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takami-takami · 7 months

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Like Animals.

kinktober day 4: sex pollen.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut

warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.

keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.

Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments.

Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?"

A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth.

He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel.

Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case.

If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire?

He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.

"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening.

"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here."

The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.

It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support.

He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.

If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind.

Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.

All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course.

You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart.

Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it.

You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth.

That he knows everything.

Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core.

You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.

Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem.

Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch.

Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs.

He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could—

He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips.

"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.

Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity.

How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.

You huff an involuntary moan.

He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half.

Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.

But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms.

More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.

If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.

The huff he lets out is your last straw.

"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.

When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.

He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?

It sends your hormones into overdrive.

You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation.

"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," he warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you."

Keigo schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry.

There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.

You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion.

"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.

Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth.

Ah, it hits you.

Bird things.

Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.

"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.

"Please don't say it like that."

"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?"

His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—"

"You don't wanna join me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"

"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips.

Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.

With him kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.

And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants.

"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!"

A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth.

The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it.

Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face.

His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.

"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw."

After a moment of silence, you speak.

"Please."

Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.

The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire.

Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch him moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor.

Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance.

"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts."

"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."

When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt.

"So wet for me," he reveres, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit.

Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent.

Until you shut the fuck up.

Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory.

Keigo wants to hear you moan.

But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction.

"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals.

When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.

And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care.

It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd.

Pulling out, that is.

Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.

But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.

He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.

"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"

He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end.

With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.

When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.

With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.

When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.

"Kei', you okay?"

"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made.

It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.

His eyes flick back to meet yours.

"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?"

You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.

"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.

#sorry i made jesus canon in this fic. I had to have him say it. Okay bye!#i know his quirk doesnt work like that its not an animal quirk but shhhhhh im having fun #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha thirst #mha x reader #bnha thirst #smut #x reader

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collecting-stories · 8 months

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Strawberry Gazpacho - Carmen Berzatto

A/N: Some people asked for a part 2 of Blueberry BBQ, so I decided to stay on the fruit trend!

Summary: Reader and Carmy continue to bond over food.

The Bear Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

"What is this?" You asked, staring down at the bowl Carmy had placed on top of your papers. You were in the back office, trying to work on the week's payroll when he'd come in, told you that you needed a lunch break, and placed a plate down in front of you.

"Try it," he urged, wringing his hands in his apron and looking like an eager little kid.

"Carm-"

"Try it," he repeated and you obliged. Regardless of what it was you knew you would like it. Carmy made it, which immediately meant it couldn't be bad, but also, Carmy made it. For you, more specifically. You took the proffered spoon and dipped it into the bowl, surprised when you pressed it to your lips and found that it was, in fact, cold.

"Gazpacho?" You asked, after a second bite.

You had told him last night, while watching TV and letting him finish the tupperware of tofu feta that's you'd made the day before, that you hated gazpacho. You loved soup and tomato was your favorite; a nice, roasted red-pepper tomato, heavy on the garlic, that you'd perfected over the years. But no gazpacho. You couldn't get used to the fact that it was cold.

"You like it?" He asked in a way that suggested he might genuinely be worried that you would tell him it was horrible.

"I mean, it's the best gazpacho I've ever had," you took another bite as proof, "it's spicy."

"But?"

You weren't sure if he was fishing for a compliment or trying to convert you onto a food you held in disdain but you assumed that if he wanted someone to tell him that he was a skilled chef he would've gone to Syd or Marcus with his cold soup.

"It's cold soup Carmy, I just can't fuck with cold soup." You replied, "it's good though."

He reached for the spoon in your hand and dipped it into the bowl, trying some of the gazpacho that he had made. He nodded his head, as if to confirm that it was good, as if he didn't already know it would be.

"Should I like, fall over at your feet and tell you that you've converted me to gazpacho and it's the only thing I'll ever order for the rest of my life?" You teased, leaning an elbow on the desk. It felt completely natural to be this relaxed with him and yet, just weeks earlier, you'd been fretting over the idea of having him come over for Sunday dinner.

He handed the spoon back and you took another experimental taste.

"I mean, you're still eating it," he pointed out, grinning.

In no world would Carmy say that he was 'good with people'. If he wasn't saying the wrong thing then he was saying nothing at all (and that was also wrong). He wanted to spend more time with you, the most time he could afford outside of The Beef but the only way he really knew how to spend time with anyone was cooking. So he kept cooking for you, things you liked, things you hated but liked when he made them. He kept trying to find the perfect thing to say and the perfect recipe to go along with it, as if that would remedy his inability to tell you that he wanted more from whatever this situation currently was. You weren't dating but he wanted to be dating but he wasn't exactly the dating type (as far as having an actual open schedule went).

"Touche," you replied, taking another bite. "I can't decide if I'll regret telling you this or not but my mom has a recipe for strawberry gazpacho that apparently my grandma used to make every summer."

"Strawberry?"

"I can already see the gears turning in your head Carmy," you laughed.

He looked down at you, piercing blue eyes taking your measure, "can you get me the recipe?"

"Are you gonna make me eat it?" You practically pouted.

He nodded, "yes."

You groaned and leaned back in the office chair, "god, the things I do for you Carmy." You sighed. "I'll text my mom for the recipe...I can pick stuff up on my way home, if you want. Or if you're all gazpacho'ed out-"

"No, tonight works." He agreed.

Before you could say anything else Marcus was calling Carmy back to the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his apron once more and push himself off the desk. Before he could pick up the bowl you put your hand over his, "I might try another bite."

There were other things that Carmy could probably be doing with his evening. Catching up on sleep, working on the recipes that he and Syd had been spitballing for the updated menu, mending whatever semblance of a relationship he still had with Sugar. Instead he was looking forward to going to your apartment (which was leagues nicer than his shitty place) and cooking. He'd lived so long on white bread and peanut butter and chips and soft drinks and anything quick that he'd forgotten what it was like to cook just because he enjoyed cooking. Hell, he'd forgotten that he enjoyed it. The only thing, lately, that really felt like it brought that enjoyment back was standing in your kitchen.

"Rigoletto has taken up residence on the island and he refuses to move so...we're down some counter space," you said as soon as you opened the door to Carmy, moving aside to let him into your apartment.

He stopped at the island, leaning over to pet Rigoletto, who half-heartedly rolled onto his side to give Carmy better access to his stomach. "Hey chef," he teased. He turned to look at you, still stroking the cat as he did, "strawberry gazpacho?"

"I would just like to disclaimer that I don't think strawberries are going to improve my deep-seated hatred of gazpacho but-"

"I mean, you did eat most of the one I made earlier," Carmy pointed out as your mouth fell open in surprise.

"Angel! What a snitch!" You laughed, "I can't believe he told you."

"Hey, it's my kitchen, I've gotta know what's going on." He followed you around the other side of the island, grabbing the notebook you had sitting on the counter and scanning over the recipe. You'd called your mom on the way home and asked for a copy of the recipe, which she'd gladly texted ("does this have something to do with that cute chef where you work?"). You'd picked up whatever ingredients you didn't already have at your house and set everything out for Carmy before he'd even gotten there. You felt a little silly, being so excited just to have him come over and cook with you (for you) when there was no real definition to what your relationship was.

"Did you cook growing up? Like with your mom and stuff?" You asked, stealing a strawberry out of the plastic container.

"No," Carmy shook his head, then amended his answer, "not really. My ma always told us to help but if we did she yelled at us for doing something the wrong way...it was better to just stay outta her way when she was in the kitchen. You?"

"Oh yeah, my mom's not like...the best chef in the world or anything but she loved trying new stuff. Anything we wanted we could ask for and she'd try to make it. And then as we got older we would have like, nights where one of us got to cook." You replied, "I like it but...I don't think I'm good at it."

"You are...I mean....not like, you've got potential." Carmy explained, blue eyes glancing up to meet you across the island and you smiled.

"Thank you chef."

You left Carmy to the strawberry gazpacho and the chicken he'd brought over to make some dish you'd never heard of before while you got Rigoletto's dinner out. The cat had finally moved off the island and you sprayed it down with cleaner to at least give yourself a better chance of not picking white cat hair off your dinner plate.

Carmy fit right into your kitchen, probably the whole apartment for that matter. It was something both of you had thought, more than once, but neither of you said anything about. He felt like he was waiting for something bad to come from all the good you had been supplying in his life recently. Bad news always felt like it was lurking around the corner for him, especially these days, and he didn't want to put everything in one basket. But being in your kitchen, in your space, felt good. It felt like he was supposed to be there.

"Did you know," you were saying as you came back into the kitchen, leaning near him to look at the chicken he was searing on the stovetop, "that I didn't know what mortadella was before I started working at the Beef?"

Carmy turned his head to watch you fish a piece of garlic out of the skillet and eat it whole, "Did you just?"

"It was cooked."

"It was a whole clove of garlic."

"I love garlic," you shrugged, dropping the fork in the sink, "but seriously, I had to google it cause I didn't know what Richie was talking about when he was trying to explain it."

"It's very Italian." Carmy replied.

"You're very Italian." You grinned and he rolled his eyes.

"I am, yeah." And then, "I still can't believe you ate that."

"You act like you've never eaten garlic before."

"Not just shoved a whole clove in my mouth." He replied.

"It tasted good." You shrugged, "I always use too much garlic. Like if a recipe says three cloves I use six."

"Yeah that's why I said you had potential."

"Well now I just feel like that's your 'I don't wanna hurt your feelings' way of saying I'm actually shit at cooking." You replied.

"Nah, if you were shit I'd tell you."

"Yeah but then who'd balance the books for you?" You teased, searching in the cabinet under the island for wine, "red or white?"

"Uh...white for this." Carmy replied.

You pushed the bottle of red you were holding back into the cabinet and went to the fridge, pulling out the Chardonnay you'd bought last week. You grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, handing him one once it was poured.

"Is this the 'only white you'll drink' wine?" He asked, taking a sip.

The last time he had come over to cook with you (for you) there had been a long discussion about different wines in which you'd explained that there was only one type of white that you liked. More accurately, one brand that made a chardonnay you didn't completely hate.

"Yeah...they finally restocked!" You exclaimed, leaning against the counter, "the woman at the Wine and Spirits definitely thinks I'm an alcoholic though...I bought like, four bottles."

Carmy shook his head, reaching a hand out for the bottle and splashing a little into the pan when you handed it to him. Kitchens were crowded and Carmy was more than used to working in an environment where people were constantly at each other's side or back or space but something about having you leaning there against the counter beside him was both extremely nerve-wracking and extremely comforting.

He didn't say anything about it though, at least not until after you'd eaten dinner and were sitting on the couch avoiding the dishes. Then he blurted it out while you watched reruns of Murder, She Wrote with Rigoletto. "I always thought I would do stuff like this when I was younger."

"Watch 80's tv shows on a Tuesday night?" You asked.

"No," he laughed, "Just like...I don't know....you know, make dinner with someone. Or, I guess, not feel like my entire life was in a restaurant all the time."

"Well I'll always be happy to make dinner with you...or at least supply the wine while you make dinner." You replied, grinning at him.

"Yeah," he nodded his head slowly, as if convincing himself that what you were saying was true.

"Yeah," you agreed.

#collecting stories imagine #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x y/n #the bear fanfiction #the bear imagine #the bear fanfic

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m1d-45 · 9 months

Text

the scars, the wound

summary: heizou has two important skills: his intuition and his martial arts. he prefers not to use the latter when working on cases, but what happens when the first fails him?

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: mention/implication of violence near the end.. minor spoilers for heizou lore?

-> gn reader (you/yours)

-> if this looks familiar, it’s a rewrite of this. i didn’t think i posted that draft because it was in need of so much improvement when i recently re-found it, and didn’t realize until after already posting this… whoops.

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

heizou’s intuition is wrong, for once. it’s impossibly unlikely, something he can’t remember happening before, but it’s the only logical explanation.

he’s walking through ritou, taking a minor detour along the beach. why, he’s not certain, but some string in his stomach insisted he went. and so, following his intuition, he did.

at first, it’s sand. as all beaches are. he finds himself scanning the shore for anything strange, kicking at a few odd looking rocks. he even checks a few times with elemental sight, but all he gets are the faint wisps of hydro lingering on the sand. not that that meant much—his elemental affinity was never the highest, kazuha was far more reliable for this sort of thing—but normally he could at least gather a general idea of what his mind was trying to tell him… but not this time.

no, when he saw you sitting in the sand, it was the last thing he could have expected.

he stops, squinting a bit. the sky is darkening, approaching dusk, and he was meant to be going to a meeting with thoma. to bother a random civilian and make himself late wasn’t ideal, but to scare you off if you were a criminal could possibly be worse. so, he approaches quietly, noting the way you turned as he did.

and then he recognizes you, all at once. your face was reflected in the posters plastered all over the city, in word-of-mouth descriptions from other officers—you’re the one the whole world’s been looking for. your skin is dirty and your clothes could certainly use a few hours with a needle and thread, and paper doesn’t quite capture the blank look in your eyes as well.

still, he crouches down with a wave, crossing his arms on his knees. “hey there! detective heizou of the tenry-“

“i know you.”

your voice sends a chill down his spine. it pulls at something deep in his core, his soul screaming that you are friend, not foe. briefly, he wonders why he stopped here at all, and then shock hits him like a punch to the gut.

for the first time in a long time, his instincts were wrong.

wrong, because you’re a fugitive.

his smile turns strained, unable to shake the feeling that he’s doing something wrong despite knowing he’s within full legal right. his skin prickles, and he digs his nails into his arm guards to keep steady. “do you? gotta say, i can’t blame you. my name is flung around quite a lot.”

you’re tense but not running. you know him, you know who he is, so…

blank eyes peer at him from under the overgrown shags of your hair, half-lidded and tired. his mind constructs a metaphor without his asking, as if attempting to make sense of something far more complex than you; jewelry, rusted and ancient, luster long lost across the years.

he almost feels sympathetic, but he’s not sure why. he should hate you. you fly in the face of everything he stood for—truth, justice, his creator—but he can’t find the will to do anything to arrest you. he knows he could apprehend you in an instant, between his skill and your exhaustion, but he doesn’t. and he doesn’t know why.

it bothers him.

“so, what’re you doing on ritou? need any help getting a permit to the rest of the island?”

he tells himself he’s asking because doing that would force your hand, not because he wants to help. that’s ridiculous. when did he start thinking this way? has he caught a cold, by chance?

“no.”

