the opportunity to scold his brother further ,, “Never leave our fuckin’ shit out again y’hear me?” he said with a stern look

Chris let out a big sigh, letting his head fall back with a guilty look, before nodding “Lesson learned bruh”

dividers - @strangergraphics-archive

AN; thankyou so much for the request anon! i had so so much fun writing this!! i included some of my personal “trips” in here lmao.

hope y’all enjoyed! - 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST LINKED HERE

[aikoiya]

I mean... The scary thing is that it's actually motherhubbin' possible. And you wouldn't even need to make any flippin' changes to OG Greek myth either!

Btw, holy cats! Like, I'm not sure ya'll really get just how very weird Greek myth is because there is LITERALLY a freakin' myth for this!

Then again: Oedipus, the Minotaur, how some myths say Ares was born, how Despoina was conceived, Chronus & Zeus... just Chronus & Zeus, honestly. They're both sacks of shit.

Just keep this in mind, ya'll. Greek myth is all kinds of effed up!

I won't go into detail because it's super freakin' weird, but I will tell you to look up the legend of the Spring of Salmacis & leave you with this.

Worst part? This specific myth is thought to have taken place around 100-500 years before the events of the Odyssey is believed to have taken place. Which means that if Penelope is being legit about this, then for all we know, she had someone go & retrieve a hydriai (clay pot that runners used to carry water) back from there & that's what worries me!

Consent is key, ya'll!

Edit: So, anyway, I was curious, so I looked some stuff up as far as a plausible travel time.

To start off, I'm just giving a day to account for the travel between Ithaca & Peloponnese, which is where Amàliada is located, as well as breaks because no one can be on the move 24/7.

Next, the distance from Amàliada to Athens is 209 km. The average Greek horse could reach something like 40-45 mph (64.37-72.42 km/h). So, 2.9-3.3 hours or 3-3.4 hours. Which means that a round trip on horseback would be about 5.9-6.7 hours.

Distance from Athens to Bodrum is 182 nautical miles. Provided the vessel used has an average cruising speed of 5 knots, then a one-way trip should be something like 3 days. And, though sail speed varies depending on vessel, I've got 2 possible candidates & both are at least that fast, if not faster.

A Tririme was a 15th century ship (around the time that it was believed that Odysseus' quest took place) available to Greek royalty & they're believed to be able to sail at 7-9 knots depending on if they were using the sails or the oars available to them.

Meanwhile, the penteconter was a 50-oared galley with 25 on each side. And it was said to be capable of 5-7 knots, with a top-speed of 9 knots according to Homer.

So, somewhere within the ballpark of 38.33-49.3 to 69-70 hours. Meaning between 2-3 days, times 2, so 4-6 motherhubbin’ DAYS by boat! But, again, that isn't including the time it would take to locate the spring.

So, 20.2-36.4 hours one way. Making it 40.4-72.8 hours going both ways.

46.2-79.4 hours.

That's around 2-4 days. Of course, that isn't counting what time it would take to locate the spring itself then return to Bodrum proper. And, upon looking real quick, the believed location of that spring is Kaplan Kulesi, which is around… Oh my gosh… I'd bet money that it's in the freaking military base surrounding Tiger Tower & civies aren't allowed on the premises…

Anyway, it's around 1.1 km from Milta Marina & around a 16 minute walk from point A to point B, so I wouldn't be shocked if the spring weren't too far from there either. Regardless, Bodrum Castle is about 180 by 185 meters & the general location wouldn't be much larger, meaning that it could take anywhere from a few hours to a number of days to thoroughly search the area. However, I'd maybe give it between a day & a week at most. Add back in the day of time needed to get to Amàliada & that totals things to around 4-12 days. Less than 2 weeks.

That's freaking nothing, dude. Of course, this is all locations that exist today & this is only provided that Penelope did her research beforehand. Possibly even smoozed Ody's great grandpappy into squealing on the location. But that isn't the point.

The point is, this crud isn't just possible. It's downright achievable. And that terrifies me.

...

Oh, & also. I just wanted to let everyone know that either Hermes or Aphrodite has a seriously crappy naming sense. If you look up the legend of Salmacis, then you will know exactly what I mean.

One final warning: THE LEGEND IS FLIPPIN' WEIRD!!!

kesha song app requested i do a penelope version who am i to say no to a request (design cred: gigi)

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part three)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Being in Rafe’s truck again is like being thrown back into a bad dream you can’t wake up from. You remember every detail from that night, the smell of bleach, the ache in your bones.

He parked by the edge of the country club lot, and as he settles in his seat and shuts the door, he wraps both of you in privacy behind his tinted windows.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice cutting through the tension. Rafe rakes his hand through his hair. He seems nervous, a contradiction to the smugness you’ve gotten used to.

“You were right,” he admits. “Cops aren’t even sniffing around yet and people think it was me.”

You meet his eyes, the blue hue bright and striking. The night it happened, you’d only seen him through the dark. Now, in the daylight, he almost looks innocent. But then you remember the loudness of the gun and how angry he looked when he fired it.

“What happened?” you ask.

“Last night,” he begins, “a few of us were hanging out and people were talking about how something might’ve happened to him. This guy had his name in my mouth… said some shit about how they should probably ask me.”

You nod slowly, taking his words in. You expected as much. As someone who openly hated Porter, Rafe’s likely at the top of everyone’s list of suspects.

“What’d you do?” you say.

“I swung at him.”

You exhale defeatedly, looking up at the ceiling of his car. He’s such a loose cannon that for the first time since that night, you worry that he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut.

“Damn it, Rafe,” you complain. “And you were giving me shit for being obvious?”

His temper flares like a match thrown into a pool of gasoline.

“I’m not gonna sit there and let some asshole say that shit about me,” he mutters. “This is why we need to have our story straight, alright? If you even think about ratting me out, you’ll regret it.”

You tense up. So, this is why he so desperately needed to talk to you. You can’t believe you thought you could find any comfort in him.

“You don’t need to threaten me,” you say sharply. Rafe is taken aback by the confusion on your face. You look like you’d never even considered selling him out. But maybe you’re just a great liar.

“We said we’re in this together,” you continue. “Neither of us leaves the other, no matter how messy it gets. That’s the whole point of being each other’s alibis.”

Rafe sucks his teeth. You realize just how on edge he is about this. He was so comfortable the night it happened. Almost careless. Irritated at how anxious you were. Now, it’s like he’s spiraling.

“I won’t let this ruin my life,” Rafe mumbles. He huffs an unamused chuckle, looking out of the driver’s side window. “I’m not going to jail. I’m not…”

He trails into silence. You stare at his profile. The coldness you’ve always seen in him has been shadowed by a deep paranoia.

“I’m freaked out, too,” you admit. He looks at you again. “But this is only going to work if we trust each other. We need to stick to our story so well that even we start to believe it.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with skepticism, a wrinkle between his brows.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about screwing me over, Pogue,” he says. “You could say I did it and scared you into staying quiet.”

“Are you that paranoid?” you ask. “I won’t go behind your back. I promise. Even if it’s just a cover-up, we need to act like we’re friends now.”

Rafe gives you a once-over, the hardness in his face slowly fading.

“And don’t call me that,” you say. “You know my name.”

He breathes a real chuckle this time. Despite your better judgement, your heart flutters now that you’ve earned a smile from him.

“You’ll take it to the grave?” he murmurs.

“I will. You, too?”

“Yeah,” he says. He studies you again, realizing that you don’t have a guilty conscience at all. “You really don’t regret it.”

“No,” you state. The agony of reliving what Porter did to you hurts more than any sort of remorse you feel for taking his life.

Rafe is surprised to hear you don’t wish you could take what you did back. You’re as cold-blooded as he is. You might be the only person who comes close to understanding what it’s like being controlled by anger this intense.

“I just hate how I can’t stop thinking about if we left any evidence,” you say.

“Yeah.” He settles back, adjusting in his seat with ease, the tension between you dissipating. “We were rushed.”

You nod as you chew on your lip.

“At least nobody saw us,” you say. “And if the cops check our phones, they won’t find anything.”

“Good thinking to turn them off.”

Your face creases in surprise.

“What?” he says.

“Just throws me off when you’re not an asshole.”

He scoffs, his jaw tensing. But beneath the irritation, he wishes he could undo the way he’d spoken to you when you first got in the car.

It’s like his mind is speaking a different language to him when he feels any sort of shame. He usually tries to shut it up. When he looks at you again, he decides not to.

“I didn’t mean to… threaten you,” Rafe mumbles.

“Yeah, you did,” you say with a humorless laugh. “But I’m on your side here. Don’t forget that.”

You check your phone. You have plans to hang out with the guys after work and after what you put them through a few nights ago, you’d rather not leave them hanging again.

“I should go,” you say. “My friends are waiting on me.”

“Did you tell them the truth?”

“No,” you say. “This stays between you and me only. Trust me.”

Rafe stares at you, longer than he ever has before. It’s not anger in his face. Not worry, either. It’s something new. Vulnerability.

“I don’t trust anybody,” he says.

Your lips twitch into a frown. Even though this is a man who’s relentlessly teased you for your place in the classist system he seems to worship, your heart twinges in sympathy.

“Nobody?” you ask quietly.

He looks out the window again, tense and distant. He doesn’t say anything else.

“I have your back,” you reiterate to him. “To the grave, right?”

“Yeah,” he offers, not looking at you again. You exit his car, the confusing knot in your chest only tighter now.

·········

The police start knocking on doors a day later. When they come to yours, you do your best impression of a clueless nobody who just wants to help.

The lead on the case introduces himself as Detective Brading, settling in your living room like he’s been here before. He’s so confident that it’s intimidating. You can imagine Porter’s wealthy family are doing everything they can to find out what happened. The man staring at you is likely the best of the best.

You’ve rehearsed your story so many times that it feels natural. The two men nod along as you lie to them about how you’d fallen asleep in the bedroom, how you’d woken up to him and Rafe arguing, how you convinced Rafe to leave with you.

Your parents stand close by, arms crossed. This is the most they’ve heard you speak in a long time. They hardly ever ask you anything about your life, so it feels odd to have their attention.

“We think you two might have been the last people to see him before he went missing,” Brading tells you. “Porter didn’t say anything about going anywhere?”

“No,” you answer. “Rafe and I left pretty quickly.”

The detective looks up at your parents with raised brows, asking them to give you a moment. When they leave, he leans a little closer.

“We know he dealt drugs,” he murmurs. “And we know you bought from him. We’re not interested in getting anyone in trouble for that. We just want to know what happened to Porter. Is there anything you didn’t mention about that night in front of your parents? Be honest.”

“I fell asleep because I smoked too much pot,” you say quietly, looking back through the doorway your parents left through. It’s taking everything in you not to cry as you think about why you really lost consciousness in that room. “But I only ever bought that from him. He offered other things. Like cocaine. It’s why he and Rafe argued.”

It’s what you agreed on saying, but it still feels like you’re selling Rafe out. It’d be suspicious if you didn’t tell them this version of the truth, though.

The detective nods, clearly having been told this already. Your chest twists in unease as you think about Rafe’s name in everyone’s mouth, leading the cops to him. And possibly to you.

“How close are you to Rafe?”

“We've been talking more since I started my job at the country club,” you say. “We started hanging out a little bit ago. We’re friends.”

“Do you think he would’ve done anything to Porter?” Brading asks.

You meet his eyes, swallowing hard.

“No,” you say resolutely. “I don’t.”

·········

A man is missing and possibly, at this point, presumed dead. But that doesn’t stop Kooks from wanting to party.

You’re in the passenger seat as JJ drives to the north side of the island while John B and Pope talk in the back. You’re gazing out the window, watching the landscape go from dilapidated front yards to gated communities.