“then surely there’s a more comfortable place to be than the beach?” what’s he doing? why does he care? who cared if sand plastered your skin, if you got sick from being outside? “tides get pretty high around here, it would do you good to find a place to rest.”

you look out to the sea, some of the tension leaving your body. it’s not relaxation, more like surrender. “i don’t have anywhere to go.”

his chest is beginning to feel oddly tight.

it’s like he’s seeing the stars themselves in your eyes despite the darkness and the fact that that’s not possible. there’s a small shimmer to them, the sun itself contained inside, a glow that shows when they flicker over him like you’re pulling out all of his secrets. he’s not sure why he wants to give them to you. “i’m sure you know that, though.”

he does, he knows, he was at the meeting with kujou sara and the rest of the police force. he was the one she pulled aside to personally ask he put his full attention on it—as if he hadn’t already the second she mentioned his god—and he’s heard of the stories from the mainland. he knows everything, he’s read over every single report he could get imported, and yet every word you say feels brand new. when you say ‘you’ it feels like you’re the first person to ever lay on him, and it’s scary that he doesn’t find that frightening. his mouth is dry, all of his normal quick retorts and easy replies falling out of his reach. he settles for a nod, and you look back to the sea.

you look dull, his mind says, pulling on all of his vocabulary to try and connect a sentence together that properly describes it. your entire form feels… fleeting? no, not that. impermanent, maybe, like fog. so dense from afar, yet vanishing once he gets close. you’re… everywhere, a mist lingering in the air, waiting for him to look away so you can take a solid form again.

are you a youkai looking for a bit of fun? perhaps he’s mistaken. maybe he’d guessed wrong, maybe you’d just stolen another’s face for a prank.

…that’s stupid. since when has that been one of his first explanations for something? no, something’s wrong- he has to get this- this spell off of him. now he remembers, the paper from the alchemist from mondstat, he remembers, he remembers-

he-

he remembers the soft smile on his father’s face, wiping the dirt from his knees. “you must be careful,” he says, careful not to irritate the scrapes with the cloth. “you have been blessed with this mind of yours, but you must be wise enough to use it properly.”

“i’m wise!” he insists, and his father laughs, reaching for the bandages at his side.

“you’re intuitive,” he corrects. “and every day i pray to our god that you to learn the difference.”

heizou tears his eyes away from you, pretending that the sand isn’t blurry.

you’re a fraud. he has to arrest you. you’re tricking the people, you’re impersonating the highest deity, the literal god of gods, youve fooled even his own mind, you have to be stopped. for the good of the world. for the good of the earth. for the hood of his god.

…so…

“why aren’t you trying to kill me yet?”

his heart both flares and breaks, hands twitching for both his cuffs and to hold you close. your voice is so rough, so cracked and tattered and filled with something similar enough to betrayal that it’s paralyzing.

he needs to arrest you.

(he needs to get you water.)

he has to bring you in so the shogun can kill you.

(he has to get you a room somewhere so you can rest. you look so tired.)

his mind is as blurred as his sight, confusion instead of tears muddling his thoughts.

what’s happening? why does his mind like (adore, want, need, worship) you so much, when he knows he has to take you in? he’s been given direct orders, he knows what he has to do, so why can’t he do it? when did he fall for such easy tricks? he’s shikanoin heizou, the most trusted detective of the tenryou commission, and he cannot be swayed by your words. he can’t afford to be.

(it’s not just your words. the air around you is so soft, so welcoming, inviting him to sit in the sand with you until it’s dawn again. he’s at ease in a way he hasn’t been in a long while, even despite the stress of the situation. he should, in reasonable circumstances, be stressed, but you’ve cleared his mind to a simple volley between two ideas: his loyalty to his god, and his newfound loyalty to you.)

he wants to tell you that he’d never want to hurt you. “i try to leave that to the higher-ups” is what he says instead.

you sign, running a shaking hand over your hair. it’s full of sand and salt and needs to be cut, badly. you take an equally unsteady breath, and when you speak you sound like you’re about to cry. “i don’t want to fight you, heizou.”

the way you say his name fills his chest with something hotter than fire and sweeter than honey, a supernova made into sugar and placed into the gap left by his heart.

the last of the sun shines off the water and outlines you in its glow, the only thought in his mind that of your beauty.

he licks his lips—they taste of salt—and forces words to come up. “i don’t want to fight you either.”

it’s the truth, and he hates that it is.

instead of saying anything else, you stand, and heizou scrambles to follow. he tells himself it’s because he needs to be ready to run after you. that’s it. that’s all. you take a step away and he is quick to match it, transfixed as you pick up a long wooden staff, akin to a walking stick. it’s taller than you are, and he’s not sure how he missed it laying beside you.

“you’ll lose your job if you don’t, detective.”

he might.

heizou blinks.

…he won’t.

no… he won’t.

facing you head on, the acceptance in your eyes is clearer, like you knew it would come to this. his hand drifts to his baton hesitantly, and sees your grip on the wood. it’s splintered, he notices, likely a piece of driftwood you found along the beach.

why is he waiting? why is he stalling?

he’s let this go on for too long already. he’s being ridiculous. this is wrong. it’s his job to take in criminals and he’s staring at one of the worst, so what is he hesitating for?

against his better judgement, he tightens his hands to fists. he’ll be gentle, he promises himself, but it doesn’t soothe the storm in his head. he‘ll be careful, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still likely to hurt you. maybe by the end of it, if he’s clever with the use of his vision, you’d barely have a bruise. did you even know how to fight properly? you don’t seem all that confident in your weapon. at least that’ll make his job easier, right?

he’s stalling again.

heizou takes a breath. against his intuition, he takes the first swing.

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bluehourbucky · 1 year

Text

Team Work

pairing: Steven Grant x f!reader; Marc Spector x reader; Jake Lockley x reader

summary: your boys help take care of you when you get sick

italics are the moon boys talking to each other

a/n: first time writing for moon boys please be nice. Also would appreciate any tips of how to write for moon knight and the boys <3 if you have any please comment or send them in my asks :)

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

Oh no, you thought when you woke up with a runny nose and a sneeze. You turned around to see if you had woken up your boyfriend. Luckily, you didn't. He has a day off so he can sleep a little longer. You're not even sure when they arrived last night, so you were careful to get out of the bed as quietly as possible.

As you were getting ready for work, you felt a little dizzy. Maybe it's nothing, you lied to yourself. You really didn't need a cold or something right now, you were saving your free days to go on a vacation with your boys.

"Love?"

"Shit" you whisper, Steven is going to notice immediately that you're not feeling well, not that Marc or Jake wouldn't it's just harder to convince Steven not to worry.

"Love, you alright?" you hear him coming to the bathroom. He comes in and hugs you from behind, puts his head on your shoulder and kisses your neck.

"I'm fine! Just didn't sleep well last night, you should go back to bed!" Steven looks in the mirror, probably talking to Marc or Jake.

"She's hiding something. Ask her again." Marc scolds Steven, and Steven rolls his eyes.

"Darling, are you sure? What's going on?" Steven stops you, one hand on your arm, and the other is lifting your chin, so you look at him.

Right as you were about to answer, you sneeze into your elbow, which then turns into a coughing fit. Steven caresses your back softly, waiting for you to stop.

"I'm okay." You sniff, looking for toilet paper to blow your nose.

"Marc says you're not, and that you're staying home today, and Jake agrees. And I agree with that, my love, I bet you're burning up."

You knew they were right, so you didn't put up a fight when Steven made you change back into your pajamas and call in sick at work.

"Stay." Steven, tucks you in and orders you to stay in bed, you have a tendency to get up and follow him when you're sick.

"Steven let me switch with you, I wanna take care of my baby."

"Not a chance, I want to do it"

Steven pushes Marc away, set on a mission to make you a hot cup of tea and a soup. He makes you take your temperature, and you in fact do have a fever.

"Steven. Now." Marc is becoming impatient he wants to help but Steven is being stubborn as always.

"I want to help too."

Great, now Jake also wants to help, so Steven has to fight them both for control. He hates to admit it, but you being sick sometimes can be the best time to be with you. You become so cuddly and clingy, and Steven relishes in those moments when you need him. Unfortunately, he's not the only one.

"Here you go, love." Steven helps you sit up and feeds you the soup, then he gives you some medication for your very high fever. He can't believe you almost went to work.

"Thank you." You sniff, and your boyfriend gives you a sympathetic look. You know you probably shouldn't have pulled Steven into bed with you and then laid on his chest, but it's the best spot for sleeping.

"I love you." Stevens heart skips a beat whenever you tell him that. He holds you tighter and then he starts playing with your hair which makes you relax completely.

"This is not fair! You took care of her last time! You can't do this." Marc knows it's stupid to be jealous yet he is but so is Jake.

"Marc's right! Should be my turn by now!"

"You're giving me a headache!" Steven accidentally yells out, which makes you jump.

"Sorry, darling, didn't mean to say that out loud."

"What are you guys fighting about now?" you ask, its easy to tell when they're in a disagreement. They all show it differently, but you know. Right now, Steven is pouting.

"You're not fighting about taking care of me again? Are you? We talked about this."

"Uhh Marc has something to say."

Seriously!???

"Hi babe." Marc is cursing Steven in his head for leaving him to make an excuse.

"We just want to take care of you, and well, I think we all enjoy your attention a little too much when you're like this. And also last time you were sick, Steven did everything and didnt let us help. Don't want you thinking that I don't want to take care of you. "

Doing a great job Marc now she'll think we like it when she's sick!

"Marc, you don't have to worry about that. I know that you're all there for me whenever I need you. I love you. And also you work best as a team."

She's right.

Of course she is. Okay let's do this as a team.

And they do. Steven makes you tea, Marc cuddles you to sleep, Jake wakes you up to give you medicine and so on. You're back in full health in no time.

A week later, Steven comes from the museum with a fever. No surprise, of course, he spent most of the time with you in bed.

[The End]

hope you enjoyed <3

likes reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

#steven grant one shot #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant fluff #marc spector fluff #marvel imagine #moon knight x reader

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strawberriescherrieskiwi · 2 years

Text

Whiny King

Anon request:

More Hal please

Wordcount: 2.4K+

Description: Reader is sick of not getting respected as Queen and Hal is just sick

A/N: More from Unaccompanied Trope. This is soon after their wedding, before UA. I saw some photos of Timmy as Hal and had to write this.

Warning: Dagger, but that is a given with them. Fluff, mention of blood.

Your Majesty, the Queen says you must eat this?” The young maid said shakily to your husband, who should be laying in bed, but instead sat at his desk in your outer room, going over reports with one of his advisors.

He completely ignore her and her hands began to shake as she moved closer to him, thinking he didn’t hear her. “Y-Your Majesty ?” She asked timidly.

With the quickness of a snail, Hal dragged his eyes from the papers to the shaking woman, holding a pot of soup. His dark eyes pierced through her and she wanted to cry the longer he stared at her.

“T-The Queen,” she started again, be he scoffed waving her away.

“Leave my room,” he said leaving no room for discussion.

With a clumsy bow and a nod, she flew from the room. The moment she was far away from the room she let out a sob. She had no idea what she was going to do. She was sent to make sure the king was resting and not to leave until he finished the bowl.

He refused both of those things, he was holding meetings and sent her way. She was too afraid to go back in. Who was she to demand anything of the King of England, but she didn’t want to return to the Queen as a failure.

While the King was terrifying, always rash, yelling, and murdering, there was something even more unsettling about the queen, she was sly, calm, and always calculating. Taking a shaking breath, she wiped her face and made her way to the throne room where she knew the Queen waited for her.

The moment she walked into the room, you glared at her. The bowl was clearly still full. Between the members of the counsels not listening to you and now a maid that can’t do her job, you were at your end.

Hal was sick. Very sick, rather he liked to admit it or not, and needed rest. Of course, your husband was stubborn and has been refusing to stop working long enough to get better.

“Well don’t just stand there, come here,” you said to the maid. All the Counsel went quiet at your words and all watching as she slowly made her way to you.

“He refused to eat the soup, milady,” she said, bowing at your feet, holding the pot of soup out to you.

“Of course he did. Still, you have barely been gone, you didn’t try very hard,” you said with an edge to your voice, though you were more annoyed with Hal than her.

“I’m sorry, Milady I did not wish to fail you,” she said letting another sob ring out. It echoed off the quiet walls and a counsel member chuckled.

“Is something amusing, Jameson?” You asked turning your attention to him. His eyes widen for a moment, but he, like most of the men, refused to let you see that you frightened them, instead he grinned lazily. “Nothing is amusing, do you find something amusing?” He asked.

You dig your hands into the side of the throne before, tilting your head from side to side. You stared around the room before chuckling. “Yes, I do find something amusing,” you said as you laughed louder, though there was no humor in your voice.

The maid sobbed more and the members shuffled uncomfortably as you continued to laugh. One brave member cleared his throat, “Your Highness, may I ask with is so amusing?”

You instantly stopped laughing and looked at him. “I’m so glad one of you was brave enough to ask. I was just picturing Jameson going to serve the soup to My King,” you said, giggling as the words let.

Jameson's eyes widened and he stood. “I-I…” He stopped when you turned away from him. “Give him the soup, he will deliver it to the King.” You smiled softly to the maid, before glaring at him, daring him to defy you.

Getting off shaking knees, the maid took the soup over to him. For a moment he stared at the pot without taking it, but another glance in your direction, where you had causally taken out your dagger had him second guessing.

His eyes then fell to your dress. Your dress was tight, tighter than he was seen outside of whorehouse. Your breast spilled out of the top and he stared for a moment, he couldn’t help himself, as afraid of you he was, he was more attracted to you.

You noticed where his stare was. You were taking notes of who stared at your chest and how many times. “Oh Jameson while you are there make sure to tell the King how much you enjoy my dress today, he would love to know that,” You said, getting off the throne and walking toward him.

“I doubt the King cares to know my opinion on f-fashion, Your Highness,” he said in a beg, but you didn’t care if he got on his knees and cried, you were sick of the disrespect you got when Hal was not around.

“I don’t believe I asked. That was an order.” You said. “Go with him and make sure that he does it,” you said, dismissing both him and the maid as you walked back to your throne.

When the door closed behind them, you grinned at the rest of the room. “Now I understand all of you are used to dealing with the King and his father and women were barely seen or heard, but things are different, and I will either get your respect or take it but know I might take something else too, just pray it isn’t your favorite appendage.”

There was a silence that followed your words. And you grinned wickedly at them. “Do we have an understanding?”

A chorus of agreement followed when a scream ranged out from somewhere in the palace. You chuckled, picking your nails with your dagger. “Huh. It seems like Jameson was right, the King did not enjoy his opinion on fashion.”

When you returned to your room half an hour later the pot of soup lay spilled on the floor. Jameson's eye was bandaged, but still heavily bleeding, as he and the maid worked to clean up the blood and soup from the floor.

“Oh dear, you don’t have to help him, Jameson is a big boy, you are dismissed,” you said smiling warmly at her.

Smiling nervously, she got to her feet, bowing before leaving. You watched her go. You will need to talk to Hal about giving her a raise, the poor thing was scared shitless of the two of you.

Turning to Jameson you grinned. “What happened here?” You asked with fake sincerity.

He was smart enough to keep his head low and his eyes, well eye, on the mess he was cleaning. “His Majesty was practicing his skills with his dagger, it found its way into my eye,” he mumbled.

“Oh, dear. He must be terribly sick if his dagger found its way into just one of your eyes. When he is feeling better I’ll personally make sure he rectifies it,” you said, patting his head.

His hands balled into fists as he nodded, “That would be wonderful, Your highness.”

“It’s actually Your Majesty as well. We are both are rulers of this country. You should pass that around to everyone else, I won’t waste my breath doing it, but please let them know I won’t put up with anything else.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, getting to his feet and leaving the room. Grinning happily, you asked the guard at the door to send for more soup before going into your bed chamber to find your husband.

You found Hal sitting in the bath, half awake. Gasping softly, you ran to his side. “My King?” You whispered, running your hands through his hair, which was wet, but from the water or the sweat, you were unsure about.

His eyes opened slightly at your touch. A soft, high-pitched whined answered your words. You sighed, half relieved, half sad, and all annoyed. “You never listen to me, do you? Look at yourself. You could have slipped under the water and died. You stubborn, stubborn man,” you scowled, grabbing a cloth and washing his face.

Hal whined again, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He was burning up and too weak for you to scowl anymore, but when he was better he was going to get a tongue lashing.

“It’s fine, well it’s not fine, but I’m here now, don’t worry. My King, nothing will happen to you. You should have eaten the soup and rested as I said, you wouldn’t be this sick, but I care more about getting you better,” You said, helping him out of the tub.

He leaned heavily on your shoulder, slipping on his pants before collapsing onto the bed. You sat on the edge of the bed, patting his cheek and running your fingers through his hair.

“Tell me what hurts?” You asked.

“I’m just a little weak, My Queen. I overdid it today, I should have rested. You always know best,” he said, grasping the hand that was touching his cheek. “What would I do without you?” He smiled.

“Die, that is exactly what you would do,” you grinned.

“I heard you speaking with Jameson, I’m sure he will be having some hellish dreams about you,” he said, glowing with pride.

“I am not the one that took his eye out with a dagger, Hal.”

“You will be the one to take the other eyes. After all, what better way to learn to respect women than having punishment from a woman,” he said.

“Ah, and here I thought you were too tired to take out the other one,” you teased.

“That too, but mainly the first reason. He and every person in this palace need to know you are the Queen, mine and theirs and they will respect you, or die.”

“I love it when you say things like that. They will respect you as well, or I’ll be personally involved with correcting their foolishness.”

You both grinned widely at each other, holding eye contact until there was a knock on the door. You stood to go answer when Hal tightened his hold on your hand. “No don’t leave my side,” he pouted, whining softly.

“Oh, shush you whiny King, I’ll only be a moment,” You said, leaving the bed chambers only to return a few moments later with a fresh bowl of soup. Hal was laying on his side, his chest moving slowly. You barely were gone, but he was already asleep.

Putting the soup on the side table, you climbed into bed with your husband, wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging yourself to him. While your marriage was still young and your rule as King and Queen was new, you knew it would be okay as long as you had him by your side.

Loving Hal was not what you thought would happen when you married, you both hated each other, which turned into rage sex, and somewhere it wasn’t rage sex, but passionate sex, and not leaving the room when you finished, but holding each other, talking and now you never wanted to part from him.

“I love you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “So very much, my sun, my moon, my day and my night,”

Hal whined in his sleep, turning in your arms, burying his face into your chest. You held him closely for a few minutes, not wanting to wake him, but he needed to get something in his stomach.

“Hal, my darling, you have to wake up,” you said, kissing his forehead repeatedly.

“Allow me to rest. I thought I needed it,” he argued, pouting into your breasts.

“You also need to eat, to get your strength back.” You replied.

“Will you feed me?”

“Of course, My King.”

Hal was silent for a moment. You thought he maybe had fallen back asleep, but soon he pulled his face from his chest and sat up a bit.

Grabbing the bowl, you moved to sit next to him.

“No,” he protested. “Sit on my lap.”

Fondly rolling your eyes you moved to sit on his lap, letting your dress pool around you both. “I hope you know you are like a pouting child right now, Hal.”

He didn’t reply just opened his mouth for a spoonful of soup. Chuckling you fed him, what better way to make sure he is eating besides feeding him yourself. Hal looked so soft and cuddly, unlike the hard King most people saw, you were happy to see this side of your husband.

“I like this side of you, so whiny and soft,” you commented as you fed him.

“You take good care of me,” He smiled.

“It’s because it’s my job because I love you so much.”

Hal’s eyes closed for a moment, he took a shaky breath before opening his eyes, which were misty. “There is nothing in this world I need more than your love. You are a gift and I love you so much.”

Hal sits up more, taking the soup and putting it on the table, grabbing your hips, pulling you closer. “My Queen, you are the heart and soul of this kingdom and you are the key to my happiest,” mumbled, before kissing you.

Kissing back, you bit his lower lip, causing him to groan and his mouth opened slightly letting you in to explore his mouth. Taking control of the kiss, you grabbed the back of his neck as you explored his mouth, nipping and biting on everything you could. Hal surrendered to your kiss, whining and moaning the whole time. He held your body close to his, hands desperate to touch your skin.

“Hal, you need rest,” you said breaking away for you both to breathe.

“I need you, badly.., desperately,” he said, reconnecting your lips. You allowed him to kiss you for a bit more before pulling away and pushing his shoulders until he was laying down.

His eyes were dark and swimming with lust, but you could still see the fatigue in them. “You need rest, Hal. When you are better you can show me how desperately you need me,” you said moving from his lap, ignoring his protest and hands grabbing for you.

“Rest, My King,” you said, fixing your dress.”

“Rest with me,” he asked, with wide, needy eyes.

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you,” You took off your dress, changing into one of his tunics before slipping back into bed with him, resting your head on his chest.

“When I’m better, I want to hear in detail all the threats you delivered today,” he mumbled, into your hair.

Laughing you pressed a kiss over his heart. “I will tell you in full, it does involve my dagger and cutting off a certain appendage,”

“That’s my Queen.”

#unaccompanied queen #timothée chalamet x reader #prince hal #timothée chalamet #prince hal imagines #prince hal x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagines

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coffinsister · 1 month

Note

julia ropes in the siblings to help her bake something for valentine's day as a throuple activity?

Hey! It's technically White Day here where we live, and I felt very motivated to write finally, so here it is, we hope you enjoy it :D !!! <3

Julia had never thought baking cookies would be this hard.

Julia was no fool, she knew baking was no simpleton’s task, baking was a capricious mistress, who rarely smiled upon the poor devils attempting to earn her good graces.

But! She had made cookies many times before, for many different people. She had been making cookies for her friends and family since she was allowed into the kitchen.

Julia looked down at the mess of ingredients, and the (1) singular spoon, on the tiny wooden counter before her.

With a serious expression on her face, she decided to grab a little knife and add it to her arsenal as well.

“Amhm” Okay, maybe she should have taken into consideration her current “Unique” Circumstances.

“Why are you whining already? This was your idea!” Ashley screamed at her from in front of their stove.

Except, Julia reminded herself with a headache, their stove, didn't have an oven, only the fire part, below it, there was only a hollow dark void, where she figured some cabinet, or maybe, you know, an oven, should be.

But there wasn't, and Julia didn't even want to ask how exactly their weird thing worked, because, as she also reminded herself, this was technically a deadman’s stolen apartment, that she had been forcefully brought into, and locked up in for a few months now.

Funny how that works.

She pulled her sleeves lower down, to try to ignore the many red and fresh cuts on her arms, or the two discolored scars, from when they had tied her up with old itchy rope to their walls.

Julia looked to the side, this kitchen was so unbearably small, and they were pressed so close together, that she barely had to look behind her to catch Ashley's eyes.

“...I don’t think you need to scream so loud in this tiny kitchen, Ashley.”

Ashley gasped and bumped into her, as she turned to look at Julia in the eyes.

“It’s my house! I will scream whenever I want!”

“Shut up, Ashley!” Andrew bonked Ashley in the head, with a large roll of paper towels. “This whole cooking thing is already giving me a headache, and you are making it worse.”

“It’s not even cooking! It’s just baking, phlew” Ashley rolled her eyes, walking closer to her brother, and out of the kitchen, finally giving Julia some space to breathe.

With her newly acquired autonomy and space.

Julia was determined to make-do with what they had, which was basically just some flour, a little sugar, and exactly two bars of butter, oh and that little bag of chocolate chips, that apparently Ashley had pressured Andrew into shoplifting for absolutely no reason.

“Don’t think you are both going to get away with not helping me” Julia stood before both siblings, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Andrew, your ex-girlfriend frowns like a cat,” Ashley said, looking right past Julia.

“Don't call her that.”

“Ex-girlfriend or catty?”

“Neither.”

“Ohh, how sensitive.”

Julia just sighed and shook her head. Conceding was a strength “Andrew, can you help me out with this?”

She had already looked through their cabinets, and this sort of flat soup spoon was the closest they had to a scraper, so she was making it work

“Suree” Andrew sounded a little insecure, being invited into the kitchen, which lead Julia to wonder if prior to this, Ashley had really cooked for the both of them every single time.

Andrew entered the kitchen.

He stood behind her, very very close.

Julia wondered how having a kitchen this small was even legal at all, surely this was some sort of violation to human rights.

She ignored the sorta warm feeling in her chest.

“I'm gonna beat up this butter” Julia said, her tone incredibly serious “You just pour the sugar, and then the flour, slowly, alright?”

“Alright” Andrew grabbed the little bowl with the sugar, while Julia began to amass the butter underneath her spoon. It had been outside quite a good while already, but their apartment was so cold all the time, it didn't really make much of a difference.

She appreciated Andrew following her instructions without questioning her too much, obviously this whole thing would be way easier if they had an actual filter, but as she said, making-do.

Julia gulped down, and plastered the butter against the bowl as hard as she could.

She supposed it would also be way easier, if she could stop leaning against Andrew behind her.

Julia had to consciously stop herself from looking at him through the corner of her eye, and then, had to stop herself from searching for his reflection on the reflection of the bowl.

Finally, Andrew finished pouring both of the solids into her now, sort of soft, butter paste.

“Hey” Julia choked out a little, as she pressed herself closer to the counter “Do you want to help too, Ashley?”

Ashley just stared at her like she was dirtying up her kitchen, and salting her crops, which, yeah, probably, but still.

“You look like you are already getting plenty of help, Julia. Never knew you were this greedy” Ashley's tone was obviously high-pitched and mocking, but Julia decided to look past it.

Cohabiting demanded sacrifices, of many different kinds and natures, after all.

“Well, you made Andrew get the chocolate chips, right? So I figu-”

“I didn't make him do shit! Is that what he told you? He wanted them too! He just didn't want to tell you. because he's a little bitc-!”

“Ashley!” Andrew pushed himself closer to Julia, trying to get closer to Ashley.

Julia yelped, but neither one of them stopped staring at each other to stare at her instead.

“What!?”

Andrew tsked “Just get over here, and make yourself useful for once.”

It sounded more like a warning than anything else.

Ashley pursed her lips, stomping closer to the kitchen, her teeth strongly gritted, she stood right in front of them, on the opposite side of the counter.

“What does our lovely little guest need?”

It took Julia a second to realize Andrew was not only referring to her, but actually talking to her, there was always this small degree of degradation, Ashley would speak about Julia, like Julia was a dog that couldn't understand her sometimes.

“Here” Julia took the kneaded mass out of the bowl “Andrew, can you put the bowl in the sink?”

“Aja” Andrew twisted his body in a rather awkward motion, and tossed it into their metal sink.

Julia panned out the dough as far as it would go “Help me put the chocolate chips in it. We gotta put lots, so between the three of us it should be quicker.”

“Charming” Ashley said, her eyes dead and boring, but Julia ignored it and powered through.

She handed Ashley the little plastic bag, then Ashley handed it to Andrew, then Andrew bit it open, and handed it back to Julia, which was, for sure, a way to go about doing that.

Julia let most of the cookie chips fall into the dough, she could tell the mass was way heavier and denser than it technically should be for this, but hey, they had already gotten this far, right.

“Wait, why don't we just pour the chocolate on top?” Andrew asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“The chocolate chips spread unevenly, if you throw them on top, a bunch of the dough will end up super empty, and the rest, super full, and when we cut them-”

“Ahm- acktually” Ashley interrupted her “While you are being a nerd, I already started.”

Ashley was making little sad faces into her side of the dough. Julia decided not to question her art.

“Abstract. Love it” Andrew stated, completely blanked face, and began working too.

“A-Ah, actually!” Julia felt a little embarrassed about actually saying it out loud “We can cut them into shapes first, if you want.”

Julia thought she had cookie cutters back home, that would do the job a lot better, but then she remembered that she didn't really have anything anywhere anymore.

Well, she had two kidnappers here, Julia supposed.

“Ohh” Ashley leaned over the counter to get closer to Andrew, in the process, getting way too close to Julia “Lend me your-”

“You are not using my cleaver to cut cookies, Ashley.”

“You are such a tyrant!” Ashley leaned away from the counter, and Julia allowed herself to breathe once more.

“Let’s use this one instead, okay?” Julia handed Ashley a far more-appropriate- for- the-task knife, and Ashley recklessly snatched it from her hands.

Not like it would be the first time Ashley carelessly cut her.

“I’m making rabbits” Ashley proudly declared, before focusing her gaze on that bit of dough, and getting to cutting.

Julia nodded with a small smile on her face, she stepped slightly away from the counter, knocking her back softly against Andrew's chest.

Julia had to crank up her neck, and look directly above her, to look Andrew in the eye.