You’re heading to a party that you heard about from one of Porter’s friends and the way the police questioned you earlier today is spinning in your head.

“You good?” JJ asks.

You look over at your friend, flattening your lips together. You can never tell the whole truth, but you can offer bits and pieces.

“The cops told me they think I’m the last person who saw Porter before he disappeared,” you say. You can’t bring yourself to tell them the version of the story that includes Rafe yet. They’d never believe you. They’d judge you. “It’s kind of scary to think about.”

“My money’s on that he went on a bender,” JJ says. “Sampled his own product. Maybe even too much of it.”

“You think he overdosed?” you ask.

“More like Rafe offed him,” Pope chimes in.

“Is that what people are saying?” you ask, blood cold, turning back to look at him.

“It’s what I’m saying,” he answers. “The guy’s unhinged.”

You want to defend Rafe. To say he wouldn’t go that far. But it’d be suspicious. And a complete lie.

“It’s a small island,” John B says. “It’s only a matter of time before we find out what happened.”

You hope that’s not true.

·········

You make it to the house, reminding yourself over and over that you have to live as if you believe your own lie. You want to erase that night from your memory. Erase what Porter did to you.

You chug the first drink you can get your hands on. Your friends rib you for how quickly you down it. You blame it on a rough day at work.

Soon after, you’re at the keg, not even close to buzzed yet, but desperately needing to be. Discussing Porter with the cops today, pretending like he was just a dealer you had a few short conversations with, hearing that his family is concerned for his wellbeing made your pulse spike.

Does his family know what a monster he is?

You have to correct yourself.

Was.

“Slow down,” you hear.

Rafe towers over you, his eyes on your cup.

“What?” you shout over the music and conversations surrounding you.

“You’re on your second drink already.”

You look over your shoulder to make sure your friends don’t see you talking with him.

“I don’t even feel anything,” you reply sharply.

It’s a half-truth. Your sadness and anger are weighing heavy on your soul. That vile man took away your power, but you took it back, so you hate that you’re still so rattled by what he did. You just want peace.

“And why are you keeping tabs on me?” you ask.

Rafe stares at you, his lips just slightly parted. He can lie and say he wants to make sure you’re not setting yourself up to get hammered and potentially admit to someone what you did.

But the truth is he can’t stop thinking about you. And he doesn’t like seeing that look on your face, sad and absentminded.

He knows you hate him. He wishes he could hate you back.

“I need to be sure you’re not a liability,” he lies. “And people think we’re friends now, don’t they?”

You look over your shoulder again, anxious the guys will see you. You need privacy if you’re going to continue this conversation.

“Come on,” you say, dipping your hand in his, dragging him through the crowd. His palm is warm and soft and you don’t know what you were expecting, but the way Rafe feels is the opposite of it.

You open the first door you see, stepping into a narrow closet. You shut the door and switch on a light and suddenly he’s standing right over you, all breadth and intimidation.

Your heart races from the way you’d just touched him, from the way he’s just about pressed up against you right now. Something must be short-circuiting in your brain, because the fear you used to hold for him is entirely gone.

The attraction you’ve always felt is overpowering now. You can’t make sense of your own emotions.

“I haven’t told my friends our story,” you confess.

“What?” Rafe snips, his tone low.

“I can’t handle telling them right now, okay?” you say. You cross your arms. “I just said I was with a guy. Telling them that guy was you is… They’ll be so disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed,” he repeats with a scoff.

“Rafe, think back to every encounter you’ve had with us. All you’ve ever done is insult us. I don’t even want to think about how hurt they’ll be to hear I’m friends with you.”

“Who gives a fuck?” he mutters. “We need to make sure our alibi is solid. If the cops find out your friends don’t know we–”

“I’d tell the truth,” you say. “That I was worried about what they’d think.”

“I can’t believe you.” The thought of you being concerned about someone else’s opinion is ridiculous. “Why do you care so much?”

“They’re the only family I have,” you admit. It comes out before you even realize it. You look down, sighing. “You don’t get it. You’re like… an enemy to us. They know how shitty you treat me when I’m at work. Telling them–“

“How the hell do I treat you shitty?” he interrupts.

“I know that those tips are all a degrading show of how you’re so much richer and better than me,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then? Charity?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring. Charity isn’t the right word. He hides behind a forced ego, but he’s always wanted you. And through excessive tips and constant teasing, at least he can talk to you without risking the chance of you rejecting him.

You have him all wrong. He doesn’t think he’s better than you. He’s afraid you’re better than him.

“I’ll tell my friends, okay?” you say when he doesn’t speak. “But I talked to the cops today and they seemed convinced. We’ll be fine.”

“They talked to me, too. I can tell they think it was me.” There’s an almost imperceptible tremble in Rafe's voice. “Everyone thinks it was me.”

“Even your friends?”

“Yeah,” he says. If he can even call them friends. Hearing you call yours family made his jealousy flare. Envy is all Rafe ever feels. Like he’s missing the one thing that deems everyone else loveable.

But he’s hanging on how you said they’re your only family. He doesn’t have a family, either. Not really. Not one that cares about him. Maybe you understand him more than he thought.

“Well…” You clear your throat. “They can believe what they want. You can trust me that I won’t ever tell anyone what really happened.”

“Why?” he finally asks. “Why not just snitch on me, Pogue?”

“Because that night, I told you to do it and you did. The world is a better place without him in it. You did me a favor.” You uncross your arms. “And I told you to stop calling me that.”

Rafe clears his throat, giving in, remembering how you’d saved his life and offering a quiet sorry before he says your name.

It’s the gentlest you’ve ever seen him. It’s a shock to your system. You search his blue eyes in the dim of the closet as if you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to make a snide joke.

But he doesn’t. He just stares at you, his breaths shallow, and you rethink everything you thought you knew about him.

He’s violent and aggressive and condescending. But you don’t see that right now. You see a man who doesn’t seem to be able to believe that someone would want to protect him. Is that who he is behind all the bravado?

The world continues to turn on the other side of the door, music blasting, bass rattling, but time has stopped between you. He’s looking at you through low lids. Like he wants you.

You shouldn’t. Shit is already complicated enough. But what’s one more tangle in the string tying you together?

Your fingers are at the collar of his button-up, pulling him towards you, lips meeting with abandon.

Rafe kisses you back immediately, hungrily leaning into you, cupping your face. His heart is racing. He doesn’t know how or why this is happening, but he wants it so bad that it hurts.

Your mouths part and finally, you taste him against your tongue. It feels so right, like you were always meant to do this and were both too stubborn to.

His hands press tighter against your jaw. Fear floods you. You’re back in that bedroom. You pull back.

“Not so hard,” you say.

“Okay,” he whispers, his grip loosening. He stays hovering over you, nose nudging yours. “Just… please…”

You nod, tilting your head to kiss him again, his hunger for you palpable. You’re with Rafe again, not in that bedroom, but here with a man you want who listens to your wishes.

Your head is swimming with bliss as he kisses you, smelling like cologne and desire, every piece of you wanting him. Then, his hands drift down over the curves of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

And it’s too much. You’re back there again. Begging for it to stop.

“No,” you snap, both hands roughly pushing his chest.

Rafe hits the shelves behind him, his head radiating in pain from how hard he smacked against the wood.

“What the fuck?” he mutters. He was just living in a dream. Why the hell are you pulling him out of it?

“No,” you repeat breathlessly. “You can’t touch me like that.”

“Okay,” he groans. “I won’t. Jesus.”

He clutches the back of his head, wincing.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your throat raw. “I didn’t mean to push you that hard.”

“Why’d you even kiss me?” he says. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. You step towards him, trying to meet his eyes. “You can’t… I need you to ask before you touch me like that.”

His lips are glossy from the kiss, his face pinched in pain. You take a risk, gently placing your hands on his cheeks.

Rafe should be angry at you. But goddamn it, your touch feels so good that he melts. His gaze is heavy on yours, both of you breathing deeply, coming down from the sudden outburst.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeat softly. “Just don’t take me by surprise. I can’t handle it.”

Rafe searches your face, silently asking for an explanation.

You shake your head, not having it in you to answer right now. Your goal tonight was to forget. Not relive. You pull him closer, and thankfully, he lets you.

Your lips are tender after you part, having lost count of how long you’ve been kissing.

Things just got so much more complicated. But you wouldn’t take it back. Not for a second. Nothing else makes sense right now, but having Rafe the way you always secretly wanted him is the one thing that does.

“Don’t fuck me over,” he says, a note of cynicism in his tone as his forehead brushes against yours. “No matter what happens, don’t fuck me over.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

·········

The next morning, you’re walking through the club hall towards the golf course to start your shift. You still can’t get the way Rafe’s mouth felt against yours out of your mind.

He kissed you like he’s been waiting to kiss you for ages. Like he felt lucky that he got to.

You’re about to step through the glass doors leading outside, but the sound of your name makes ice go through your veins. You know that gravelly voice.

You turn to see Detective Brading, his stare intimidating.

“You have a minute to talk?” he says.

You can tell by his tone that it isn’t a question.

to be continued

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[cheyisagirlkisser]

.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentons of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

•Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

[synvil]

can’t swim // rafe cameron

a / n : rafe cameron thoughts. btw this was actually an anonymous ask i sent to a writer, i don’t know if she’ll write it but im sure if she does, it’ll turn out amazing. @rafeysbunny i’m 🧋 anon, hehe.

fun fact, i cannot swim.

synopsis : in which, rafe overhears that you can’t swim and during a party out on the docks, some of the kooks push you into the ocean to loosen you up.

warnings : reader can’t swim. kelce being an ass, peer pressure, etc.

“are you serious, [Name]?”

The raised tone of her voice causes you to shush her as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and purse your lips faintly. “Not so loud, sare..” You let out a small breath and frown, leaning back against the headboard of her bed.

Sarah nods in understanding, lowering her tone as she sighs softly and crosses her legs on the bed in front of you. “That’s crazy- i mean, everyone here in Outer Banks are either surfers or decent swimmers.”

“Except me..” You trail off, shutting your eyes as you bring your hands up to your face. “It’s pretty humiliating, you know.. Seeing everyone in their swimsuits and able to swim in the ocean or go surfing, without the fear of drowning.”

“Wow, no wonder you wouldn’t ever go into the pool or go swimming with us during the boat parties on the dock..”

Unbeknownst to you two, Sarah’s door was open and a passing Rafe Cameron was on his way downstairs when he overhears your conversation.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, but each time, I feel my body sinking and it terrifies me. Plus, y’know, with the whole nearly drowning as a kid trauma and shit.” you force a laugh while Sarah shares a bittersweet smile.

“It’s alright, stay by me tonight and I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Thanks, Sarah, I appreciate it.. and you can’t tell anyone either, okay, especially not Rafe.” You warn pleadingly and she chuckles and nods. “wait, why specifically him?”

You feel your cheeks warm at her question as you turn away. “Your brother just seems like the type to make fun of me for it, and besides, it’s just embarrassing to have a guy i think is hot, to know that about me.”

Sarah scrunches her nose and shudders. “I think your crush on my brother is more embarrassing than you being unable to swim.” she teases and you playfully push her away from you as she breaks into a laugh.

Rafe peeks into the room and thinks for a moment as his eyes examine and take in your form. He has already known long ago of your developed crush on him, and to say he has a mutual infatuation with you may be an understatement.

Every time you come over, Rafe finds every excuse to be in the house, sometimes even in the same room, just to get a look at you.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, everything entices him, intrigues him. You were just so perfect.

Rafe quickly pulls away when he hears movement and leans against the wall beside the doorframe for a moment.

Despite being a little surprised at the newfound information, it brought a little smile to his face. You can’t swim? How cute.

“Come on, we should get ready for Topper’s party tonight.” Sarah says and you sigh softly, but get up anyways with her as she heads over to her closet. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

Rafe lingers for a second longer as he imagines what you’ll be wearing before taking his leave downstairs.

It’s around ten at night when the two of you arrive at the docks, the night sky surrounding the area with only the lights of Topper’s large boat illuminating the place.

“I don’t know, maybe i shouldn’t be here..” You go to turn around but Sarah stops you, pulling you to her side. “Come on, it’ll be okay, i promise. Besides, you look super cute, so flaunt it, okay?” She winks and you huff a breath before following after her.

The closer you get, the louder the partygoers become and the music blasting is enough to stimulate the senses.

Once you get on board, Sarah is engulfed by her friends, while you remain on the sideline with a weak smile and awkwardly hugging your arms. Despite being a kook, you weren’t among the popular ones but that wasn’t enough to get you on their bad side at least.

You rub your arms, the thin fabric of your cardigan doing nothing but add to Sarah’s fashion sense of your outfit tonight. In her baby blue, cropped cardigan, a matching spaghetti strapped solid colored tank and dark washed, high waisted denim shorts.

You help yourself to the bar, grabbing a red solo cup and letting the bartender fill the plastic cup with some beer before bringing it to your lips, hoping it would do some good to alleviate some anxiety, while you keep an eye on Sarah from nearby, who’s talking with her friends.

The scene brings a smile to your lips when you recall her saying she would keep an eye on you earlier in the day but you were happy to see her enjoy herself.

However, you didn’t get to enjoy much time alone as Topper and his friends make his way over to you.

“Hey, [Name]. All alone again?” Kelce smirks and you merely offer a small smile in return. “Not much of a party kinda girl.. but it’s nice.” you mention the last part to Topper who dismisses you, understanding you meant no offense.

“Where’s Sarah?” Topper asks, looking around the area and you gesture over a little ways nearby.

“She’s talking with some friends.” You reply, tapping my fingers against my cup as you shift your footing, feeling the anxiety come back, causing you to take another sip of your drink.

You let your eyes wander around the group, briefly catching Rafe’s, who let his eyes trail up and down your form for a moment, taking in your appearance. The way the baby blue color popped against your skin, the way your hair was styled for tonight’s party. Even the way you shyly held your cup to your chest, fingers still tapping against the sides.

Feeling your cheeks warm from Rafe’s intense gaze, you turn away and look back to Kelce.

Kelce and some of the other guys step closer and you give a small smile to them. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Come on, [Name]. We notice you always come to these parties but you don’t do anything,” Kelce mentions and you force a chuckle. “I’m an observer.” but some of the other guys don’t take that answer. “All we’re saying is, you should loosen up a little. Come on, some of the girls are taking dives off the tail, you should join.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you wave off the idea. “No, i think im good tonight, im actually pretty tired..” You say and Kelce scoffs lightly as his hand goes down to grab your wrist. “Don’t be a buzzkill, [Name], the water will wake you right up.”

“Kelce, i’m not really in the mood to-“ Rafe places a hand on Kelce’s shoulder, stopping him. “Let go, dude, let’s just leave her alone.” But Kelce doesn’t listen as he drags you along to where the other girls are, and the commotion causes all the partygoers to look over, Sarah looking your way.

Your eyes meet Rafe’s and he notices a look of fear and anxiety in them as Kelce brings you over and you try to pull away, the other guys surrounding you all, cheering Kelce and You.

“Yeah!”

“Come on, loosen up, girly.”

“Kelce, I really don’t—“ Despite your futile attempts, Kelce just takes the cup from your hands while Sarah pushes her way through the crowd. “Hey, Kelce, leave her alone!”

Rafe purses his lips and pulls Kelce away. “Hey, seriously, that’s enough.” He warns, pushing Kelce back, who just furrows his brows and scoffs. “What the hell? Why are you getting in the way, man?”

Sarah manages to get to your side, standing over you protectively. But the other girls now get in the way.

“Come on, Sarah, let [Name] do it.”

“it’s not scary.”

You shake your head again, as the girls pull Sarah away, leaving you alone with the kook surrounding you.

Rafe is pushing Kelce away, who’s confused and pushing Rafe back in retaliation. Meanwhile this leaves the other Kooks to act freely and the guys seem to share the same idea and go over to your body.

“Hey, hold on—“

But it’s too late, as the guys pick you up with ease and toss you overboard, a wave of laughter and cheers erupting from them.

“[Name]!” Sarah shouts from the girls hold and Rafe widens his eyes as he whirls around at the sound of your scream and a splash from the impact.

“Shit-“ Rafe curses as he roughly shoves Kelce into Topper as he rips off his shirt before taking a leap off the deck and into the water with you.

You flail, panic surging into you as you begin to hyperventilate. “S-Sa-Sarah—!”

“What the hell?!” Kelce scoffs with furrowed brows while Sarah feels tears brimming her eyes. “[Name] can’t swim!” she cries out as she rips away from the girls and shoves two of the guys out of her way before leaning over the railing. “[Name]!”

Topper’s, Kelce’s and the other kooks’ eyes widen in shock at the revelation. “What?”

They all rush over the rail to peer into the ocean as Rafe is diving under to find you.

Rafe manages to find your sinking body, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you up to the surface, your body already unconscious due to the lack of air and your panic flailing.

“[Name], [Name], are you okay?” He gasps as he reaches the surface and uses a hand to caress your cheek while the other props you up under your back. “No, no, come on, [Name], wake up.”

Sarah rushes around down the boat and on the boardwalk and leans down. “Rafe, Rafe! Come on, bring her over here!”

Rafe clenches his jaw when you still don’t respond and swims his way over towards Sarah as quickly as he can, panting before lifting your body up, Sarah doing her best to help you onto the wooden docks, laying you flat on your back.

“[Name], please! please wake up!” Sarah cries as she jostles you, Rafe climbing onto the dock next to her and looking down at you. She begins doing chest compressions, tears streaming down her cheeks faster. By this time, everyone on the boat is out on the boardwalk surrounding you body on the ground.

Rafe stands up straight, his clothes soaking and dripping but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he tries to catch his breath, staring down at his sister trying to wake you.

He contemplated for just a minuscule of a second, about beating the shit out of Kelce, but he prioritized your wellbeing first.

“Rafe- she’s not waking up.”

Sarah inhales sharply, trying not to think the worst and her older brother kneels down, pinching your nose closed before bringing his lips down to yours.

The kooks are whispering amongst each other, surprised by Rafe’s sudden leadership actions.

Rafe pulls away, continuing Sarah’s chest compressions before going back to pressing his lips against yours, providing CPR.

Please, not like this. wake up, wake up for me, [Name].

Suddenly a choked noise erupts from your lips as you turn to your side and spew out bits of water. Your throat becomes sore as you cough roughly.

Sarah immediately breaks into a smile, a gasp of relief coming from her and Rafe pulls back, a sigh coming from him. “H-Hey, take it easy, you’re alright..”

You look around, feeling dizzy and nauseous as you spit up the last of the water you nearly drowned in, as Sarah pulls you to her chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “[Name], i’m so glad you’re okay!”

Meanwhile, Rafe stands upright, looking up at the sky, trying to relax his rapidly beating heart, as he takes slow steps to turn around.

“H-Hey, look, I didn’t know-“

Kelce, already knowing what was coming, raises his hands in defense as he backs up.

However, Rafe doesn’t hesitate his fist swinging into Kelce’s cheek, succeeding in knocking him down. “You son of a bitch!”

Rafe clenches his jaw tight as he looks to the other kooks. “Party is fucking over, get the fuck away!”

Topper tries to talk some sense into Rafe but Rafe shoves him. “You hear me? I said get away! go fucking home, now!”

Everyone is stunned into silence as they share looks, before quickly scrambling away and off the dock, not wanting to argue with the Kook King.

Sarah sniffles as she pulls away and looks up at Rafe, who kneels down and tucks an arm under your legs and the other under your back, before lifting you up carefully, bridal style.

“R-Rafe?…” Your hoarse voice calls out, hands pressed to his firm chest but Rafe hushes you. “Shh.. it’s alright, just get some rest.. you’ll be fine.”

Sarah watches her brother carry you towards his truck, wiping her tears as she follows after them, exhaling gently.

Tears brim your eyes as your chest swells with warmth, despite your freezing body.

You stare up at Rafe weakly, feeling your chest grow weak as your eyes flutter close and you press your head into his chest more. “Thank you.. Rafe.. You saved me..”

Rafe’s hold on you tightens, securing you in his arms.

“..I’m so glad you’re okay… i’m so sorry..”

a/n: welp, this could’ve been sooo much better but i rushed this at work hehe. outerbanks is playing on the tv at work so i thought id get a little smth out :3 this is sooo bad though 😭

not proofread or edited. i’ll go back and edit some other time.

synvil™️.

[keferon]

Sorry in advance for the word vomit but. I love the whole Jazz-and-Prowl figuring out the language barrier but also consider:

They don't.

Prowl's been captured by Quintessons and is currently thinking of ways to completely scrape his processor so they can't get any useful data, only to get rescued by a random mech. They fight their way out (the mech is extremely proficient in combat). At first he thinks it's a drone- it looks at him when he asks questions but doesn't answer (responds to noise, not language), it is sparkless (not alive) and it makes random but entirely incoherent noises and doesn't even ping (not able to communicate). Prowl has no idea what's going on but he's too injured to make it back to base alone and it's helping him? So. He chalks it up to some waylaid stealth military asset and tries to think of ways to both get it back to base whilst also making sure it's not some sort of Quintesson Trojan-horse [10%].

Meanwhile, Jazz was sent to blow up a Quintesson command camp by his organisation but instead he got thrown through a weird portal, and found a pilot all tied down and probably being tortured so naturally he busted him out but uh. He has no idea what the other is saying. He's talking in total tonal gibberish. Not that he's judging, he's heard some stuff about how far other piloting programs are willing to go to advance neural technology. And his face! He has one! A handsome one. Must be some advanced shit because he's got micro expressions and he's using them to frown as him. Anyways, Jazz's got bigger fish to fry. The sky's a different colour, there are two suns and atmo is reading terribly low levels of O2. Maybe he and this pilot got thrown into an alien planet? Cool- well, actually pretty bad but hey they're in this together.

Prowl knows by models that they're bound to run into another Quintesson patrol eventually, and based on the drones alertness to its surroundings, his previous observations to its capacity to fight, and how it doesn't stray to far from him, if patrol numbers are favourable [1-8 range] they can survive [70, .5]% the route back to base. But the drone is reckless and abandons him to the melee (how can a drone be reckless?) and Prowl gets injured worse. Energon drips from wounds, and the angle makes it challenging for him to patch it. But the drone creeps closer, folds to its (knees? Its joints are in an odd but effective configuration) and gently (gently?) begins to mimic (clumsily) Prowl's motions of patching his wounds. Here is where Prowl falters, because drones are not so careful. Drones do not do not look up multiple times at his faceplates, and become more delicate when they see you in pain. Drones don't hold out a servo and help you to your pedes when your done. Which begs the question, if he's not a drone, so what has been done to this mech?

Jazz on the other hand is freaking the fuck out. Naturally. Because uh, he started slicing Quints, expecting Frowny to do the same because his mech was still clearly operational, only for the idiot to completely disregarded normal combat standards which can be summarised as 'fight hard or die' and instead get chewed on by some big ass teeth.

Only to see the glowing purple dripping from his torn sides, only to see that he's bleeding.

Machines don't bleed.