“Do you want to make shapes too?” She softly asked him.

“Nah, let Ashley have her fun.”

He sounded dismissive, but Julia knew that was just another facet of his way of caring.

She nodded “Okay” And they continued slowly placing the chocolate chips on top of Ashley's bunnies.

They kept going until they heard her whine “Aw, Jules make more dough” So Ashley had run out of space already.

“I will when you guys get an oven.”

“Do you know how much an oven costs?”

“I-”

“Do any of us know how much an oven costs?”

Ashley looked down “...Fair enough.”

“Actually, how do you bake cookies without an oven?” Andrew asked.

“You can bake them in a pan. I haven't really done it before, but… it should work out” Sounding super self-confident there, Julia.

“Hey! I can do that” Ashley said, actually sounding super self-confident there “Leave it to me.”

“Are you sure, Ashley?” Julia asked.

“Duh! Who do you think does all the actual cooking in this house?”

“Doing the cooking we eat is not something to brag about.”

“Oh, c'mon, dude.”

Ashley made her way back inside their kitchen, and Julia was promptly forced to make her way out. Now they stood in opposite spots, with Julia looking in from the outside.

Both siblings stood near each other, as comfortable as she had ever seen them, Andrew's hand was confidently resting on Ashley's lower back.

Things Julia didn't really need to question anymore.

“I told you I can take care of this, Jules!” Ashley confidently remarked.

“Are you sure this is how that’s supposed to be, Ashley?”

“Geez, have some faith in your sister-wife for once, Andrew.”

Both Andrew and Julia cringed at that, looking away, like they could escape the crime scene they had chosen to live in. They, at least, had that in common.

And then, like 10 minutes later, Ashley turned the stove off, and presented Julia with the most utterly burnt plate of cookies Julia had never seen.

They placed it on the wooden counter.

“Sooo, who’s gonna take one for the team, and do the first bite?”

“You burned it, you eat it” Andrew told her.

Ashley made a bitter face at that.

“...You don't have to eat it,, if you don't want it” Julia chewed out her words, looking down to the plate of burnt butter cookies.

She had almost made it work.

“Eh? You want me to waste food?” Ashley said, a serious frown in her face, as she picked up the least burnt cookie from the bunch “Guess you’ve never been starved for 3 months straight!”

And she bit straight into it.

Julia’s eyes widened at the loud cough that came out of Ashley, her expression looked bitter, and disoriented, but she still swallowed it down, without wasting a bit of it.

“A-Are you sure?”

“You are such a baby” Andrew poked his little sister’s forehead, rolling his eyes, a teasing smile on his face “They don't even taste that bad.”

Julia had always thought that his eyes were a little cold, a little perpetually disinterested in the world around him, but his countenance always seemed to soften up when Ashley was nearby.

“How do you know that?” Ashley poked her tongue out at her brother “You haven't even tasted them yet.”

Ashley grabbed one of the most generously burnt cookies, and shoved it into Andrew's hands.

Julia grabbed his elbow, holding onto the black fabric of his sweater “Really, Andrew, you don't have to, I know they came out horrible and-” Julia was already going into a small babbling rant.

She was trying not to be this way so much anymore, but she wasn't always successful at her attempts.

Andrew made a little bitter expression at the burnt pastry, but after a second, he simply shrugged.

“I mean, it is edible, isn't it?” Andrew nodded to his right, towards Ashley's “This bitch ate it and she hasn't died yet, soo, it’s probably safe.”

“But it tastes awful” Julia felt like she was pleading to him. Maybe, she always was.

Andrew looked uncomfortably away from her, fixing his gaze carefully just to the side of her face “Trust me, I’ve tasted worse.”

“Rude,” Ashley said, her mouth hidden behind her palm.

And knowing the implications of that, Julia decided to stop pleading.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Ashley's mocking Cheshire Cat Smile.

Andrew bit minutely into the cookie, he grunted a little under his breath, like the taste caught him off guard, even though, Julia had just warned him.

“Told you so” Julia let go of Andrew's sweater.

Andrew finished it, and wiped the yellowy crumbs off his white face “Eh, it wasn't that bad” He looked oddly bored while saying it.

Julia supposed they did have far more exciting lives than she would ever really get to see.

“But that seemed really bad…”

“No, I still have had worse” He eyed Ashley.

“Okay, now you are really pushing it” Ashley lightly hit him on the shoulder, Andrew didn't even acknowledge it.

But, Julia didn't quite think that was a good thing, though.

“Well, we both already tasted your awful baking, so now it’s your turn” Ashley pushed the plastic plate closer to her.

Julia felt her whole body get paler.

“C'mon, don't be a scaredy cat, Jules!”

Ashley grabbed another one of the extra burnt cookies, she began making airplane noises, while moving the cookie back and forth closer to Julia’s mouth each time, somehow, this reminded Julia of a scene from her childhood, a little too much.

“Ashley!” Andrew reprimanded her, that same old, done-with, expression on his face “Give it to me” He sounded so stern.

“Bohoo! You are no fun” Ashley pouted, her lips pursed together.

Andrew sighed.

Rolling his eyes, carefully on top of the plate, so as to not make an even greater mess, than the one that was already in their kitchen, he began to remove all the black and orange burnt off bits of the cookie.

Once Andrew concluded there wasn't anything left to be salvaged from the poor thing, he looked back up to Julia, his eyes trained on her freckles, never on her eyes.

“Here” Andrew handed it over to her, and Julia opened up her hands, like she was receiving water from a well “You can eat it now.”

“Ah?” Really, that's what he was worried about? Julia couldn't help but think.

This was the guy she had fallen in love with after all.

“Well, you already went through all that hard work, didn't you?” Julia teased him a little bit, her smile lopsided.

She thought, she was becoming a weirder and weirder person by the moment, like The Graves oddities were rubbing off on her, infecting her in ways that would leave her irreparably changed.

But yet again, Julia knew for a fact, there were far more terrible fates out there.

“I did” Andrew nodded, the deep eyebags around his eyes, making his lighthearted smile appear far more tired than it probably was “You should eat it before it gets even colder.”

“Responsible!” Julia grinned at him, these strange moments of normalcy felt even heavier than the moments of plain weirdness, but she rejoiced in them.

“Isn't he?” Ashley said, with her arms crossed, her eyes fixated on Andrew's face.

Julia nodded, holding the cookie up to her face, it felt like forcing herself to drink bitter medicine.

“...Here goes nothing.”

And she bit into it.

“Ew!”

Julia spat out the rest of the cookie.

She looked up like she had been zapped. Julia heard laughter all around her.

The Grave Siblings were loudly laughing at her.

“Are you really doubled over laughing at me, Ashley!?”

“You should look at your face!” Ashley screamed out between giggles, pointing with her index finger right at her.

“Sh-Shut up, Ashley” Andrew was struggling between breathing and laughing, obviously attempting to hide his face behind his arms, and very obviously, strenuously, failing at it.

“You are laughing too, jackass!” Ashley screamed back, her laughter growing louder, and more high-pitched.

“I'm laughing at you, dumbass!”

“I hate you both!” Julia screamed out.

Her face bright red, she stomped the floor with her right foot like an anxious bunny would.

She turned to run away from them, but before she could, Andrew held onto her elbow, his hand, corpse-like, cold.

“Don't leave” He could barely breathe, and Julia wasn't even sure he was trying to finish an actual sentence, all that came out of Andrew's lips was that simple statement.

“We’ll make up to you” Ashley said, cheerfully and self-confident “We will eat another one ourselves.”

“You will?”

“We will?”

“We will!”

And to her surprise, Andrew just nodded, and the Graves kept their promise, but really, Julia should know better by now, because after Ashley so-bravely downed her own cookie, she demanded Julia do the same, to ‘keep it fair.’

And well, Julia couldn't help being who she was.

At least Andrew stole some of the decent chocolate chips, the ones that don’t burn and only melt, which was a sort of a positive point on their corner.

Somehow, before Julia even realized it, their cookie plate was empty, and they went to sleep, and she didn't feel painfully empty for once.

#soleil writes #soleil asks #the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #andrew graves #julia #toxicule #coffincest #tcoaal #fanfiction #Hey ten pages written and edited in one day I'm pretty satisfied with that

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justalittlesolarpunk · 10 months

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This is my last post before I head off on my ten-day minimal-internet tidalpunk adventure (expect pics when I return!) so I thought I’d make a nice long list-type thing for all you solarpunks before I go.

Now, this might not seem very cheerful compared to my other topics - certainly all the people I’ve brought this up with irl have acted like I’m being alarmist and depressing, but I don’t see it that way. I view it as being prepared and maximising your ability to keep yourself and your community safe, which is after all what solarpunk is all about!

So without further ado, here is my *extremely idealised* suggestion for an emergency kit list to help you cope with increasingly frequent and severe extreme weather events. The goal is that with the supplies in this bag you could either shelter safely in place or get up and go, and be well supplied in either case to care for yourself and share with those in need. In fact, in both scenarios you would hopefully be able to temporarily ‘start from scratch’ in terms of infrastructure should the frameworks of society around you no longer be reliable. I based mine off suggestions by climate scientist Kendra Pierre-Louis (you can check out her advice on the ‘Unnatural Disasters’ episode of the How To Save A Planet Podcast), but yours might look subtly different depending on who you are, what you can afford/carry, and where you live.

Emergency kit list:

-Big hiking rucksack, to keep everything in

-Sleeping bag

-A small portable tent and camping stove

-A penknife or multi tool

-Matches or a lighter

-Kindling or firestarters - I use wood wool balls held together with wax

-Torch (with up to date batteries!)

-Towels

-Non-perishable or long-life foods, such as protein bars, rice cakes/breadsticks/crackers, dried fruit, bagged nuts/seeds, crisps, tinned soup, pot noodles

-A seedbomb of edible plants (you can get some for slightly excessive prices here in the UK, otherwise they can be made fairly easily by combining clay, straw, paper or flour with the desired seeds)

-Two large water bottles (600-650ml) and a water bladder

-A water purifier (preferably one capable of filtering out both natural pathogens like bacteria and viruses and synthetic pollutants like heavy metals and PFAS)

-A collapsible bucket

-A first aid kit, including plasters, bandages, sterile wipes, hand sanitiser, latex gloves, antiseptic/disinfectant, (K)N95 masks to filter out particulates (whether ash or pathogens), painkillers, antihistamines, rehydration sachets, anti-emetics and anti-diarrhoeals, steroid creams, aloe vera gel, iodine tablets in case of radiation, and any medication you regularly take (including epipens and inhalers if needed)

-A pair of goggles to protect your eyes from air pollution such as smog, wildfire smoke, etc

-Toothpaste tablets and a spare toothbrush

-Period supplies (pack these even if you don’t get periods - someone you run into might need them)

-A solar charger

-A satellite phone

-A mechanical handheld fan, with working batteries, to keep you cool in extreme heat

-A magnetic heat belt for extra warmth

-A change of clothes, including a sun hat, a scarf, woolly hat and gloves for extreme cold, and waterproofs (plus an umbrella!) for wet conditions

-Pliers or secateurs for cutting through dense debris or vegetation

-Some strong, climbing-grade rope

-A trowel (for planting and digging up but also for burying…waste 😅 - a long-term wild camping scenario isn’t infeasible here)

-Your passport and any other documents (marriage certificate, adoption papers, savings bonds if you’re like a hundred years old) that you might need if fleeing your country becomes a necessity

-As much cash as you are comfortable withdrawing/leaving lying around your house/carrying with you in an emergency

-A personal locator beacon is a radio-transmitter that signals your location to emergency services via satellite. These tend to have a 24-hour battery life, so if you foresee being in any way ‘stranded’ for longer then a useful trick is to switch it on for one hour each day, and then turn it off again. This not only saves power but shows emergency services that there is conscious intention involved, proving you’re still alive and lucid

-Some things to keep your spirits up, like a chocolate bar and your favourite/funniest book

-It’s worth having a sturdy pair of hiking boots for if you have to pick up the bag and go

Obviously this list is super extra, a bunch of these things are prohibitively expensive, and some items would need periodic replacement if a long time passed without the necessity of using the emergency kit. You could also likely build a fairly functional emergency kit with only a fraction of these supplies, I’m just trying to anticipate every eventuality here.

It’s up to you whether you think the investment is worth it - it’s a big outlay for a possible zero return. Personally I think it’s at least somewhat worth it as extreme weather is only going to happen more often and have more serious consequences, and preparedness turns what could be a disaster into an inconvenience, often saving money in the long run. But it will depend on the relative likelihood of severe weather events in your local area. It’s also worth saying that these work for ostensibly non-climate related problems, from a power cut in your town to an authoritarian coup in your government to your house falling down! It isn’t just for wildfires or tornadoes.

Over the next few months I’m hoping to slowly build up the aspects of the kit that are affordable and accessible to me, with the aim of being able to keep myself safe and aid my neighbours should disaster strike.

#solarpunk #disaster preparedness #community care #hopepunk #cottagepunk #environmentalism #social justice #climate change #extreme weather #natural disasters #readiness #obvs all of this stuff is pretty intense but I thought it was worth making the list #also like it’s so expensive I acknowledge especially as I’ve tried not to put Amazon links #how to save a planet #Kendra Pierre-Louis #links mostly for reference #these are just suggestions do what you think is best

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mistresxxx · 1 year

Text

Couldn't resist

Ghost x afab reader

This man has been stuck in my head for MONTHS so I had to write. Once again I'm barly getting into writing sumt so please give me a break. This was kinda rushed, I wrote this in about an hour. Nun the less enjoy

Summary: all of task force 141 were having drinks at the base, you got a little to flirty with alejandro.

Warnings ig? - foul language, p in v, rough sex, a drip of praise, ghost just being an asshole. I honestly feel like this man dosent know what calm sex is. He's just aggressive, 18+ minors go away thank you ♡

It just started off as drinks, harmless really. All of task force 141 got done with a mission and thought they'd celebrate with some drinks at the base.

You where not new but had only been apart of 141 for a year. Price walked in with a bottle of vodka "this is apart of my personal collection so you lads should be happy im sharing" he laughed "just pour some shots captain" you smiled back " impaciencia somos ahora?" Alejandro spoke before taking a sip from his beer. You took a shot and looked at him "solo tratando de pasar un buen rato" he leaned in "Sé cómo mostrarte un buen momento hermosa." You smiled "me gustaria eso señor~" you purred. Before you and him could go any further ghost slammed his gun on the table. Which made everyone look over at him "oops" he looked at you.