So Jazz figures out Frowny is an alien first. He starts pointing at himself and saying his name, insistently, until Frowny repeats it. He points at Frowny, and records and replays whatever sound bite Frowny makes until Frowny's also nodding in confirmation. He still calls him Frowny, because even though he has his name? Probably? He has no idea what it means and can't actually pronounce it (no idea how to get a mouth to move that way) but hey! Progress! He does this again and again with small things (rock, hand, cyber?animals, music (Frowny's confused at that one it's pretty adorable) ect.

Prowl has no idea what to make of this strange mech. Is he a failed experiment? A runaway from Cybertron following the Functionalists rise or power? Thennn Prowl finds out one fateful night that the mech is actually an alien organic (in a fit of misunderstandings, and squeezes him pretty hard for it ouch and feels SO guilty about it later) and suddenly the language/culture barrier makes way more sense.

Prowl's injuries degrade (a line splits). He has no way to communicate this except for the energon dripping out of his chassis. The organic is clearly worried (how did he think he was ever sparkless), and Prowl can't reach the injury himself. So he guides the mech's servos past armour and wiring, down to protoform (near his sparkchamber) to the split line. Gestures and hopes the mech can figure out what to do from his miming[#^%]. That'll he'll be careful, and won't hurt him [5%, 87%, #*%, *########%].

Frowny is later picking shrapnel stuck in his forearm that's too small for him to remove, so Jazz gets out of his mech to help with his small human hands. Jazz has no way to communicate to Frowny that if he moves, he'll sheer Jazz's limbs clean off, but he goes in anyway, because Frowny's hurt, and speckled in blood. Because he's clearly struggling and hurt and tired. Because Jazz has to trust that he won't.

Frowny's injures eventually make him collapse, and Jazz carries him the rest of the way. Jazz has no idea how they'll be received (especially considering how Frowny reacted when he found out Jazz was organic). Jazz knows he might be dissected. Knows he might be pulled apart (again) but.

He remembers all the little moments they had on their journey (Frowny shielding him from falling rubble when Jazz was out of his mech once, them getting to gesticulating arguments, Frowny's reaction to his music, how he fell asleep on Jazz once and it was fricken adorable).

It doesn't matter that Jazz can't say (barely understands) his actual name. That Frowny probably doesn't understand his. It doesn't matter that they talk in halting miming, in broken sound clips and touches and half-glares.

He's already gone out on all his limbs, might as well put his head on the chopping block. And if it causes him to lose the damn thing, well.

He's a pilot. Dying horribly is practically his job description.

OOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH DYING HORRIBLY IS PRACTICALLY HIS JOB DESCRIPTION,,,,,,,,,,,

[frownyalfred]

The recent posts on how Dick has been embittered as being seen as just a 'pawn' by others makes me wonder how that compares to the other batkids. Like maybe they didn't even *bother* with Jason because he's obviously not going to amount to anything beyond Bruce's pity, or how Tim was raised in this environment so he's just used to it, or how Damian scares the shit out of them but he's the 'real' blood heir, and so on.

Yeah! The whole point is that Dick looks like an easy target because he's nice and charming and, in essence, all the things Bruce can be but often isn't with people he doesn't trust. Jason was immediately written off as too sharp, Tim knows this game and can dance around people asking for favors for hours, and Damian will just openly say "Why are you trying to manipulate me?" to the person's face until they walk off.

But everyone knows Dick is the favorite, even just in the civilian world. They think he has Bruce's ear (he does) but they don't realize what that actually means. And they don't realize that Bruce has his ear almost just as much. They were partners, once upon a time -- you think Dick Grayson is going to just laugh off some conversation like that and never mention it to Bruce? He's in the Cave two hours later lounging on Bruce's desk, letting him know that [local politician] must be feeling the sting of those recent raids, if he's coming to him for help.

Bruce trusts Dick and knows he's smart enough not to get caught up in that. But no one else, from the outside, really gets that. Sometimes Dick is even like, are you sure? You don't want to intervene? You trust my judgement?

[mellowdiplomattrashpsychic]

It's funny with all the sudden parents and all, but think about how Danny being Calico is an open secret. It has so much potential.

Like- everyone knows. They dont say, nobody arrests him, but everyone knows and he knows that they know. It a Gotham secret.

And its just- imagine that it helps cover up the bats' identities? Because Bruce adopted WAY too many by now for people to not make any connections.

I bet the only thing holding them off is bad picture quality, stress of surviving everyday, simply not caring, and/or fanfiction. You can't tell me that people haven't shipped Bruce/Batman. You know how hard-core fans could be.

But now? Now it's "more concrete" that Bruce isn't Batman and the kids aren't the other vigilantes. After all, why would Batman keep a rogue as a child?

It's a stupid thing to think about considering Red Hood is still around and Robin (Damian) has a sword. But really, imagine it?

And its hilarious because people are actively cheering on the chaos gremlin. This is what they want! Sure, Bruce does great things with his charities, mass donations, and the WE stuff going (the last one they think is credited more on Tim and Damian though).

But it's not enough. Legal stuff is slow. Inventing and innovating things is difficult. The whole system is corrupt for fucks sake! It takes a hell of a lot more time to get shit done. I mean- look at the parks and plants around! Barely any, and Poison Ivy was out there killing because of all that pollution and plant killing!

Red Hood was making a difference. Sure, it was still dangerous in Crime Alley, but there was a huge difference from back then. It even impacted outside territories, too. So he didn't only help Crime Alley, but Gotham in general with the whole killing thing.

They needed more anti-heroes that made that large-scale change. And that's what Danny provided as Calico.

Also, the original post had "daylight vigilante turned dark" in it. Phantom is an obvious choice to think about but... but what if he wasn't?

Think about it. What other name could he have that he could commit to the bit to?

I just think it would be funny if he had another name. Not related to bats, birds, or (now) cats, but something like Signal in a way. Definitely a change of wardrobe. Probably uses the Phantom alias for big problems (alien invasions, Darkseid, big world catastrophe shit, ghost or magic stuff)

What if he did deal with magic? He's slowly getting rid of the curses in Gotham which is easier in the day since light weakens them (maybe).

That got off track, but yeah, imagine the drama he could cook up with not 1, not 2, not 3-

With 3 aliases!

(Familiar to anyone? Sorry, had to do it)

Just, just about the chaos he could brew. Duplication isn't that hard now that he has time to practice with decent enough sleep ;)

"And? What did you decide on?" Duke asks, fork slipping from his mouth and chewing, focused on Danny.

The boy in question hums. "Oh yeah, I'm totally joining in on the nightlife."

The statement has all of them stopping in their tracks, blatantly staring at the still eating boy.

"This will be my emo arc, daylight vigilante turned dark."

Tim snorts, Jason gives a smirk, nudging the eldest sibling next to him from his frozen state.

"Ooooh," Steph leans forward. "Have you decided? Bat or Bird?"

"New name?" Cass jumps in on the questioning with a small smile, eyes crinkling.

"Will you be joining us tonight then, danyal?" His twin speaks up for the first time during dinner, eyes narrowed and calculating.

"Yes." Is the short reply, with the way damian's lips turn down and displeasure makes itself clear, the intention of giving such a short answer has been met.

"Danny," Bruce gains the attention, leaning forward with his fingers interlocked and brows furrowed with what must be worry.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into this just because everyone else is—"

"I'm more than sure, B!"

The man sighs. "And I won't be able to stop you?"

"Mhm." He gives a nod.

"Okay," his shoulders sag in defeat. "Do you have everything then—?"

"Yep!"

"Even—"

"B, I'm pretty sure I got everything, you can, if in your opinion I am missing something, give it to me later!"

Danny grins, pushing himself up from the table and rounding around towards the door.

"Besides! My whole get up will be a suprise!! So stay awake folks because I'm gonna blow ya all away."

As he leaves, Steph and Duke make sounds of anticipation, curiosity eating at all of them.

(They dont know whats gonna hit 'em.)

"I'm betting 50 bucks that he's gonna be a bat."

Alfred shakes his head at the newfound excitement.

—

What an exciting night.

There is still no sight of their newest, despite oracle's teasing, having apparently already been included in the suprise.

"Well well well," a sly, yet teasing voice makes itself into the open. Catwoman, in all her glory, walks up to the group of bats and birds.

"If it isn't the bat, what's with the gloomy face?"

Batman gives her a nod. "Cat."

Her eyes roam the group and she tilts her head. "Everyone seems to be here tonight." She comments.

"We're waiting," the man shares. "Our newest decided to be more secretive about his debut."

Catwoman gives him a smug smirk. "So I have heard," a chuckle. "I've come here to introduce you to someone, truthfully."

"Oh? Who is it?" Nightwing perks up, having finally decided to join in.

"Me."

Some yelp, whip their head around and away from the lady in black, gasps and cooing (particularly from steph) fill the roof and Danny joins them.

He wears black combat boots, they're heavy just from the look, but make no sound as he jumps around. The front of the boots look like cat paws, they're reaching up to his knees.

Then comes the baggy black pants, knees protected by poleyn and his belt acting as a cats tail. The hoodie he is wearing is also black, with fingerless gloves (only the middle finger is covered) and reaching up to his neck.

Instead of a domino mask, he wears a hood with cat ears and a dark face mask. Cass claps, knowing fully well he took inspiration from her own get up.

The whole outfit is detailed with orange spots, some parts brown and others grayish.

"Meet my new mentee, Calico."

Danny, Calico, waves.

[arcanewhoosh]

Could you right a story where jinx’s S/O is scared of bombs or loud things in general and one of jinx bombs went off scaring S/O and jinx comforts them.

So I forgot that the inbox was a thing and found this two years after you asked for it. Sorry lmao.

I think I completely failed this cause I chose season 1 Jinx and hooboy Season 2 Jinx would've been a better choice.

Also this went over 2k words I realize I may be a yapper.

The Monsters We Allow

2k words (Jesus this wasn't supposed to be this long)

Proofread? Y/N

TW: Descriptions of injuries

You're no stranger to the hazards of working for the Eye of Zaun. Even the more hardened residents of the Undercity oftentimes couldn't stomach some of the work the job entailed, more so the people involved in those jobs.

So now here you were, helping build an explosive device of some sort. Fishbones Jinx had called it. You guess that you should add assistant weapons maker to the long list of jobs you've held working for Silco over the years. It wasn't always like this, though.

You started out as cleanup crew, showing up after fights. You didn't want to at first, but if you crossed Silco, you'd most definitely cross his daughter, Jinx. If you crossed his daughter, then it was almost a certainty that you would end up in pieces and puddles on the walls and floors. You'd rather be the one cleaning than be the one being cleaned up. So you put your head down and went along with it.

It was messy work, but it turns out even with all the fucked up things tolerated in the Undercity, rotting body parts weren't one of them. It wasn't pretty, and your first few days you had to include your vomit in the list of things you had to clean up. Eventually, though, you got over it, got better. Well enough that Silco would only trust you to do cleanups of whichever unfortunate soul was on the receiving end of Jinx's chompers. You could figure out which weapon was used to do what, what the direction of the splatter on the wall or floor meant. You could look at a scene once and replay how the entire fight went.

The job wasn't pretty, not at all, but it put money in your pockets, good money. It put food on your table and clothes on your back. Most importantly, it gave you security. A blanket of protection that ensured people would think twice to cross you. Silco only kept a select few on constant contract. Sure, you didn't run around beating the shit out of people during collections, or blowing them up. You didn't have a robot arm or guns-choice of weapon was bucket and shovel-- but hey, you were deeper in his inner circle than most people.

Eventually, he started bringing you along to meetings. After those meetings, he'd ask you, What's the quickest, and cleanest way we can get rid of this person?

It was jarring at first, being asked how to kill someone. But whatever reservations you had about becoming a murder consultant was heavily outweighed by your fear of being the one consulted about. So you'd answer diligently, if a little hesitantly. The first time you answered, he had looked pleasantly surprised. As if getting recommendations on assassination was pleasant. You remembered thinking.

It didn't take long for people of the Undercity to associate your presence in these tag-alongs with the sudden death of whoever you and Silco were visiting. Whispers about how you wouldn't even talk during the meetings, how you'd sit and simply look around. If you were addressed by the person you were meeting with, Silco would politely redirect their attention back to him. Sometimes, sometimes, that person wouldn't die. Silco once credited it to you, that people suddenly became more pliable once he brought you along. Another blanket of security. People started treating you differently, more respect, fear maybe. It was a little funny, how typically aggressive brutes would become the politest people towards someone who had just barely reached the age of eighteen.

One day, Silco had asked you to his office. You thought it would just be regular stop before another meeting, standard procedure by then, really. But that day he had another guest in his office. The blue braids were already a dead giveaway, but you still politely introduced yourself.  She laughed, and identified you as The one who ruins my fun because she had to follow your instructions when Silco needed her to get rid of people.

You knew back then that she was dangerous. Quite frankly, she scared the shit out of you. You didn't have a problem with seeing dead bodies and parts, sure. But she was younger than you, and already had no qualms about taking lives. She was the one leaving behind entrails that you had to clean up. And apparently, she was now to be occasionally under your watch. Silco thought you'd be a good fit for a companion. Around the same age, he had said.

You kept a respectful distance from her, but she unfortunately grew fond of you and decided to keep you around more often than not. Silco didn't see anything wrong with it, if anything it made the both of you more notorious. His Loose Cannon and his Harbinger of Death. A deadly combination in theory, but in practice, it was mostly you having to accompany Jinx for her less dangerous - there were still casualties - pranks, and bailing her out of sticky situations.

And now here you were, two years later, making a launcher with her- making was a generous word, more handing her stuff - and getting ready to probably blow more people up.

You feel your stomach begin to unsettle again. You were used to seeing dead bodies, parts of bodies, what was left of bodies. But never in the stretch of time that you had worked for Silco, had you ever had to see dying. You always showed up after. It had only been two days since the explosion at the bridge, but somehow Jinx was walking around as if nothing had even happened to her. As if she didn't blow herself up the last time you had seen her. If you were making an educated guess based off of her eyes, you'd say she was hurt and got pumped full of shimmer; or maybe she was just living off of pure mania at this point.

You've cared for her, but now you also care about her. It seems that no matter how much respectful distance you put between yourself and her, propinquity eventually came into play, and affection followed. And the only sense you had was to go along with it.

It took you a while to get used to being around her. She was temperamental, to say the least. But you eventually learned not to ask any questions about her family, not to bring up the dolls she kept at her place, and avoid asking any questions at all about her past. If she wanted to, she'd tell you. The only time she wasn't unpredictable was when she was tinkering away at her little station, blasting her music.

She was calm, placated, almost normal. If you had never met her before and had seen her then, you would have thought she was beautiful. Not that she isn't, it's just that her reputation tended to precede all her other perceivable qualities. More than all of this, she was vulnerable. Her back turned to you, not a care in the world if you wandered around touching things. You realize now that it was in those moments probably that your affection for the girl grew. All of a sudden, getting her out of unideal predicaments included treating her wounds; then nursing her back to health if she was sick; staying over when she had nightmares. And yet you were still cautious, careful not to trip on some invisible wire that would trigger her temper.

"Whoops-"

A bang, a clattering of tools, and you're back at the bridge. Back at looking at screaming people, crawling on the ground because their legs had been blown clean off, some with limbs partially attached, some falling off, someone trying to feel where half of their face had gone. All moving, breathing, alive.

"Easy there, jelly legs." You look up to meet Jinx's eyes. Once a soft powder blue, now striking orbs of red violet. She's holding onto you. At some point you had lost your balance and was now kneeling on the floor, one hand on the side of Jinx's desk for support. "You sick or somethin'?" She asks.

"Sorry," You breathe out. "I think… I think I'm still reeling from what happened at the bridge."

She lets out a laugh. Loud, boisterous, manic.

"The bridge? The little ol' light show? You didn't like it?" Her smile falls, and she cocks her head to the side. Fuck.

Now you're on thin ice. "No, no. It was nice." You quickly say, shaking your head. "It's just, I'm not- I'm not used to seeing the before part, you know?"

She guffaws. "Wait, wait, wait." She stands, walking over to her desk littered with metal scraps and remnants of her previous projects, picking up one of the butterfly robots she had made. "You're telling me-" She plucks off a wing, the remaining one flapping aimlessly. "You" Points it at you. "Who's in charge of cleaning up exploded bodies, and telling Silco - who tells me - how to kill someone without a mess," Plucks off the other wing and throws the body away. "Gets queasy over a few blue bellies kicking the bucket?"

You take a breath to steady yourself. "I don't know. I never- I never thought about that part. I've never had to see it."  You unconsciously start clenching and unclenching you hand not holding onto the desk. A nervous habit, one that you tried to shake off. A habit that Jinx had taken note of the first few months of her dragging you along with her escapades.

"I'm sorry." You say after a few beats of silence.

In one quick flash - too quick, inhumanly quick - Jinx is kneeling again in front of you, cupping your face in her hands.  "Hey now, it's alright." Her tone is soft, caring, tragically comforting to you. "We all got our little quirks. I sure do."

She frees up one of her hands to brush your hair back. "Come to think of it, I think that was the first time you had to see something like that, huh?"

It always astounds you how quickly she can disarm the guard you put up for her. You know she's dangerous, you know you should be cautious. But a few sweet words from her and you're putty in her hands, completely at her mercy. You wonder if it's normal to love and fear someone at the same time.

"We'll be okay." She presses her forehead against yours. "I've got you, like you've got me." You nod.

"You can handle helping me with one more thing, right?" There it is. "We just need to do this one teeny thing, and then we can chill out."

You put in active effort to keep your breathing steady. Your stomach still in knots. "What thing?"

She grins. "A dinner party. You're my co-host." She pulls you up with her as she stands, leading you over to where she was working, where Fishbones was seemingly complete. "Wanna see something cool?"

You nod, and she fishes out the HexTech gemstone she had stolen during Progress Day. She opens up a slot near the handle and inserts the gemstone, Fishbones immediately lighting up, a blue hue illuminating her dark room. You contemplate asking her about her new weapon, weighing out the pros and cons. But the fact that her hand was still holding yours, her thumb idly grazing your knuckles was enough to encourage you.

"What are you gonna do with this?"

She runs her free hand above the clear panel where the gemstone is. "We're gonna go make a point."

The rational part of your brain is telling you to stay behind, that whatever this was, being in the vicinity of a HexTech-powered weapon was not a good idea. But this was Jinx, and she had already decided that you were coming with her. Incurring her wrath now, also in the vicinity of the HexTech-powered weapon, was not a good idea either.

So you do what you do best, and go along with it.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (2)

posted originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Amelia Scott-Higgins was a person a lot of people looked up too. The winner of the 2019 Ballon d’Or who was just 21 at the time. She was an inspiration on and off the field, so you can imagine everyone’s shock when she disappeared. Only a few know the gruesome details of her injuries, and those happen to be Barcelona players Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh. Alexia Putellas had always admired her, as a person and a player. 

“Do you think we could convince her to join us? We need a striker and she is the best!” Jana excitedly said to Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid as they walked into the locker room. 

“No, she was the best. Past tense.” Ingrid said. 

“Ale you could totally convince her! You guys were friends no?” Jana’s words were loud through the quiet locker room. 

“Who are you convincing?” The English accent through the Spanish was still very clear to this day and unmistakably came from Lucy. 

“Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s living in Barcelona and Ale used to be her friend! We need her Luce!” 

“No. Understand what I am about to say. No one here is to contact Milly and ask her to play. No one is to ask her to come to a game or to hang out. She has been through enough and you will all leave her the hell alone.” Keira spoke extremely firmly. No one has heard her talk like that before. 

“Kei, come on they don’t know.”��

“That’s exactly right Lucy. They don’t know. You all think she’s this amazing footballer and want her to play, but she went through some fucked up shit. She doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to watch. She wants to be left alone so that’s exactly what everyone is going to do: leave her alone.” The locker door slammed as Keira left. She would protect Amelia now, since she couldn’t before. 

Before it all happened, Keira, Leah and Amelia were inseparable. The group was formed at a football event the first year Amelia moved over to the UK, in 2014, at just 16 years old. Emily played with Man City, alongside Keira, Lucy and Georgia. Despite playing at different clubs, they always made time for each other. The unlikely friendship with Alexia Putellas started in 2017, after both signing with Nike and having to do a campaign. Both girls were socially awkward, they sat in silence for most the day until Alexia invited Amelia to dinner. From there on out, they were very close friends. 

Alexia struggled with the fame, Amelia did not. She was able to offer advice to Alexia, sharing ways to keep relationships private, or how to compartmentalise. Alexia didn’t even get a text off of Amelia when it all happened. She had flown to England to attend the funeral. A numb, bruised and bandaged shell of a friend stood before them all. 

“You knew Amelia?” Olga asked quietly over dinner the night after their run in. 

“Yeah. I knew both Amelia and Emily.” The sadness evident in Alexia’s voice. 

“Why’d she quit? I googled her. She won the Ballon d’Or and UEFAs best player. What happened?” 

“Her wife was murdered and she was hurt. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the type of player she was. She was easily the best player the world has ever seen. No matter what, she worked hard. She cared, if a person got hurt you’d know because Amelia was there first. After her opponents lost, she wouldn’t celebrate her win, she’d go around and tell them everything they did well, hug them and let them cry. I went to the funeral, she was just a shell. Covered in bruises and bandages, in a wheelchair. Then she just vanished. On the first anniversary of Emily’s death, she deleted every single social media she had, changed her number and quit football. I hadnt seen her since, apparently Keira and Lucy hadn’t either.” 

“that’s a lot for one person to go through. Where are her parents?” 

“Doesn’t have any. They died when she was little, from what she shared she was in foster care in Australia until they let her come to the UK”

“Maybe you should invite her for dinner? She could use a friend.”

“No. YOU should invite her. You’re someone who she doesn’t know and you two seemed to hit it off.” 

Olga didn’t tell Alexia, or anyone for that matter, but Amelia had followed her on instagram that night after they met. Seemingly on a private, almost anonymous account. Olga had no plans to force Amelia back into football or back into Alexia’s life, but the more she learnt the more she wanted to ensure she wasn’t alone in this world. 

Every morning, Alexia would run along the beach. It was usually quiet and calm since Spain generally didn’t wake up until later in the morning. Every morning, she would watch the same surfer. Scars scattered on her legs, one long scar from the back of her hip, across her torso. Alexia knew it was Amelia, but she never stopped to say hello, not until that morning. 

The morning that would change things. 

[ivonhart]

haircut | sevika x fem!reader

— one shot

masterlist

cross posted on ao3

gif credit: @terrapia

inspo credit: @roastedoatmilk

summary: You wake to Sevika struggling to maintain her hair and offer to cut it.

a/n: This was so self indulgent - I just love Sevika so much and wanted more fluff out there with her

You were gently stirred awake at the soft cursing that left the mouth of your girlfriend. What little light that could breach Zaun’s smoggy atmosphere trickled in from the torn blinds hanging from your bedroom window and illuminated her…as well as the smoke that surrounded her from the cigarette hanging from her lips.

Despite the sleep that clouded your vision you could see that she was hunched over at your desk in front of your vanity mirror. You watched as she gathered her shoulder length hair and attempted to tie it up before the hairband slipped from her fingers, causing her to curse once more. She was stressed…even in your sleepy state the fact she was smoking so early told you as such.