After that ghost grabbed a bottle of bourbon and went to his room, soup tried shouting "COME ON L.T LIVE ALITTLE" but all that was herd was a slamming door.

The night was calm, soup, gaz and ruddy where playing uno while plastered. Alejandro and price where sitting at the table sipping on there beers going over paper work and you where just watching the three boys act like 5 year Olds. You got tired and decided to go to bed.

The next day was another mission so the boys had to shake the hang overs, which they oddly did well.

Before 141 head out they said goodbye to alejandro and ruddy since they where getting on a plane back to Las Almas. Alejandro went to shake your hand and pulled you in "Quise decir lo que dije princesa" you pulled away wide eyed he smiled at you and started walking away "hasta pronto hermanos" ruddy yelled. You felt a pair of eyes on you, of course they where ghosts. You just walked away.

Price had you and ghost stationed on a building, 2 snipers ready if need be. The rest of the men would infiltrate the building and try to get the drug lord out as peacefully as possible but everyone new that wasn't going to happen.

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

"Do you two have eyes on the target?" Price asked. "Yes sir" you and ghost both spoke, "alright good we're going in now, wait for my call. Soap and his team will go in a little while after us, out."

You leaned back looking at ghost who was still staring threw the scope of his sniper. "He said he'd call it you don't need to keep watch" you spoke matter of factly "don't care" ghost sharply stated. You rolled your eyes and asked "what's been with you lately? You slammed your gun down on the table last night when me and alejandro were talking and you stared daggers into me and him early today." He stayed silent, you then got more annoyed at how dry he was acting so you decided to push his buttons. "Ohhh I know what this is about, you don't like we where flirting with eachother?" He still said nothing trying his dambist to just stare down the scope. You pushed further "come on ghost we fucked once. one time. Dosent mean you get to be mad im was flirting with someone else." Nothing said. And futher you pushed "what is it you scared he might fuck me bet-" your words where cut off with a hand aggressively put around your throat. "You need to learn to shut the fuck up." He looked down at you "oh so he dose speak" you chuckled. Which just pissed him off more. "What do you want "y/n" you smiled "for you to fuck me obviously."

Before you could react he had you up against the wall. "We're making this fucking quick. Pants off." He spoke annoyed. "Yes sir" you smiled. You pulled your panties and your pants down to your ankle. he lifted you up on top of a box that was in the room with you to. He slides 2 fingers in "already wet for me? Fucking slut, you wanted this." You grinned your hips "mmhmm maybe I did" you smile "you annoying little shit." You can see him roll his eyes threw the mask before pumping his fingers into you faster. "Ghost we're entering the building you see us?" Soap asks over the coms, you forgot soaps team hadn't gone in yet. Your eyes widening. "ghost how copy" soap questions "you stay fucking quite" his hand that was on your neck moves to click the button to speak "affirmative I see you. Y/n just wouldn't shut up." He chuckles before shoving his fingers as deep as possible into you. You throw your head back and moan before soap can hears, ghost cues off "ha alright I'll let you two know if we need your guys help sit tight. Out" soap says before entering the building. That was the least of ghost worries "copy" after ghost answer he takes his fingers out of your cunt. "Get on your stomach" Ghost commands. You happily do so "good girl~" he spoke, which made you clinch around nothing. all you could hear after that was the sound of his belt unbuckleing and his pants hitting the ground.

He lines himself up and bends over so his mouth is right by your ear " you annoy the shit out of me so I'm gunna fuck you then your gunna shut the fuck up and stop acting like a fucking slut. Got it." You look up at him "yes sir~ please just fuck me" he chuckles "pathetic" he then slams into you, he gives you maybe a minute to adjust before he sets a relentless pace, your head hanging low while you moan in ecstacy. "Yes fuck, oh my go- just like that" you don't know what your saying at this point you just don't want him to stop. He grabs you by the throat and pounds into you more "you voice is so- ah fucking annoying" he is fucking you like he hates you and for some reason it turns you on more.

He's hitting all of the good spots, you feel that knot in your stomach tighten "fuck gho- im gunna uah c-cum" you whine "then play with your clit and cum. I'm not doing all the fucking work." He won't admit it to you but god the way you moan when he fucks you sounds so good but he has to be quick you two are on a mission for fucks sake. It's not long before your cumming, your back arches one hand on the box the other going from your clit to his hand that's on you hips. "Fuck yes oh my God yes" ghost slams into you a few more times before he pulls out and starts to put on his pants.

"Wha but you didn't cum?" You start to fix your hair and pull you panties and underwear back up, he gets closer. "Were on a mission, if im gunna make a mess out of you I'll do it back at the base. You got what you wanted so now I'll get what I want later." You smile and look up "oh so well continue this later?" You ask smugly "sit down and shut up."

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

Mission went successful as always and once everyone was back at the base and everyone was in there rooms. You where at your desk doing paper work when your phone dinged, you looked over at it when it read *message from L.T*

"Time to hold up your end of the deal princess"

#cod mw2 #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #mw2 ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #smut.

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nicistrying · 6 months

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Sat 28th Oct:

Had such a lovely crafty night with my sister in law and her bestie last night. We painted paper pumpkins and made little clay ghosts. My pumpkin was doing her self care bc I was on the verge of a breakdown 😂

Today I stayed in bed longer than I should have but it's Saturday and almost the end of my week off, so I'm not mad. I had lovely snuggles with Maggie 🥰 Did some housework, then we all went out for a walk together which is rare these days!

That made me really happy. Matt went back to working when we got home and I FINALLY put up all the stuff I've been meaning to get round to. Will take pics tomorrow bc I'm very proud of myself, I always used to get Matt to do anything remotely DIY-y.

Had a little cuddle with Maggie with a cup of tea after lunch

Then went to a Halloween night at Beamish Museum! It was v family friendly but we still had such a lovely time 😅 Was just so nice to get out to do something just the two of us.

Matt's working tomorrow til 4pm so I need to get up at a decent time, walk Maggie and do all my jobs (make soup, do more laundry, order a few Christmas presents, work out) before he gets home so we can have dinner and watch a movie together. What a lovely little week I've had and I'm so glad I get to end it relaxing with him before I go back to the hell hole!

#personal #weekend #crafts #girl time #saturday #Maggie #walk #outside time #happy #halloween #fun things

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x1702x · 4 months

Text

Lauda Finem

A/N: Yep this is that Micolash and Eli fic I'm working on, waiting for Ao3 to confirm my account so I can post it there

Word Count: 816

CH 1/?

RESTITUTIO AD INTEGRUM

“Recover at its fullest”

The provost of Mensis was at his desk absorbed by a tome, not taking his eyes off the printed words on paper while his hands fidgeted with his pen, hovering over messy notes and nonsensical diagrams. He mumbled to himself, fascinated by his small findings as he read. A silver tray laid aside on his desk, ignored. It was a meal that had cooled down. As usual, Micolash got too invested in his work and tended to forget simple things such as drinking water, sleeping and having meals. Due to his involuntary negligence, his health had wilted time and time again, giving his peers many scares for his health.

His head felt numb but he just had to stay up just a little more. He swore to himself that it would be just one page more, he was so close- Thus the door creaked open. A figure emerged from the corridor and entered the room. A faint scent of rosemary filled Micolash’ nostrils, soothing him a little. The sound of steps slowly approached his desk, a warm presence engulfed him. Micolash’s sight turned towards it: Long and curly red hair that gently rested on shoulders, pale skin, freckles, thick eyelashes, green eyes and small glasses. Doctor Eli Fauchard, his assistant. With a soft thud, a handbag was left on the desk. Micolash averted his gaze. The Doctor saw the untouched tray of food and clicked his tongue.

— “Skipping meals again?” — Eli asked, his tone had a hint of worry. Micolash leaned back on his seat, finally taking his eyes fully off the book. — “I was saving it for later. Am I in trouble now, Doctor?”— The Provost inquired, a slight grin forming in his face. Eli rolled his eyes and put the tray away on another table, right next to the terrarium where Micolash kept some specimens. He returned to the desk, opening his handbag. — “Quite, I’ve told you many times that having your meals is important, but it seems that my warnings are to no avail. I’m sure you weren’t saving it for later, you don’t like your soup cold, do you?”— Eli finally faced him, scrunching his nose upon seeing Micolash’ sorry state. Micolash shrugged. — “You never know.”— He mumbled as Eli took out his equipment. He pointed at his bag with curiosity.

— “A checkup, I assume.”— He added.

— “Yes.”— Eli quickly replied, noticing Micolash’ eyebags and frowning.

— “My...You better not be losing sleep again...I don't want to overdose you with sedants, you need to have some actual rest.” — Eli added, pulling out a stethoscope. Micolash adjusted his position on his chair, unbuttoning his shirt a little, exposing his chest. Eli pressed the cool stethoscope against Micolash’s skin, making the latter lightly shiver. — “You’re quite overbearing, are you not?”— Micolash jokes. Eli only replied with a hum, as he was focused on his task at hand. After a few seconds, he removed the stethoscope from Micolash’s chest, buttoning his shirt back up. — “You're quite the fuss pot, you worry too much, like a mother, but I'll humor you.” — Micolash laughed, taking a lax attitude towards his worrying health.

Eli took out a thermometer, placing it on Micolash’ mouth. — “Be quiet for a bit…”— He waited and took it out of Micolash’s mouth. Eli frowned upon seeing the temperature marked. — “As I expected, a fever. I think you should lay down.” — Eli helped Micolash to stand up, to which Micolash complained a little, not wanting to be taken away from his work. Once he was tucked in his bed, Micolash began feeling how his ailment finally took a toll on him. He sighed, looking at his caretaker with a hint of appreciation. Eli kept rummaging through his handbag and pulled out a bottle of sedant, setting it on Micolash’s bedside table. He then opened it and handed it to Micolash to take. Once he had gulped it down, Eli retrieved it and put it back inside his bag.

— “I'm impressed by how much you seem to care about my wellbeing.” — Micolash mumbled feverishly as he stirred in his sheets, giving Eli a tired glance from the pillow.

— “No one would. Not even yourself.” — Eli replied, his tone slightly cold as he closed his medicine bag with a soft click.

Micolash closed his eyes tiredly, listening to Eli’s movements attentively, hearing the rattling of utensils on the silver tray, Eli had picked it up. — “Goodnight, Micolash.”— The Doctor said as he made his way to blow off the lamp on Micolash’s desk, giving a quick peek at his notes before doing so. Micolash’s eyes opened a little, taking in Eli’s gentle movements across the room, wondering what went on inside his head, and slowly drifting to sleep once Eli left the room for the night, finally able to put his mind at rest.

#Yep Micolash is a frail victorian child #Booo fags go home #wip #or whatever idk they are being a bit silly #implied guillaume ofc #guillaume is inside the terrarium guys #wip fic #fanfiction #fanfic #bloodborne #bloodborne fanfiction #bloodborne oc #bloodborne micolash #micolash #micolash host of the nightmare #oc x canon #guillaume the augur #lauda finem

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chrisbitchtree · 1 year

Text

The Laws of Attraction

My fill for Day 1 of @harringrove-flip-reverse-it!

Prompt - SFW - School Project

2k - Rated E

***

“How’s that for chemistry, Harrington?” Billy asked, on the edge of a moan. Steve laughed, grasping Billy tighter and stroking faster, eliciting another deep moan from the blonde. “Too bad we can’t write about this for our paper. I’m sure we’d get an A+.”

***

It had all started when Steve had missed his Intro to Human Sexuality class three weeks before. Steve never gets sick. It’s his thing, and he’s weirdly proud of it. Healthy as a horse, with an immune system so strong that the pediatrician would joke that Steve should be studied by science every time he went in for a checkup. Steve would laugh long after the joke got old so he could always be sure the doctor would offer him his favourite sucker, a blue one, at the end of the appointment, after his reflexes were checked and the ice-cold stethoscope was pressed to his chest.

Being so healthy meant that Steve had to get really good at faking colds and flues so he could stay home and eat soup and crackers and watch either game shows, soap operas, or 80s sitcom reruns, depending on which nanny his parents had employed at the time.

Once Steve had started high school and his parents felt that he was past the point of needing a nanny to care for him while they were away and could always reach him on his cellphone if they needed to anyway, he was able to drop the sick act and just ditch school instead. Nobody was going to go to the trouble of tracking down his parents to bother them with the news that their son wasn’t in class that day.

It had gotten even easier once Steve had gone away to college. He would pick and choose what classes he felt like attending and didn’t need to answer to anyone as long as he kept his grades up.

But of course, the first time in his entire life that Steve was too sick to go to school, struck down by food poisoning from some questionable Chinese leftovers he’d found in the mini fridge he kept next to his dorm room bed and used like a fridge, unable to do anything except either puke or lay on the floor next to the toilet waiting to puke again, shivering, and shaking and wishing he was dead, refusing when his floormates tried to offer help. He just had to puke it out.

Finally, at about 8pm, he was feeling slightly better and like the illness had finally run its course. He dragged himself back to bed and curled up in a ball, picking up his phone from where he’d tossed it in the sheets when he’d run for the bathroom and checking his missed notifications.

He had a couple texts from Robin, updating him on all the Hawkins High gossip he was missing out on, and a whole string of them from Dustin that had gotten increasingly frantic as the day had gone on, but the ones that stood out were from Nancy, who of course had ended up at the same school as him, even sharing some of his classes. They’d talked on occasion since breaking up in the fall of their senior year, but it was usually only if they had something important to tell each other so he clicked on hers first.

Nancy – 11:12am: Steve, are you skipping health class again? I heard what Ms. Johnson said to you the other day about your attendance!

Nancy – 11:22am: Partners are being assigned for the huge project in Human Sexuality today. If you don’t get here soon, you might be stuck with Billy. He’s not here today either.

Nancy – 12:37pm: I’m sorry, Steve, you’re going to have to work with Billy. Your topic is chemistry and attraction.

Steve groaned. Just his luck, the one time he’s actually sick, something like this actually happens. He’d done his best to avoid Hargrove since their big fight at the Byers’ the fall of their senior year of high school, as much as you can avoid someone in a town as small as Hawkins, where there was one high school with one basketball team that they both played on.

He’d counted down the days until he was free and could make a fresh start, only to find out that it wouldn’t just be Nancy at his new school, Billy Hargrove would be there too. And then the first day of Human Sexuality, there were both Billy and Nancy, on opposite sides of the front row.