Ever since the death of Silco, neither you nor her have been able to scrape up enough money to get a replacement arm for her, leaving her back with one arm. Something she wasn’t used to after so long with a mechanical one. Each day you could see her get more and more frustrated at the Zaun and what it’s becoming.

Silco’s death had sent Zaun into a whirlwind of chaos and Sevika had to follow behind cleaning up whatever she could by herself. Slowly, you sat up, resulting in the thin blanket to fall from your bare chest, exposing your skin to the chill air that filled the room. With a yawn and a stretch you stood from the bed and made your way over to her. You didn’t bother to put a shirt on as you did. “My love…you should’ve woke me.”

Your soft voice visibly relaxed her tense shoulders as you ran your hands across the back of her neck before wrapping around it. The warmth from your bare chest heated up her backside while you rested your chin on her forehead. A heavy sigh left her mouth as she looked away from the mirror after you pulled the cigarette from her lips and brought it to yours.

“I should be able to tie my own fucking hair up.” Her tone was harsh but you knew it was only because she was hurting. She didn’t say it much but his death left a wound in her heart you don’t think would ever heal. And with everything else happening you knew she would burn out sooner or later. No matter how hard she tried to hide it from you…you knew.

With one last drag you put the cigarette out and climbed onto Sevika’s lap, she didn’t fight it - she never did, and silently cupped her scarred cheek and parted her mouth to allow the smoke you held in your lungs to travel to hers. Another heavy sigh forced the smoke from her mouth as she dropped her head against yours.

Her hand held your hip as you stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to keep doing everything alone.” You began to say while you closed your eyes. “Let me carry some of the burden.” Your words caressed the woman’s mouth as you whispered them. Sevika’s hand wandered up your body, mapping out every bump and scar that littered your skin as if she was afraid you would disappear from her very hands. “Everything went to shit after Sil…” The woman choked back the name of the man she admired so much.

While she spoke you softly rubbed your nose against hers. “I just don’t know what to do.” Her hand had traveled under your chest and around your ribs before moving up your spin to cup the back of your head. Knowing what it was she wanted, you pushed your head into her neck and wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

The embrace seemed to halt time. All that was and would ever be was the two of you. Sevika felt a burn behind her eyes as she gazed at the ceiling. She didn’t know why she felt such emotion. Perhaps Silco’s death was finally hitting her, or the exhaustion was catching up to her. Or maybe it was the pure and unforgiving love she held for you.

“Maybe I could cut it for you?” The question snapped her out of her thoughts and she quickly blinked any tears away. You pulled away and smiled softly. “I’ve always thought you’d look good with an undercut and besides, it would be one less thing for you to worry about.” Any tension Sevika once held was washed away as she cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Oh…really?” Your soft smile grew wide as you nodded before you pushed her hair out of her face and tucked the strains behind her ears. Showcasing the large eyes you fell so hard for. “So?” You asked while mimicking her facial expression.

-

“You're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” The words escaped your mouth before you even realized as you looked at the final product. After putting a shirt on and getting everything set up, it had taken about an hour until you finished cutting her hair.

Sevika felt heat bloom under her cheeks at your words, causing her to clear her throat. Despite dating for a few years, sudden words such as that threw the fighter off. Sometimes she’d think she had made you up. “Alright, let me see, woman.”

A soft laugh escaped your mouth at the name, knowing she only called you that when you made her flustered. When you handed a small handheld mirror to Sevika you watched with bated breath as she took in your handiwork. You were, in no way, a hair dresser so you were worried how she’d react. “D-Do you like it?”

In the blink of an eye you were suddenly in Sevika’s lap again with her lips against yours. She swallowed your gasp before you slowly kissed her back with a large smile. When you pulled away you spoke. “So was that a yes?” Your breath ghosted over her lips as she bore her gaze into yours. “Marry me.”

You pulled back to look at her face fully as a beat of silence filled the air. The sudden words you’ve been longing to hear from her threw you for a loop, causing you to stare blankly at her. Sevika’s eyes shifted between yours with nervous energy as she slightly shifted you in her lap.

“What?” You whispered as tears began to fill your eyes. The brute that you softened cleared her throat before repeating it. “Marry me.” All of a sudden, Sevika’s center of gravity was thrown off as you launched your arms around her shoulders once again, causing the two of you to tumble to the ground. “YES!” You screamed with a loud laugh. Sevika couldn’t help the chuckles that left her lips as you covered her face with pecks while the tears fell across her skin.

“What in Janna’s name is happening here? When did Sevika cut her hair?” Jinx’s questions were barely heard of the sounds of joy that left the two of you. When you finally registered her presence you stumbled to your feet with a wide smile, noting Isha standing next to her with matching blue hair. Seemed Sevika wasn’t the only one who changed hairstyles.

“SEVIKA ASKED ME TO MARRY HER!” Another beat of silence followed before Jinx broke out in a loud cheer while Isha followed along with loud claps. Sevika made her way off the floor and to the bed as she watched you, Jinx, and Isha jump around in a circle with interlocked hands while cheering. Jinx saying ‘Took Lefty long enough’ over and over again as the three of you did. The warmth she always felt around you burned even brighter, knowing she’d be with you till the end.

[natalienomad]

1. Rivaini

2. chaotic good, there with the good morals but damn if it ain't weird as shit to get there

3. Elf and Deathcaller Mage. I figured a Lord of Fortune would be chill with spirit magic.

4. Relaxing at a graveyard in Rivain. Possibly digging up corpses looking for loot, and maybe a companion or two.

5. Oh sarcastic! If you're a necromancer ya gotta have a lil giggles in ya to be around the LoF.

6. Davrin. Hunting down monsters may not be Rooks jam, but petting a cute griffon? And saving griffons? Can't pass that up! Not to mention going on walks with tea that makes ya high sounds like a pleasant evening.

7. Emmy. My lil Richy. He needed someone to understand the spirits like him that wasn't from the Mourn watch. An outside perspective, with equal reverence for the spirits.

8. At first? Lucanis. Until he showed her coffee and rum go well together.

9. Oh no, Isabela thinks we're still too down to earth to really get into the thick of it. That's why she lends us Taash, to really get the fire going under the Veilguard.

10. Shes been known to take a few sticks and bang on rocks for a good time.

11. Staff. Staff Staff Staff. Make thing blow up? Make thing blow up Wayyyyyy over there? Yes please.

12. Asexual, with a Panromantic heart. If things happen, they happen. But the true goal? Is getting a kiss and really feeling it down in her chest.

13. Isnt necessarily evil, nor is it good. Simply a way of balancing the world. You live. You eat. You breathe. You die. ....though she may raise you afterwards.

14. She's a big nature hobbyist. Going out on walks, seeing the wildlife, trying to maintain that balance of life and death.

15. She liked Antoine and Evka right away. And her first hatred was with the Mayor of D'metas crossing. Trading life for gold was silly. You rob graves to get gold and raise them. Give them new life, not condemning them to a branded unlife.

16. Assan may be a good boy, but she's always wanted to have a few druffalo to tag along and help ferry her treasure and new friends.

17. It feels like she got tossed into the life, just by happenstance. She doesn't mind, tho she detests the leadership she has to take on, it weighs on her.

18. More than likely owning said druffalo caravan.

19. At an old age, after continuing our little Manny's training after my dapper guy passes on. One day I'll join him, after they dig his coffin up, and lay us to rest together. Knowing Manfred will become the greatest watcher of them all, a lich all his own.

20. It's a complex stance, she'd aid him in his freeing if the spirits, to take down a tyrant meant to enslave others. But to sacrifice those same spirits like a pawn? She'd feel regret and pity and shame and continue the fight, knowing it was the only way, but knowing this man also had to be toppled.

21. Hard to pick a favorite, she uses a healthy balance of fire, necrotic and ice. But if she had to pick one? The fire beam ulti.

22. Common, Elvhen and Qunari.

23. Ask Manfred to go on a walk.

24. Oh absolutely. Whether the skeletons we raise have a semblance of the original owner or just a spirit accessing the memories who's to say. But we certainly pass on, somewhere.

25. Oh Deathcaller for certain. She'd wish to dabble in Evoker, but being a powerhouse in the back that can wipe a wave of darkspawn out in seconds is a Good Feeling.

26. Herding Dog. Not a war dog. I have a job, and it's helping these nerds figure themselves out and point them in the right direction. And I'm happy to do so.

27. Traipsing along ancient burial grounds mostly. Going into town to sell said goods, share interesting stories I've heard from the spirits in the tombs.

28. Oh Rook is Alllllll too happy to let Isabela take the wheel. Literally and figuratively. The Lords are far more chaotic than Took could handle. She needs a good balance of crazy and semi crazy, and sane to help Her stay sane.

29. Mourn Watch. So I could've snuggled up to this kindly older man quicker! He's such a charmer!

30. Her carefree and loving nature that she expresses to herself and all her friends.

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[burreauxsworld]

Oddly specific ask or request😂: boyfriend Joe when you get an IUD…I had a rough experience with it and I was like curled up on the shower floor hahaha but maybe he comes in and finds you and then gets you out of the shower and just takes care of you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Girl I feel you. I have the nexplanon and I’m having nothing but problems with it. Ugh being a woman sucks.

~~~

Joe came home from practice to an oddly silent house. Which was confusing because your car was in the garage and you told him you’d be home all day. Furrowing his brows, he drops his duffle bag by the door.

“Babe?” He calls out, but doesn’t get a response. “Y/N?” He calls again. “Are you home?” He calls out. Finding your keys on the hook, he begins to get worried. Why weren’t you answering him? And where the hell are you?

He then heard a loud thump upstairs. He darts toward the stars, taking them two at a time. “Y/N?!” He yells out, frantically. He can hear the shower running in the master suite, and the faint sound of your crying through the door.

He urgently moves across the room to the bathroom door, and pushes it open with ease. “Holy shit,” he says, pushing the glass door open, after finding you in the floor in tears. “Baby, did you fall?! Are you okay?!” He shuts off the water and licks you up bridal style.

“The cramps are so bad, Joey. Make them stop” you sob, curling into the fetal position with your arms clutched around your stomach. His face softens, but the concern is still evident. “You need to call your doctor. That thing isn’t doing any good for you. All it’s doing is causing you pain” Joe says, brushing your wet hair from your face.

“The pills don’t work for me. All they do is make me fat, and I almost got pregnant on the nuva ring. This is literally our only option” you wince. Joe sighs. “I can’t keep watching you be in pain like this. What if I hadn’t came home when I did? You’d be laying in there by yourself” Joe reasons, and you finally turn to look at him.

“We’ll figure out an alternative but you can’t keep pushing yourself to go through this. I can’t let you go through this because of me” Joe says, planting a kiss on you forehead. You frown. “I’ll call her tomorrow,” you promise. Joe nods, as he helps you sit up.

“I’m gonna get dressed and then go make us some dinner-“

“I’m gonna order in. You can get dressed if you want to, but you’re not moving from that spot” Joe tells you, his voice firm. “Let me take care of everything tonight. You just relax”

[vezpr]

------------------------ toxic. ]

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ COLLEGE AU ☽☾ ONESHOT ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Gojo shows you a video of your boyfriend, Sukuna, making out with another girl at a party, so you decide to get revenge. Poor Nanami.

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, smut, porn with feelings (not necessarily good feelings), sukuna x reader, nanami x reader, ft gojo for as long as I can stand him :b, human Sukuna, college au/ no powers, toxic/ mutually abusive relationship dynamics, cheating, spanking, hate fucking, face slapping, throat fucking, hair pulling, light choking, no aftercare, degradation, name calling, drug and alcohol use mentioned, size difference, oral sex, piv sex, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k

"Satoru, can you at least pretend not to enjoy this, please," you say, holding your phone away from your face as it rings. 

The man is glowing, his lanky frame sprawled across of one of the mismatched sofas in his apartment, one boot propped on a coffee table littered with the controlled chaos of his studies. He looks as if his head might actually explode with the force of unexpelled I-told-you-so's. "He's an asshole. I told you that before you ever hooked up, right? Forget him!"

"Damnit," you hiss, pausing in your frantic pacing long enough to redial your asshole boyfriend's number after being sent to his full mailbox half a dozen times. 

"Why don't you try cool down a little before you talk to him," Nanami says from the opposite side of the room where he sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, watching you pace. Always the reasonable one. "Nothing productive can possibly come of talking to him while you're like this."

You shoot the blonde man a withering glare, but hit the end button on the call, shoulders sagging, chin to chest as you cross to his side of the room. "I know you're right, Nanami," you reply as you slump, defeated, onto the sagging cushion next to him. He clears his throat when you splay your legs and your knee brushes his. You lean your head against the back of the couch and turn your face towards him, lips pursed in a pout as you feel the stinging threat of tears in your eyes. "It's just that... right now, I don't feel like I can cool dow-"

You sit bolt upright as your phone buzzes in your hand. The screen lights up with his face, framed in soft salmon waves that contrast with the hard black lines of tattoos tracing the angle of his jaw. You've been together for a year, practically moved in together right away, and still, even the digital representation of his garnet eyes makes your heart stutter just like it did the first time you saw him. 

"Hey, I really don't think you should-" Nanami begins.

"Sukuna," you answer, rising from the couch and crossing the arm that isn't holding the phone to your ear over your ribcage, as if that will prevent your heart from beating out of your chest.

"Who are you with," he asks, apparently hearing Nanami, who continues to lecture you in the background. But, fuck, if the rasp of his voice doesn't make your insides squirm in a way they definitely shouldn't right now.  Why do you have to be so hopelessly obsessed with him?

You shoot your friend a pleading look and wave your hand at him. He sinks back into the couch, shaking his head, but he shuts up. 

"Who's throat did you have your tongue down last night," you demand, voice rising already. When your question is met with silence, you add, "Go- someone showed me a video."

"Nothing happened," he replies, his voice steady and calm, as if he were ordering a coffee, which really makes you start to lose your shit.

"Do. not. fucking gaslight me right now. It was you, I fucking saw-"

"I mean nothing happened after that. You didn't see a video of me fucking anybody. Didn't even hear about the possibility of me fucking anybody. Because I didn't fuck anybody. I mean, shit, I got home before you." He pauses and your heart starts to slow just a little. Maybe it really didn't go any farther than that.  Maybe this doesn't have to be a big deal... but then he opens his stupid mouth again.  "Couldn't stay hard because of the molly."

"Fuck you, Sukuna," you scream-sob, holding the phone under your chin. "Fuck you! If you were here I'd slap your motherfucking face so goddamn hard I swear to god!"

He laughs, of course. "Calm down, baby. I'm kidding. I knew that white-haired prick was watching my every fucking move. I just did it to piss you off after you left with that blonde guy that's always limping after you like a lost puppy."

You glance up at Nanami, wondering if he heard, but he is studiously examining his cuticles. Even Gojo looks uncomfortable as he busies himself with straightening the papers on his desk, his luminous eyes peeking at you through the platinum locks that have fallen over his forehead in the process.

"I left because you were so fucking high. Laughing at everything, grinding your teeth like a crackhead, going on and fucking on about how you feel like a god among men or somevweird shit like that. It's embarrassing as hell! I ask you to go to one little party-"

"Exactly, you bitched and moaned until I agreed to hang out with your loser friends - who just so happen to all be men that want to fuck you-" 

He is getting loud now, apparently loud enough for your companions to hear because Gojo, with a flourish of his wrist, cheerfully interjects, "I don't want to fuck you."

"Shut up Satoru," Nanami hisses.

"-It's like you get off parading yourself around them in front of me... but I digress. My point is that I don't know what the hell would make you think I would be willing to endure that shit sober."

"Oh, so now it's my fault you fucking cheated on me?"

He's quiet for a minute and you hear him sigh into the receiver. "I got a question for you. You didn't get home til late, where were you?"

"Well, I was hungry so we stopped to get something to eat..."

"For like... had to have been at least four hours?"

"I guess we lost track of time talking..."

"Talking. Okay. Well that sounds fucking fantastic, babe but-"

"Well at least I didn't tongue wrestle him in front of half the fucking campus!"

"You know what... I can't do this now, I'm at work. That whimsical motherfucker had all day to start this shit and of course he waited until I'm at work. When I get home tonight, we're gonna have a nice long chat. Maybe not four hours but..."

"I'm not going to be home when you get home tonight."

Another tense silence. "Don't fuck with me, babe. You really don't wanna do that."

"Don't fuck with me, babe!" You echo in a shrill, mocking tone. "You know what kind of people say that? 'Don't fuck with me?' Weak, scared little bitches. And you should be scared, because you're never gonna find somebody who will want your worthless, piece of shit ass like I did. Ever."

"Baby."

"Please fuck with me, babe, find out what fucking happens," you spit out before hanging up on him. 

When your phone vibrates, you're still rooted to the spot. You lift your shaking hands to read the message.

you better be there when I get home

You scoff. 

"Nanami, can I stay with you tonight?"

He had been watching you, but now his eyes slide away behind the glare reflecting off his glasses. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"Please? I don't want to be home and I don't want to be alone," you must look quite pathetic, because he nods begrudgingly.

"Great," says Satoru. "This man has been needing to get laid for decades."

"Shut up, Gojo," you and Nanami both say at once.  

Although he is the same age as the rest of your friend group, the man has his shit significantly more together than anyone else. He had skipped most of the partying, failing, switching majors, and the rest of the general fuckery and graduated first. Got himself a good job, something to do with stocks. He's got a mortgage, while the rest of you are struggling to pay rent. He's too good for the rest of you, truth be told. 

You look at your phone, as you had approximately every  ten seconds since you left Satoru's apartment, but nothing from Sukuna. He wouldn't be off from his job until almost midnight, anyway. Maybe he really doesn't care what you do. You pull down the menu from the top of the screen and hover your finger over the location toggle. Nah, let him suffer, you think to yourself as you decide to leave it on. Or come get me if he actually gives a fuck.  Sliding the device into your back pocket, you walk up the driveway to Nanami's door and knock.

Too good for you. But he doesn't seem to know it.

"Hey," you say with a tight smile when he lets you in. "I come bearing gifts," you hold up a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine. There's actually another one in the trunk, just in case.

You're pretty sure neither of you are watching whatever movie is playing. You don't even remember what it's called.  Gradually you notice that he relaxes, softens into the couch, turns his head to look at you, smiles a little. You smile back. It's easy to just be with Nanami like this, quiet.

You do end up retreiving it after the first one is empty. The man is wound tight like a spring. And you swear he clears his throat everytime you accidentally brush against him grabbing food from the coffee table, or refilling you glasses. What does that mean? You wonder silently.

"You sleep with those on," you tease, poking his calf with a socked toe.

He looks down, "What my shoes? No." He smiles, warm. Tipsy maybe, both of you. 

You laugh softly. "Take em off. You live here, you know."

He shrugs and toes them off. "Happy?"

"No," you deadpan.

His smile falters and you laugh.

He lets his head fall against the back of the couch and rolls his eyes. Looks at you and smiles again. "I don't drink much," he says.

"I know," you scoot closer, knees pressing into his thigh. "You drunk?"

He looks down at the point of coat, then back into your eyes. "No. Are you?"

"Nope." You reach out and lift his glasses off of his face.  He lets you. Doesn't even clear his throat or look away. When you lean back to set them on the coffee table, you begin to lose your balance, but he catches you around the waist and pulls you back.

"You sure?" He asks, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

"I'm sure," you smile, reaching for his tie. "Don't you ever get comfortable?" You ask, loosening it. 

"Not really," he says, pulling you towards him. 

"Hm," you hum, straddling his lap as you pull the tie free from his collar. You smile at how nonchalant the two of you are, as if this isn't happening. Like he didn't pull you into his lap. Like you aren't brushing a blonde fall of hair off of his forehead as he looks up at you, honey eyes half-lidded. Like his hands haven't slid under the hem of your tank top, warming the skin of your back.

You're just friends. Yeah. Just talking.

His mouth is warm and soft, wine-tart. He smells like cedar and ocean salt. When you hear your phone ping softly, he's got a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to press his mouth into your neck, tongue gentle against the tender flesh. No teeth. Without looking you know the unique little tone means your device has been gps located. You moan when he pulls the strap of your tank top down and takes your nipple in his mouth. You hadn't worn anything under that. 

Oops.

You had been working on the buttons of his shirt, palms sliding across his pecs. He pulls away to let you slip it off. "I could take care of you," he says, breathless, as he loosens his watch and works his hands out of the sleeves. "You wouldn't have to ever have another day like you had today."

"I know," you say as you wrap around each other, mouths fastened together, moving like you have years rather than just the next handful of moments. Him the living sea, rolling over you, the shore, a dead thing made of dirt. I can take care of you, his hands whisper. Your atrophied heart clenches, and, for a moment, you wish it could be true.

A car door slams outside. 

He pulls away and looks at you, ugly realization dawning in his eyes. "Oh," he nods grimly. "I get it."

He sighs raggedly and shakes his head as pushes you off of his lap gently. His hands a soft suggestion, unlike Sukuna's demanding touch. You feet hit the floor just as the first splinters fly from the doorframe.

How many kicks, you think bizarrely of a little cartoon owl with a sucker. How many kicks does it take to break down Nanami Kento's door? Three. Three kicks.

You are frantically feeling in between the couch cushions for your discarded top when Sukuna shoulders through the broken door. 

"It was unlocked, jackass," you hear Nanami say, "That's gonna be expens-" then a couple of thumps, the soft crush of bone and cartilage, and the loud thud of a body crumpling to the floor.

Trying to pull Sukuna off of him is like trying to move a mountain. You pull at him and scream in your panic sharpened voice, "Please, Kuna, stop! Please stop! Don't hurt him!" Although, you can see that it's too late for that. 