Steve does his best to pretend that Billy’s not there, tamping down an attraction that’s been there since the moment he laid eyes on the other boy. Billy hadn’t confirmed nor denied his sexual preferences since he’d come crashing into Hawkins with his stepmom and stepsister, Max, to be closer to Max’s grandparents after Billy’s dad had died that summer, but if the rumours were true, Billy happily slept with anything on two legs.

Steve doesn’t judge, has no room to, considering how many girls he’s slept with. But that was before Nancy. Since his time with her, he’s been a relationship guy, someone who wants heavy commitment, and Billy just doesn’t seem like that type of guy, so Steve pushes his feelings down, ignoring them in favour of finding someone he could have a relationship with.

Now though, Steve had no choice but to spend time with Billy. A lot of it, considering that the project was worth half their grade. And of course, of all the possible topics, they got chemistry.

***

For the first few weeks that they met with each other to work on the project, they kept their conversations strictly school related, at Steve’s behest, both because Steve didn’t want to end up down a road he wasn’t prepared for with Billy, and because success in academics didn’t come easily to Steve like it did to Billy. Steve needed a good grade in this class, so he had to stay focused and work hard.

They divvied up the research, Billy focusing on attraction while Steve worked on compatibility. It was coming along good until they met to discuss their findings and work on their thesis topic. They were in Steve’s dorm room, Steve at his desk, and Billy sprawled out on Steve’s bed.

He had his textbook open and upside down across his stomach and his arms crossed behind his head. His white t-shirt was riding up, exposing a strip of flesh between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans, and Steve wanted to pull the shirt up, expose him, lick and kiss and nip his way up to Billy’s mouth, wanted to pull the backwards baseball cap off his head and sink his hands into Billy’s curls.

“Hey, Harrington, have you ever thought about whether we have chemistry?” Billy asked. For all his usual bravado, the question came out of his mouth quietly, as if he wasn’t even sure if he wanted Steve to hear him ask it.

Steve looks up, meeting his eye, and he’s giving Steve a look that’s equal parts considering and wanting, his eyes dark. They travel down the length of Steve’s body and back up again, and Steve can’t remember the last time he felt so seen, so wanted.

“What if I have?” he replies, trying for breezy, and failing miserably. He’s way too into this, and it’s showing all over his face.

“Come over here and tell me what you’ve thought about,” Billy says, sitting up and patting the bed beside him.

Steve closes his laptop and takes the few steps to his small bed. He sits next to Billy, their bodies pressed together from head to toe. Steve rubs his knees nervously, trying to wipe some of the sweat off as he psyches himself up to kiss Billy.

He doesn’t have a chance to before Billy turns to him, slipping a hand into the back of Steve’s hair and cupping the back of his skull. Billy pulls him in for a kiss that’s surprisingly tender, as deep and searching as it is.

They stay like that for a long time, exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues, getting familiar with each other in a way Steve’s only previously dreamed of. Finally, they pull back to catch their breath, and Billy gives him a dopey grin before leaning in to nip and suck at Steve’s earlobe. He lets out a loud moan at the contact, too turned on to be embarrassed by the sound.

“Like that, don’t you, pretty boy?” Billy asks, rhetorically, before returning to the task.

Unsure of what to do, Steve slides his hands up under Billy’s t-shirt, exploring the planes of his stomach and the pecs that were the driving force behind most of his senior year jerk off fantasies. And god, they feel just as good as he thought they would, soft and pillowy, but firm at the exact same time. He’s in heaven.

“Can I give you a hand, Harrington?” Billy asks, hand hovering over the button on Steve’s jeans.

“Yes, yeah. Can I, you, uh,” Steve replies, barely able to get the words out, motioning gracelessly at Billy’s own jeans, and Billy undoes the button on Steve’s jeans and unzips his fly. Steve stands and pulls his jeans and boxers down to his knees as Billy undoes his own pants and pulls them down.

Billy pulls him back into a kiss for a minute before pulling away again.

“You got lube in here?” he asks, even as he leans over and pulls a bottle out of Steve’s bedside table drawer. He squirts some on his own and doles out some to Steve before dropping it into the sheets.

They grasp each other in their slicked up hands, and holy shit, Steve’s not going to ask long. It feels too amazing to finally have Billy’s hands on him. If the little whimpers and gasps coming out of Billy’s mouth are anything to go by, he’s not going to last long either.

They stroke each other at a fast pace as Steve tries to see how many hickeys, he can give Billy before they both cum. Three’s the magic number, then Billy’s bucking into Steve’s grasp, and Steve’s doing the same for him, then they’re coming all over each other’s hands and stomachs, gasping into each other’s mouths as they come down from their shared high.

***

They’re laying in bed after, sweaty and panting, Billy starfished out over Steve’s body, with his boxers pulled up but his jeans kicked off onto the floor, a heavy, reassuring weight. When Steve used to fantasize about this moment, he always pictured Billy to be the kind of guy that would hook up and run, but if anything, he seems to be settling in, using Steve’s chest like a pillow, and twining their legs together. It’s exactly what Steve would have asked for if he could decide how this would go. It’s nice, it’s sweet, and Steve could get used to it.

“So, Harrington,” Billy says, his voice quiet but rough, probably from how deep he took Steve’s cock into his mouth. “Do you think we should add this to the paper? Maybe we’ll get extra credit for doing hands on research.”

Steve snorts, swatting him. “As much as I could use the extra points, I think I want to keep this all to myself.”

#harringrove #harringrove flip reverse it #harringrove reverse it 2023 #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove fic #lemon #chrisbitchtree writes

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simpinghour · 1 year

Text

Tobacco Sunburst (18+)

Pairing: Aki x f. reader

A/N: I refuse to think back to the horror of 1997 and the ill-equipped lack of technology therefore this fic WILL be using some current tech. Sorry not sorry. Also how many of us are obsessed with this gorgeous man? Because honestly.

Synopsis: A random encounter is the start of a friendship that turns to something more.

Word count: 5,903

Chapter: 1/?

Content: fluff, mentions of smoking, (legal) alcohol use, first times, f! loss of virginity, oral sex, penetrative sex, and shenanigans in general

Part of you wished you’d worn something nicer than a raggedy sweatsuit to take out the trash, but it wasn’t as though you’d planned on running into one of the most gorgeous men you’d seen in your entire life. Black shoulder-length hair tied in a top knot, double pierced ears and well-defined jawline was enough to make you do a double take. His clothing was a bit plain—white button up shirt and black trousers, likely the uniform of a government worker—yet it was easy to tell that well-defined muscles lie beneath. Too bad his handsome face was turned up in a scowl, and it was almost enough to make you want to turn and flee in the other direction.

“You look like you’re ready to kill someone,” you commented lightly while tossing your trash into the dumpster. You began looking for the man’s trash, assuming he was there for the same purpose, although he was empty-handed and lingering near the garbage station to puff on the remains of a cigarette.

There was slight shock in the man’s pretty blue eyes, and you wondered if he was surprised at being spoken to or if it was your appearance followed by your fluent use of Japanese.

“Do I? I hadn’t realized,” he finally replied in a tone that was quieter than you expected.

“Long day?” you pressed, hoping he wouldn’t think you rude.

“More like long week,” he replied dryly, eyes narrowing as though remembering something that aggravated him all over again.

“I’ll listen if you want to vent. I know how it feels when you just want to vent.”

The man’s first cigarette was nearly gone and you watched him pull out another one, light it with the butt and deposit it into a portable ashtray that he’d pulled from his pocket.

“I’ve been gone for work for two weeks and all I wanted to do was come home and have a proper bath, have a meal that didn’t come from the conbini and actually sit down to eat it. But that fucking guy has no boundaries or respect. Who the hell goes through an entire bag of rice, three containers of jam and a whole loaf of bread at the same time?”

“Whoa, is that your roommate?”

“Yeah, sort of,” he answered grudgingly. “Sorry, I’m unloading all my shit on you and haven’t introduced myself. Hayakawa Aki.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply after giving your name. “So I can’t help you with the shitty roommate situation but you can use my bath if you want. Also if you’re not opposed to a natto rice bowl and soup then I don’t mind sharing.”

“Thanks but I can’t impose on you like that.”

“If it was an imposition I wouldn’t have offered. Besides, it’s too late to have something delivered.”

Aki let out a sigh and sharply inhaled on the last bit of cigarette. You watched him stamp it out on the ground and put it in his little ashtray.

“You have a point. Though I should add that it’s sort of reckless to allow a complete stranger into your place.”

“Yeah, but you seem okay. Besides, I’d kick your ass if you were to try anything.”

That made him give you a genuine smile and you laughed when you heard him lightly chuckle.

“Glad that amused you,” you told him. “So I’ll see you in a bit? I figure you need to grab your stuff first.”

“Here, put this in your bath,” you told Aki when he came back, handing him a little paper bag. His eyebrow raised slightly and he opened it and brought it up to his nose.

“What is this?”

“It’s a bath bomb with lavender and other essential oils. Lavender is calming and you seem like you could use it. What with the roommates and all.”

“You would be correct. Thanks.”

“Before you go, do you want an egg with your rice?”

“Yes, please.”

When Aki emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, he looked mildly calmer. You’d already started putting his food together and had the kettle going.

“Tea?”

He inhaled everything and ignored your protests when he took his dishes to the kitchen and began washing everything. Now you were having a second tea and sharing a box of macarons you’d bought the day before while running errands.

“I never had these before,” Aki murmured, daintily biting into a pink rose-flavored macaron. “They’re not overly sweet but they’re good.”

“They’re my weakness. There was a shop that made amazing macarons where I used to live and I was so happy to find a place here who sold them. The quality is just as impeccable too.”

“Where did you live before?”

“America. New York to be exact.”

“And you decided to move here? Do you have family here or something?”

You shook your head. “Nah, it’s just me. I came here for work.”

Aki looked as though he wanted to ask more and you continued before he was able to.

“Before you ask how I speak Japanese, yes, I know I’m black but my mom was half. I was born and lived here with her for most of my life and then we moved to America when she got remarried. I came back here for university and then I got a job that was based in America but they had a Japanese branch and since I was fluent in both languages and they needed someone here, I was perfect for the role. Even better since I get to work from home most of the time.”

“I wish I could work from home. Although on second thought, I wouldn’t want the sort of creatures I deal with knowing where I live.”

“Really? What do you do?”

“I’m a Public Safety Devil Hunter.”

“Eh, really?! I’ve heard about them but haven’t actually met anyone who did that. Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Highly.”

“Now I’m going to worry about you whenever you go to work.”

Aki let out a dry laugh. “Trust me, you don’t need to do that.”

“Too late. You won’t be able to stop me.”

Aki stayed at your apartment for another hour or so. You two talked about some of everything, and you told Aki that you were surprised to find him talkative.

“I’m usually not,” he pointed out. “Rather, I guess I can be depending on the company.”

“Likewise.

________________________________________________________________

The next Saturday afternoon, Aki was at your door asking if he could take you to lunch. It wasn’t as though you’d had any plans so you accepted. And you were glad you’d done so, because you and Aki spent the entire day together, ending your evening by going to an izakaya followed by you both stumbling in your doorway a little after one in the morning.

“I can’t believe some woman isn’t banging on my door for stealing her boyfriend all day,” you said jokingly. You’d found some Paracetamol and after you both took a few with a glass of water, you and Aki were strewn about your living room floor.

“A girlfriend? Me? That’s funny,” he offered dryly.

“Yes, you. Have you seen yourself?”

“I don’t think my looks are anything special but that aside, my life isn’t really amenable to relationships.”

“I suppose you’re right, but that’s still sad. You deserve to be happy just like anyone else,” you replied after a while. “I mean any one of us could die in a non-devil related manner at any time. So if you meet someone who makes you happy, why not enjoy the time you do have with them?”

“I guess. But what about you, why no boyfriend?”

“Aki, the only reactions I get from men are disgust or being ignored. But after dealing with some of these shitheads, being ignored isn’t so bad. So technically I’m a citizen here although when they see me, they automatically assume American until I tell them off in Japanese. I can’t even make this up, but on more than one occasion I was asked ‘how much’, meaning they thought I was a sex worker. And one asshole didn’t even offer the courtesy of paying, he just outright asked if we could fuck because he heard black girls ‘feel different’, whatever the fuck that means.”

Aki’s face pulls into a grimace as you talk. “That’s disgusting.”

“Tell me about it. Hey, I need a snack. Want some potato chips?”

“Yeah, okay.”

After the chips you decided you needed something sweet, and you found some chocolate mochi. Then you wanted something salty again as well as more water. Eventually you both became sleepy and you got the sofa pillows and tossed one to Aki.

“If I take a nap here, you won’t cut my hair right?” Aki asks you through a yawn.

“Um, no? Why would I do that? Did someone do that to you?”

“Yeah, but she was also drunk. Although she was prone to doing questionable things whenever she got drunk.”

“Well, I’m mostly sober right now but even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t cut your hair. Doing that to someone where I’m from would land you getting your ass kicked.”

“I hope you aren’t lying. I really don’t want to wake up with short hair.”

“I swear to you, Aki, I’d never do that. Touching someone’s hair without permission is a big no-no in my culture in the first place, but common decency should dictate that someone not do so in the first place. Now go to sleep.”

________________________________________________________________

That was how your weird friendship or whatever it was—you two hadn’t exactly discussed terms—began.

You and Aki either went out or he came to your apartment. You hadn’t been to his yet purely due to the fact that he wanted to keep you away from his two live-in miscreants who would see fit to bother you on whim.

You thought Aki was exaggerating about his roommates and their messy habits, but the first time he texted you a picture of the kitchen after Denji and Power decided they wanted to create a new dessert, you offered condolences.

“Do they know where you disappear to?” you ask one evening. Aki is smoking outside on your balcony, which he flat out refuses to do inside your home. You’re tucked beneath a thick blanket on the sofa while dressed in the fuzzy onesie pajamas with a hood and cat ears that he’d bought you. The onesie had been the result of a joke but when he actually found some and surprised you with them, you’d screamed with joy and immediately put it on.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, blowing a plume of grey smoke into the chilly autumn air. “It’s peaceful being here alone with you and I plan to keep it like that.”

“What are you going to do if they get nosy and try to sneak and follow you one day?” you ask with a grin.

Aki peers at you with one eye. “Those two are about as subtle as a sledgehammer dropping onto concrete. Sneaking is not their forte.”

You’re still laughing when Aki puts out his cigarettes and slides the balcony door shut.

“Ugh, you’re freezing,” you groan when he brings the chill from outside beneath your warm cocoon by flopping down next to you on the sofa and wriggling beneath your blanket.

“Then warm me up,” he replies, pressing his cold cheek against yours.

“No one would believe that you’re part cat,” you tell Aki while sliding your fingers into his soft hair. His slippery strands also feel cool but soon warms up as you drag your fingertips over his scalp.

“No one would believe you. Anyway you wouldn’t tell.”

“You’re right; your secrets are safe with me.”

His words are becoming somewhat slurred as he relaxes further into your shoulder. It isn’t long before he’s fast asleep while half-draped across you. At some point you both shift on the sofa and he’s half-lying atop you, his long legs between yours while he uses your sternum as a pillow. The movie keeps playing but eventually you also fall asleep, and when you open your eyes it’s dark and you feel like you’re being boiled alive in your pajamas.

“Aki, hey, wake up.”

You try to rouse him as gently as possible, knowing that it’ll take him forever to settle down if he jolts awake in panic. Thankfully it works, and he mumbles “What’s wrong?” against your chest.

“Let’s go to my room. This onesie is good for a while but not to sleep in. I’m burning up.”

Up until now, Aki hasn’t stayed the full night. You two would get sleepy in the living room and doze off on the floor or sofa, but he’d always go back to his place during the night. Part of you wonders if inviting him to your room seems too forward, but you’re too exhausted to give a shit about propriety.

Aki seems to not care and he settles down on your futon while you dig around for something else to sleep in. Part of you wonders if you should go to the bathroom to change but you’re so sleepy that you don’t care. Aki’s eyes remained on you the entire time but for some reason you don’t mind. The sweaty onesie gets peeled off and replaced with leggings and a t-shirt. Once your hair is wrapped, you turn off the light and lay down next to Aki. Everything is quiet until he turns to face you in the dark.

“Why did you put a scarf on to go to bed?”

“Hair like mine is fragile and the smallest thing can make my ends break. Also a lot of things can absorb the moisture, like my cotton pillowcase, so I use this scarf to prevent that.”

“Oh, that’s good. Your hair is nice so it makes sense.”

“You have nice hair too. It’s so soft.”

“It’s okay I guess but it gets in my eyes a lot.”

“So why don’t you cut it short?”

“Because the fox devil I have a contract with sometimes wants something other than skin, so I keep it long to give him the topknot.”

“Wow. Does it hurt when he takes your skin?”

“Yeah, a bit. That’s why I have scars on my forearms. He prefers that part for some reason.”

“Well if you ever need a trim, I’m pretty good with a pair of scissors. I had to because it’s hell trying to find someone in Japan who knows how to do black hair.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You scoot closer to Aki and cautiously work your hand next to his beneath the blankets. You test the boundaries by softly stroking the top of his hand, but he surprises you by completely taking yours into his.

His hand easily dwarfs yours and his fingers are longer and thicker than yours. They’re somewhat callused but not scratchy, and his skin is warm. Aki strokes the side of your hand with his thumb, and you’re pleasantly surprised at how nice it feels to hold hands with someone, and doubly so with a guy you like.

You’re sleepy but notice something soft touching your forehead, and it makes tilt your head back. You feel it again only this time it’s at your nose, and then the corner of your mouth. At first the sensation is so light that you wonder if you’re dreaming, but then you notice the distinct taste of cigarettes and the cake you and Aki shared after dinner.

His touch is slow, hesitant as though he’s unsure if he’s going to get pushed away. There’s no way in hell you’d stop him, and you eagerly welcome his kiss by opening your mouth while pulling yourself closer against him.

Aki gently cups your cheek as your lips move against one another’s. You don’t realize that you’ve began moaning when he gently sucks on your bottom lip, and you get worked up quickly when he rolls you on your back and settles himself between your thighs.

You know Aki is strong; he had to be for his job. Yet knowing was one thing and feeling was another. His abs are firm against your stomach and when you wrap your legs around his, his thighs feel equally muscled. The tip of his tongue licks into your mouth and your fingers involuntarily grip the firm sinews of his back. His hips roll against yours and send a strong jolt of arousal throughout your body, and you’re unaware of the way you’re moaning into Aki’s mouth. Eventually he pulls his lips away from yours yet keeps your body trapped against his, and you’re both panting slightly in each other’s face.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbles to your disappointment before flopping over onto his back.

“Done what?”

“Kiss you.”

You’re almost not sure how to respond to that. “Wow. Am I that bad of a kisser?”

“Hell no, it isn’t that. And that’s the problem.”

“Okay, Aki you aren’t making any sense.”

Aki sighs and covers his face with an arm. “You’re a good kisser, you have soft skin, and you smell good. And I know this is rude, but you have a really nice ass. And when you make sounds like that… I have an early start in the morning but now all I want to do is rip off your clothes and taste every bit of you.”

You’re not used to this side of Aki and his words are enough to make you clench.

“Whoops, sorry. Let’s just go to sleep now.”

He grumbles something about having a hard on but tugs you against him anyway, your back to his chest. Aki slings an arm around your waist and you can feel the unmistakable shape of an erection pressed against your ass, but you do your best to ignore it.

“Just for the record, I don’t mind taking you up on that offer when you have time,” you murmur right as you’re on the brink of drifting off. Aki groans in your ear and his arm tightens slightly.

“Damn you. I just got him down and now I’m going to be thinking about that for the next day or so.”

“Good. Use that as motivation to make it back safely.”

________________________________________________________________

Aki is gone the next morning, and the only reminder that you spend the night together is his scent clinging to your sheets. Part of you wants to cry when you wake up alone, but then you remember him kissing you goodbye shortly before sunrise, stating that he had to go to work.

Then you didn’t see him for a month.

You knew that missions could land him on trips that took several days or weeks, but you didn’t realize just how accustomed you’d grown to his presence until he was gone. The first two weeks you barely spoke, and you wondered if you’d scared him off by doing something stupid like confess your feelings in a sleepy daze. Yet when you two finally managed a brief video call, it was obvious that the only thing Aki wanted was a bath, a hot meal and to sleep for three days straight.

“I see you managed to elude your little siblings,” you told him with a grin.

“I swear those two idiots share a single brain cell,” he replied around the cigarette he’d just placed between his lips. “I can’t wait until we wrap up this thing.”

“If you want, let me know when you’re on the way back. I’ll cook whatever you want.”

“You don’t have to do that. Besides, I’d still have to cook for idiot one and idiot two else they’d blow up my damn kitchen.”

“Or I could make you all dinner and you could take it to them but not say where it came from.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Who said you had a choice?”

Aki sighs in defeat and you grin because you know you’ve won.

“Fine. But I’m sending you money for the groceries. Denji has a stomach like a trash compactor and you’d spend half your month’s wages on meat alone.”

“Aki, you don’t have to—”

The phone screen pauses for a moment and a few seconds later you get a notification of a money transfer.

“Aki! That’s enough yen to buy food for three months! You didn’t need to send that much.”

“You can use some of it for more macarons then. Denji and Power can have their own box and I’ll use them as a bribe to not destroy my place when I’m gone.”

The idea that he has to constantly bribe the two with treats is hilarious and you laugh until tears are in your eyes.

“I miss you. Shit, never thought I’d say that to anyone.”

“I miss you too,” you reply smoothly, although on the inside you feel giddy with glee. “Make it back home in one piece or I’ll bring you back to life and kick your ass.”

________________________________________________________________

Four days later, Aki is still in his uniform, sheathed katana strapped to his back when he knocks on your door. You send him off with dinner for Denji and Power, but he refuses to bring their macarons. Instead he takes a picture of the box with his phone.

“This is my insurance policy. They have to behave tonight and tomorrow and then I’ll give it to them.”

“I never thought dessert could be used as a collateral of sorts but hey, if it works it works.”

Aki leaves and returns ten minutes later. He’s just finished washing his hands and is about to settle down at your chabudai when his phone rings.

“What do you want? No, you can’t put plum jam on a beef bowl. What do you mean why not, because it’s beef! It’ll taste disgusting.” You hear the young man arguing loudly on the other end of the phone and Aki sighs in exasperation. “Fine, Denji, do what you want. I don’t give a shit. Now I’d like to eat so leave me alone.” He snaps his phone closed and places it next to him on the floor. “This fool tries to put jam on everything,” he tells you, shaking his head. “When he makes toast, he uses four different kinds as well as honey, butter and cinnamon.”

“That sounds like an expensive and overly sweet breakfast.”

“After the last instance of him eating all the bread and jam, I made him use his wages to buy his own. It worked, sort of. At least it made him conscious about wasting food. The first day he came to my place, he made such a huge mess. It took half an hour to scrub my sticky table and that was with his help.”

“Well worry not, there’s no jam anywhere tonight,” you reply with a laugh while setting down your meal.

Once dinner is finished and everything is cleaned up, you both take turns using the bath. Aki insists you go first and you’re waiting in your room for him. You asked if he wanted to watch a movie first but he declined, stating that he was tired.

Rain is pattering against the window by the time you and Aki climb into your futon. You’re both pressed together, chest to chest, and you lightly massage his lower back while his fingers trace along the length of your spine.

“I missed this,” you murmur when his hand moves to the back of your neck.

“Me too,” he replies quietly, bringing his hand over to cup your chin. Aki gently tilts your face toward his and presses his lips against yours. Your kisses start off slow, but soon he rolls over so you’re beneath him and fastens his lips at the side of your neck. No one’s ever kissed you there and you feel it all over so intensely that it makes you shiver. You don’t think it can get any hotter and then he sucks at that sensitive patch of skin and you practically yelp while shoving your fingers into his hair and pulling him into you.

“So much for being tired,” Aki murmurs while tracing the tip of his tongue over your pulse. “Can I take off your shirt?”

By now you’re writhing beneath Aki and willing to do just about anything he asks. So you tell him yes and he tugs you to sit up and pulls your shirt over your head. It’s placed somewhere at the side of your futon and Aki nudges you to lie down again. He’s staring at you so intently that it almost makes you want to cross your arms over your chest. You’re sure that his breathing has sped up, and then you hear the evidence when his fingers linger along your waistband and the question is clear in his blue eyes.

You nod and lift your hips, and then Aki’s hands are tugging your leggings and underwear down in one go. You wonder what he’s going to do next as a mixture of nervousness and arousal begins swirling around in your belly.

“You really are pretty everywhere,” Aki murmurs, leaving his hands atop both your knees.

“Thank you.”

Aki remains fully dressed as he leans over you again, and his lips meet yours while his right hand moves to cup your breast. As he moves to your neck again, his slightly callused thumb circles around your erect nipple and the combined sensations have you yearning for more.

“That feels so damn good,” you moan, arching up into his hand.

“You feel so damn good. Your skin is like silk.”

To prove his point, Aki begins smoothing his palm across your sternum, between your breasts and down to the curve of your hip. He moves until he has a handful of your plump ass while covering your entire nipple with his mouth, and he flicks the stiff nub with his tongue before giving it a soft suck. He does that for several minutes before using both hands to cup your tits, and soon your nipples are hard as pebbles and covered with spit. Between your legs is clenching on its own, and you want to ask him to touch you there but feel self-conscious about being so forthright.

“You can tell me what you like, you know. I won’t be offended,” he comments while shifting down to suck a wet patch on your hip.

“I like everything you’ve done so far,” you reply, hoping like hell that Aki doesn’t start asking for specifics. Otherwise the evening was about to turn really awkward.

“I figured that, but I still want to know what you like.”

“Well, I don’t really know…”

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Aki! I can’t talk about that.”

“My face is very close to your bare pussy, and you’re too embarrassed to tell me about how you masturbate?” Aki sounds uncharacteristically amused and despite feeling mortified, you’re also somewhat put at ease. Horny also, because while Aki was sometimes crude when he spoke you’d never heard him say something like that before, and it sent a jolt of arousal right to your core.

“I think about how it would feel to be kissed here,” you finally tell him, sliding a hand down your belly and pausing above your mound.

“Does that mean you’ll let me kiss you here?”

“…yeah, okay,” you replied, hoping he didn’t hear the tinge of desperation hiding behind your words.

“All right. Let me get a towel.”

“What’s the towel for?” you ask, siting up to watch Aki walk out your room and to the cabinet that held your clean linens. When he returns, he kneels between your thighs and gestures for you to lift your hips.

“Because sleeping on a wet futon isn’t comfortable,” he explains, shoving the double stack beneath your butt. You feel sort of silly but go with the flow anyway.

Nervous anticipation has your thighs tense, yet Aki kneads and kisses the soft inner skin until you relax around him. Your pubic mound is caressed with his thumb, and eventually he moves down to your throbbing clit.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet,” he murmurs as his finger dips lower to meet an abundance of slippery fluid that’s built up between your folds. He drags his now soaked finger back up to your clit and you let out a squeal as your hips jerk up to meet his touch.

Part of you wants to die from mortification, but the other part is screaming for Aki to keep going. You’re panting and squirming with need as his two fingers nestle between your lips, not touching your clit yet indirectly stimulating it at the same time. It’s too much yet not enough, and you aren’t shy about your frustration.

“Aki, you’re mean. Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not trying to be mean; I just prefer to take my time right now.”

You can’t argue with that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re so aroused it’s starting to hurt. Still, it doesn’t matter how much you whine or thrash around, Aki is intent on going at his pace and touching where he wants.

You don’t realize that you’ve started holding your breath, anticipating Aki doing what he asked. Then you feel it—Aki sliding to lay on his stomach between your thighs followed by a warm gust of air against your sopping cleft, then the flat side of his hot, slippery tongue gliding over your stiff clit. Almost immediately you suck in air, and your hole squeezes shut so hard that he feels it.

“You’re definitely soft here,” Aki murmurs into your flesh, gently prodding your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

It’s hard to know what to do with your hands or legs, and you hope that your little moans and mewls aren’t turning him off. Although something tells you it’s doing the opposite, because Aki is literally tasting every part of you. You’re in disbelief at how sinfully good it all feels, and you throw all propriety to the wind when Aki pushes your tense thighs up and out and truly descends upon you. His mouth is hot and wet, and it’s engulfing what feels like your entire cleft. It’s interspersed with laps at your clit, with Aki softly sucking it in between his lips while using a fingertip to trace along the outskirts of your quivering hole.

“Is it okay if I put it in?” he asks and you almost scream yes while reaching down to use his soft hair as reins.