You reel backward when he rounds on you, but you need not worry about falling. He catches you by the hair and pulls you up. He looms over you, his vastness swallowing you like his pupils swallow the blood of his irises in the blue flickering light from the television. He is every inch the monster you know he can be. "Don't fucking call me that, woman," he growls into your ear.

You crumple to the floor when he lets you go. "Been too soft on you, brat," he toes at Nanami's limp form before stalking to the coffee table. "Gonna have to re-educate you. Lucky i don't just fucking destroy you both." He picks up an empty wine bottle and hurls it at the TV. The crash has you flinching as the screen spiderwebs and the speakers sputter. His belt buckle clinks as he unfastens it and your cunt drools like pavlov's dogs at the sound. You wonder if he knows how completely he has you.

You watch wordlessly as he pulls himself out of the fly of his jeans and pisses all over the flickering set. He turns his gaze on you and tucks himself away. The leather of his belt hisses against denim as he pulls it free of the loops.

"Now what am I going to do with you," he says, stalking towards you, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily trailing the belt behind him. The grin on his face is cold and sharp as a knife edge. He must be feeling better already. 

He brushes past you and seats himself on the arm of the couch.  Elbow on the back of it, he leans his cheek against his fist as he looks down at you. "Come here," he says.

You look over at Nanami's limp form. You can just see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"Don't look at him. He can't help you. Never could. Now, I won't say it again. Come. Here."

You begin to get to your feet.

"No," he says, eerily calm, and you freeze midway to your feet. "Crawl."

"Come on Kuna," you coo, voice sticky sweet. "I'm really sorr-"

"Shut the fuck up. Nobody wants to hear your sorry's. Now get over here."

So you drop back to your knees and start to crawl. You sway your hips and smile up at him, ever defiant. He snorts and shakes his head. "You are such a little slut."

"Stand up," he says, when you arrive at his ankles. Even seated as he is on the arm of the couch, he towers over you when you obey. 

"Strip," he says, then, "faster," when you are to slow to peel your clothes away. He leans forward and slides his fingers through your folds. 

"Wet," he says.

"For Nanami," you retort, only half a lie. You are still mad at him, after all. 

His hand flies so quick you barely see him move before the back of his hand connects with your cheek. Seeing stars, you're reeling backwards, but he catches you, draws you across his lap. The belt burns across the fat of your ass as he brings it down on you over and over in fast, hard bursts. Tears sting your eyes as you squirm and bite at your bottom lip, but he's strong and has little trouble holding you in place with his one free hand clasping your wrists together behind your back. 

"Told you not to fuck with me," he's growling, and your pussy clenches around nothing. You wish he would just fuck you already.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sob, "Please, please, please!"

Finally, he relents, the belt slithers to the floor. "Are you really sorry?" He asks, his voice softer now, some of the aggression soothed out of it by the burst of violence. "Actions speak louder than words, you know." You fail at biting back a moan as he suddenly shoves his fingers inside you, growling as he feels you clenching around him. "You want my cock?" He asks. Craning your neck you look up at him over your shoulder, nodding frantically.

"On your knees then," he says, releasing you. 

"You're a sick fuck, you know," he says as you crumple to your knees between his feet. "Might even be worse than me." He lets his jeans pool around his ankles before stepping out of them. Grasping the base of his cock, already rigid and leaking, he smacks it lightly against your cheek, smearing your feverish skin with precum. "That's why he-" he nods behind him at Nanami's unconscious body, "-could never do it for you."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, which you drag along his tip murmuring, "can you take this off too-" you tug at the sleeve of his hoodie, "-I wanna see you."

He grunts and pulls it over his head, groaning as you pull his cockhead into your mouth, tongue tracing his slit, the ridge if his glans. You know that he is at least partly right, you are sick. But you wonder if he brings it out of you. Could you be different with Nanami? You think of his mouth on your neck, your hands on his chest.

"If you want to see me, open your eyes," Sukuna says, something jagged in his tone, like suspicion. So you look up at him, run your fingers up the fronts of his thighs to the dips of his abdominals as you take his cock deeper. Your eyes follow the lines of tattoos outlining his chest until you find his face, jaw slack, eyes heavy as he looks down at you.

You release his dick with a wet pop, sucking in air. "You're perfect."

"I didn't say stop," he grasps, fisting a hand in your hair, using his other to pry your mouth open unnaturally wide until you are drooling down his tattooed wrist, eyes shiny with tears as you look up at him. He slides his cock between your lips, controlling the angle of your head with his hands, sinking in until your nose is pressed against his stomach. "Told you to fucking be home when I got home," he growls, smashing ypur face against his groin so that you can't breathe.

You sputter and gag around his cock as he stays fully seated inside you. "Ssh, ssh it's okay," he soothes as his fingers wrap around the soft column of your throat, feeling the bulge of his length there. "Oh, fuck, baby, you are really lucky you feel so fucking good, 'cause you really fucking pissed me off," he moans as uses your hair to bob your head up and down on his cock until your jaw burns and tears spill out of your eyes. "You really are sorry, huh?"

You do your best to signal in the affirmative as he continues to fuck your throat, but you find you have little control at the moment, so you just hope he gets the message. When he finally pulls out, and stuffs the strings of drool that stretch between your lips and his cock back into your mouth with his thumb, you nod, gasping. "I am. I am sorry," you manage to sob out in broken syllables around his prodding fingers.  Although your brain is a little too wine blurry and cock drunk to accurately recall exactly what you're sorry for. And weren't you mad at him for something? 

Your muddled thoughts are interrupted as he yanks you up and bends you over the arm of the couch as if you weigh nothing. "Tell me who you belong to, baby," he growls as you feel the fat head of his cock bully it's way between your folds from behind. "Because it seems like you forgot."

"You, I belong to you," you answer dutifully, drawing out the final vowel into a long moan as he sheaths himself inside of you with one hard snap of his hips. 

"Fuck," he growls, twitching inside of you, "say it again."

"I'm yours, Sukuna," you whine, peering over your shoulder to look at him. 

"Yeah," he moans, rolling his hips into you, his cock dragging along every tender aching inch inside you. "You're mine," he pounds into you faster, harder, pulling you back into him by your hair. "I'm gonna stuff you so full of cum, baby." He always talks so much when he's fucking you. Now he's babbling something about making you pregnant. You're too stupid with lust to even begin to reflect on what an almost comically bad idea that is, although you suppose you understand it. Another way for him to stake his claim.  Then his teeth are bruising your shoulder, marking you, and you're arching into him, your walls beginning to flutter around the sweet, familiar shape of him.

He pulls out as soon as he feels you starting to squeeze down on him. "Want you to look at me when you cum," he rasps. You guess you know why.  You make it a point not to look over his shoulder as he threads his arms under your hips, lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist before he impales you again. 

"Oh fuck, Sukuna," you whine as he stretches you, a perfect pain.

"Say it again," he murmurs, pistoning up into you with more speed now, but less control as he nears his end. 

"Yours," you manage to choke out before he slips a hand around your throat, stealing your breath, making your vision darken as you seize up around him, milking him as he spills inside of you. He is clawing and biting at you everywhere he can reach as he devours your lips, pouring a muffled string of curses into your mouth. You wonder vaguely, if any small part of him cares about you, or if he only cares to own you.

You are intertwined, leaning against the wall, twitching and gasping. You're too busy murmuring nonsense into each other's ears to notice when Nanami sits up and slides the remaining wine bottle off of the coffee table. The one the two of you didn't quite finish off. 

You've got your chin hooked over Sukuna's shoulder, your fingertips tracing the circles tattooed there and he's panting, "I want to tell you something," when you see Nanami walk around the couch, holding the bottle by the neck. 

"I don't know why I could never say it before," Sukuna whispers as Nanami raises the bottle. You lock eyes with him, but you don't say anything. 

"I-" There's a soft thud as the bottle connects with the back of Sukuna's head. His eyes roll back as he falls away from you and hits the floor hard. 

Nanami barely looks at you as he shoulders Sukuna's limp body and carries him outside. You are pulling on your sweats when he comes back, gathers the man's clothes and tosses them outside. You cross your arms over your bare chest as he walks past you into the kitchen. "Get dressed and get out, please. I'll get you an uber," he says, pressing a bag of frozen peas to his face. He sinks into the couch, wine bottle between his knees and uncorks it with his thumb. His back is to you.

"Nanami?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't find my top. Maybe you're sitting on it?"

He sighs and leans forward to set the bottle and the makeshift icepack on the coffee table. Then he's wrapping his shirt around your shoulders, it smells like the cedar and the ocean. You look up at him through damp lashes, bruises already starting to bloom in the hollows of his eye.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," he says before he returns to the couch.

Sukuna is standing, although weaving, in his boxers, looking dazedly at his pants when you shoulder through the broken door.

"Hey," he mumbles, stumbling forward. "Where the hells my belt?"

Nanami sinks back into the couch, frozen peas pressed to his face. Takes a long pull off the bottle before deciding that's probably not going to help much. He stares at the broken TV screen, the flickering bars of light reflecting in his eyes.

Maybe after he works this job a few more years, he could just start over somewhere else. 

Like Malaysia.

Yeah.

That'd be nice.

[triple-pupil]

Huh, Alright. Sorry it took this long, I had this WIP in the duster for months.

Last song: Augustus Gloop from the Tim Burton Charlie and the chocolate factory or however You Say it. But rn My brain is stuck with Ojalá by Silvio Rodríguez (Beloved childhood song)./Update Nov. 2024: Last songs now are Monster and Puppeteer from Epic: The musical with a full Stobotnik cinematic playing every time in My brain.

Fun fact: I used to Listen to music daily, but ever since we adopted a Kitten like a week algo I basically stopped all habits to tend and play with her. I don't mind that at all, I Will die and kill for that Kitten./Update: Habit came back to normal and I still would give my life for this cat.

Favorite color: Dark colors, mainly black and shit to combine with black like purples or idk. Oh-Anyone know about that typical red like color related to pompous, rich, victorian characters? That one, I love that one.

Last TV show/Currently watching?: No fucking clue. Uuuhhh, I watched Brother Bear by popular (Dood-) demand and didn't expect for it to be a fucking greek tragedy and be crying by the end of the movie, I loved it./Update: Do Silence of the Lambs reaction videos and Stobotnik compilations count?

Relationship status: Miserably lonely but I don't want to meet new people for that purpose so... Ig I'll stay in this pit a while.

And idk what I want to watch now, Maybe I'll look something up in Netflix or something.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: The fuck is Savory??? Salty?????

I have a routine, eat salty, then eat sweet, love both on their own but not mixed. Fucking hate Spicy shit, it ruins the food for me.

Nov. 2024 I've been Tagged by @demetera-kaziaik and I'm relieved I'm not a nuisance, an honor to interact with You, Stobotnik Messiah :D

Last book: Fuck, what was it...? I think it was an Etnography guide Made in the 2000s for a class. But I recommend War of the Worlds, My beloved (Has only read a student edition).

Last thing I googled: "ugly crying drawing meme" because that has been me in Stobotnik Twitter these last few days.

Current obsesión: Stobotnik (Dr. Robotnik x Agent Stone from the Sonic movies), Abusive Gerald headcanon and Devildice (The Devil x King Dice from Cuphead) and King Dice himself because I will nom him.

Looking forward to: Watch the Sonic 3 Stobotnik scenes and die from it when they make it no-homo. And for the class year to end and uh-.... Idk, speak to Friends.

I remember hey_imma_fangirl also Tagged me in one of these... Maybe I'll get the motivation to get to it.

@calmao666 @boo-topia @doodzoodz I summon the besties @groovy-rat-man @aka-baka-shiki

9 people you would like to get to know better tag meme

except I'm starting a new post because the one I got tagged in was long as shit. I was tagged by @tacofuus, thanks so much!

Last song: Batter Up by Babymonster. It's a solid 6.5/10 check out

Favorite color: violet/lavender. Really any shade of purple

Last tv show/currently watching: I honestly don't really watch TV. I genuinely cannot remember. The last series I actually watched was Death Note with my best friend and that was last year/beginning of this year. I used to be into anime when I was in middle school and this felt like a return to my roots lmao

Sweet/spicy/savoury: I go with savory most of the time, but my favorite is sweet for sure.

Relationship status: narilamb

Current obsession: Writing fanfic for cult of the lamb. It's been just about a year and a half now and I don't see this dying down anytime soon, cotl has squarely entered full special interest status for me so I'll be here for at least another 3 years. I have a bad habit of making a new fandom blog every time I get a shorter-term hyperfixation, writing for it, getting kindasorta recognized in the fandom, then abandoning my works and deleting the blog when I'm not interested in it anymore. Maybe some of y'all followed me in my previous fandoms and y'all would probably never know bc of orphaned works that I can't find anymore. ...anyway. I've made too many close friends in this fandom to pull that stunt again. the-one-who-lambs and my cotl fics are here to stay. I'm rambling

Last thing you googled: 600 cc in cups (I was making soup but all the good noodle packets from China+Korea give units in cubic centimeters. It's about 2.5 cups btw)

Uhhhhh I don't know who to tag so I'll just pick the most recent 9 mutuals in my notes who haven't been tagged already by taco or the people they tagged lol. Don't feel pressured to do it, though! @artsycryptix @just-a-random-demon-official @miallurk @pikos-den @tokyonymph @mianing @bamsara @coffincrows @fanged-cotl