You don’t even finger yourself, and the size disparity between your hand and Aki’s was massive. His finger feels too thick for comfort, just as you expected, but you relax when you realize that he’s only slipping it in halfway to massage some spot on your upper walls that makes you hurriedly grab a pillow and scream into it. By now your hips are writhing and you’re shamelessly grabbing Aki’s head and fucking his face. Your walls are squeezing rhythmically around the gently moving finger, and the only thing you can focus on how badly you need to come.

Aki’s hand is completely soaked with your juices, and his lips, cheeks and chin are shiny from you humping his face. Your walls are getting tighter and tighter around his finger and he can tell that you’re close. Your writhing form and thighs that keep squeezing his shoulders are no match for his strength, and your breathing is all over the place. Suddenly everything reaches a peak so high that you briefly wonder if you’re going to pass out, and your quivering body goes uncontrollably rigid from head to toe.

“Oh shit! Aki, I’m gonna—”

An intense buzzing is in your ears and your words are cut off when that orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your vision blackens out and you’re unaware of the pain or the way your teeth are in danger of breaking the skin of your bottom lip. You can’t breathe or think, and the only thing you register is how overwhelmingly good you feel. You remain in a stupor when your body finally goes limp. It’s ages before you come down and for a moment you wonder if you’d died, but soon you realize that Aki is now at your side and has a mouthful of your nipple while his hand is still between your clamped, shaking thighs.

“Good girl. You okay?” he asks after kissing you.

You slowly nod and stare up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. The urge to go to sleep is growing heavier by the minute, but then Aki shifts to lay alongside you and he slips his free arm beneath your head. You close your eyes and nuzzle your face against the side of his neck. His skin is warm and holds remnants of cigarettes and soap. It’s a mixture of forbidden but safe, and you wish you could bottle it up.

“You’re still squeezing my finger,” he tells you, slightly wriggling the digit that’s still buried halfway in you. “Think you can come again?”

You murmur something about not knowing, then Aki does something with his hand that makes your eyes fly open.

Being post-orgasm sensitive means that every sensation is heightened, and that little tap against your swollen walls is enough to make you go rigid with pleasure. Aki enjoys seeing you lose control and he curves his finger into a sharper angle and thrusts it up into you in a way that has you melting in his arms. He pauses to ease in a second fingertip and it burns somewhat for a moment but you forget about it when Aki strokes that tender spot again.

Your entire body is hot and covered in sweat, and you’re back to squirming against Aki. He sets up a pace that quickly has your brain fading out of focus, and the only thing you can do is cling to Aki and cry as he fingerfucks you till the point of being incoherent. You end up holding one thigh back, desperate to give the man all the access he needed to your most intimate parts, and you’re rewarded with his palm pressing into your puffy clit. The room is filled with the loud squelching sound of your pussy being worked over by Aki’s long, thick fingers.

The next orgasm is different than the first; it’s quicker and deeper, and it leaves your face soaked with tears and the towel beneath you drenched with release. You lose count of how many times he makes you topple over the edge, and you’re completely unaware that the last climax causes you to literally pass out in his arms.

You come to slightly when Aki is pulling his finger from the clasp of your trembling body. You vaguely notice his erection pressing against your thigh and you want to ask if you can touch him. The only thing you know is you’re too tired to move even an eyelash, and you don’t realize that you’ve called Aki’s name until you feel him keeping you against his chest while covering you both with the sheets.

“It’s okay. Go to sleep.”

You acknowledge his words by giving his side a light squeeze, and a second later everything goes black.

#aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki smut #aki hayakawa smut #aki x black reader #aki hayakawa x black reader #csm smut #chainsaw man smut #csm aki #kishibe csm x reader #chainsaw man #aki x y/n #aki x you

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deltas-writing-corner · 2 years

Note

Ok so something like this happened to me recently 😭. Can you do a scenario where y/n has a professor that doesn’t like her, cause she’s a little behind on her subject (With taking care of Tsumiki and newborn Gumi) he’s super passive aggressive and it hurts her feelings. Without her knowing Toji does a drive by and scares the living shit out of him.

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Toji x F!reader

Word count: 2k~

AN: I’m so sorry I’m answering this months after you sent the request ;;; I hope you’re doing well with your academics anon <3 Remember folks C’s get degrees

Warnings: mentions of childbirth/postpartum depression | misogyny (towards reader) | mentions of murder | intimidation

This can’t be happening to you. You swear on your life that your paper was in your binder like it always is. It wouldn’t be as much of an issue as you’re making it out to be if that one flimsy piece of paper wasn’t worth a large chunk of your grade. Does it help that your professor is such an uptight asshole when it comes to punctuality?

No, it doesn’t.

“We can’t keep doing this, (Y/N),” your professor grumbles with unwanted disappointment. “I’ve made it clear in the syllabus that I make no exceptions for late work unless the circumstances are dire.”

“Please,” you beg. Your body is still recovering from your agonizing labor two months prior. Nevertheless, you bow your head down to a respectable angle. It feels strange to do so now that you no longer have a bulging belly. Yet despite how nice it is to have your body to yourself again, it didn’t stop the birthing blues from taking hold of you. “My apartment isn’t far. I can head over there and bring back my assignment before your office hours end.”

“Very well,” he relents. “But this truly is the only exception I’m going to make, understand?”

“Yes!” you elate. “Thank you so much!”

It’s only when the professor leaves the lecture hall that you put away your materials and bolt out the doors yourself. Normally, you like to grab a meal and study in the library before heading back to your shared apartment with Toji, but finding and turning in that stupid piece of paper is far more important.

“I’m on my way back home.”

“I figured you would,” Toji says on the other line. “You left your paper on the kitchen counter.”

“What?!” you gasp. “Why didn’t you text me earlier?”

“Because I have a newborn son who needs to be taken care of?” He laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Also, Tsumiki came down with a fever, so I’m dealing with two dependent little shitheads.”

“Papa, that’s a bad word,” Tsumiki’s nasally voice scolds him in the background. “No bad words.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Put her on the phone,” you demand. He happily obliges, if only to spare him from your hectic attitude for a moment.

After a worrisome coughing fit, Tsumiki says, “I’m sick.”

“I’ll make you some soup when I get home, okay?”

“Okay,” she says with tired enthusiasm. “Can baby ‘Gumi sleep with ‘Miki?”

“Of course, but only when ‘Miki gets better, otherwise she’ll get baby ‘Gumi sick,” you tell her. “Put your father back on the phone.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end. “Can you pick up some medicine on the way back?”

You look down at your watch. There should be enough time for a quick detour. “I’m on it.”

With a tight minute to spare, you make it just in time to hand in your assignment to your professor, who has begun to quietly pack up his belongings before your arrival.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

“I’m so sorry,” you profusely apologize. “My daughter got sick, and nearly every corner store I went into was out of the medicine she needed. Traffic was also a nightmare.”

“The roads tend to get busy at this hour,” he idles. Your professor skims the front page of your assignment before carefully tucking it away in his briefcase. “I’ll have grades out by the end of the week.”

You smile, relieved that he took it. “Thank you again for granting me this exception. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Fushiguro,” he starts. “I hope you do not take this the wrong way, but how important is your education to you?”

A bit caught off guard by his sudden line of question, you carefully answer back with, “It means everything to me.”

“Good,” he nods, but it doesn’t bring you any reassurance. “I suggest you sort out your priorities and stop making light of your academics.” He straightens up the cufflinks of his dress shirt. “I understand that it’s not easy, but being a parent is no excuse to fall behind.”

Your eyes flutter with utter confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way.” He has the audacity to put his hands up in a defensive manner. “Plenty of women find themselves with children at inconvenient times-”

“My children are not inconveniences,” you cut in. You have half a mind to rip off those brooches of his and stick them in his eyeballs.

“All I’m saying is that you need to think things more carefully in the future. You may be excelling fine in your classes now, but if you continue to make careless decisions, you’ll wind up another drop out.” He adjusts those god damn cufflinks again. “I’ve seen many women in your situation. It never ends well for them. Try not to become just another statistic.”

“I see,” is all you can think of saying. “I will be sure to keep your words in mind.”

You bow your head once more, mostly out of habit, bidding him a final farewell and a word of caution about the sudden downpour that happened earlier before exiting his office and making your way back to the bus stop. You’re utterly silent the entire way back home. You’re not even inclined to listen to music while counting the raindrops sliding down the glass windows.

Your arrival back to your home is met with a deafening silence. The TV isn’t on to fill the house with the idle noise of some cheesy late-night drama that Toji swears he isn’t into (he is) and hates with a burning passion (he loves it). Normally, Tsumiki likes to run towards you at full force and either tell you about her day or show you a new drawing she made, looking at you eagerly for feedback and watching you pin it to the fridge with all her other works of art with stars in her eyes.

Her absence easily has you on the verge of tears. Really, after all those backhanded, unnecessary comments from your professor, all you want is to hold Tsumiki in your arms and listen to her tell you about her day. And then there’s your sweet little Megumi. He’s only a few months old, but boy does he love to cuddle and cling to you in those few hours he’s awake. His gummy smile completely expunges all those worries and blues eating at you throughout the day. Megumi and Tsumiki are your little pieces of heaven on earth, not an inconvenience.

Toji comes out to the living room and looks towards your strewed figure, laying face first on the couch. “Long day?”

You turn and look at him. “I hate that guy,” you grumble.

“Oh. I know,” he knowingly says. “You complain about him all the time.”

“Well, I hate him even more now.”

“What happened? Did he get on your ass again?”

You recount every word spoken to you by your professor to Toji with perfection. How could you not? They kept replaying in your head over and over the entire trip back. With each word, the creases between his eyes grew harsher and harsher. If looks could kill, you would have been utterly slaughtered beyond recognition by now. Though, his shared frustration with you doesn’t make you feel better as you had hoped.

“The hell? All that shit ‘cause you forgot some homework?”

“He’s right,” you agree, begrudgingly. “I haven’t got my priorities straight, and it’s making me lag behind.”

“Yeah, well raising kids isn’t a fucking walk in the park.”

“Toji.” You look up at him with wobbling eyes. “Am I doing enough?”

He’s taken aback by your sudden dejection. Your emotions have been like a light switch with how easily they flip. Just the other day, a vaguely melancholic commercial had you in tears. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t exhausting having to deal with your fluctuating attitude after having Megumi, yet he can’t find it within himself to let you deal with it all on your own. He hates how much seeing you cry has him on edge.

“It’s gonna be alright.” He crouches down next to you and carefully pats your head. Even touch is enough to set you off. “You’re doing more than enough. Just focus on your studies and leave the rest to me.”

He takes it as a good sign when you reach behind and gently grabs his hand, holding onto him like he’s your last saving grace (he is). After quietly sulking to yourself for a couple more minutes you push yourself up and make your way to Tsumiki’s room for some much needed cuddles. Toji tries to warn you against it given how bad her fever is, but his words go in one ear and out the other.

Unsurprisingly, you end up catching a fever too. Now Toji is stuck taking care of little shitheads

What room was it again? 211? 212? No, that doesn’t sound right. It was room 2….something.

“His office is in room 214,” your tired voice says over the phone. “It’s in building B.”

Shit, he’s in building C.

After consulting a campus directory (your instructions made no sense to him), he manages to find the right building and the right room in no time. Your professor sits comfortably at his desk, marking off on assignments with a pen. Toji’s knocking is met with a curt “come in” and he shuts the door behind him when prompted.

“You don’t look familiar,” your professor notices. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to drop off some papers for my wife.” Toji says “She’s in one of your classes.”

“Ah,” the old man nods his head with understanding. He sets his pen down and takes the paper away from Toji. “May I get your name?”

“Fushiguro. Fushiguro Toji.”

That makes the professor jump. “You’re her husband?”

“I am.”

The man hums with intrigue. He gives Toji a rather judgemental once-over. “How is she?”

“Fine,” Toji answers. “Sick, but fine.”

“That’s unfortunate,” your professor glooms. “Hopefully she’ll get better soon. Midterms are in a few weeks.”

Oh, he knows that well enough. You wouldn’t shut up about them since the semester started. It hasn't been easy juggling your responsibilities as a parent and a student. He often blames himself for adding more onto your plate with your unplanned pregnancy with Megumi. That’s why he’s here dropping off these damn papers to this piece of shit professor of yours. If the guy wants to talk shit, then let it be directed at him instead of you. Toji is familiar with people like your professor. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t want to acknowledge all the hard work and lengths you put into your education and your family’s future. All this wrinkly asshole wants to do is cherry-pick all your faults and make you feel bad they even exist.

Fuck that. That doesn’t fly with Toji. No one gets to put you down like that without having to deal with your faithful husband. He’s not stupid enough to seriously hurt the guy. Offing him when there isn’t a price tag on his head wouldn’t help either. Scaring the guy will have to do…for now. “Hey,” Toji roughly demands your professor's attention. “What’s your name?”

“Mr. Takahashi.”

“You got any kids?”

Before the man could protest Toji’s line of invasive questioning, he’s thrown off guard by the deadly glare being aimed at him. If there’s one thing Toji knows how to do, it’s how to get grown men to cower like children under his gaze.

“How many?” he asks again.

“T-Three,” professor Takahashi mutters. “Two boys and a girl.”

Toji notices the unsteady bobbing of his adam’s apple. “How ‘bout a wife?”

“Yes,” he answers, nodding his head to further convince the man starring daggers at him. “We’re in the middle of getting a divorce.”

“Shame,” Toji offers half-hearted condolences. “Hope that sorts itself out.” With his chin, he gestures towards the reasonably sized stack of ungraded paper the professor was going through before his arrival. “Wouldn’t want you to fall behind on all that grading.”

He profusely shakes his head. “No, of c-course not. I’ll have everything sorted before the weekend.”

Toji nods his head, satisfied by the results of his little shake down. “Good.”

He turns around and makes his way out of the office. Before he shuts the door behind him, he gives one final look at the professor. He’s back to scribbling down brief corrections on his assignments, but with an increased speed and unsteady hands.

Serves him right.

“Papa, I’m hungry!” Tsumiki shouts into the phone. She’s loud enough to cause the audio to peak uncomfortably into his ear.

He can hear you turn the phone back towards you. “Do you think you can grab something on your way back?”

“What does she want?”

You ask Tsumiki what she’s in the mood for. “Soup!” she demands and then lets out a big sneeze.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re the best,” you praise. “Love you”

He smiles into the phone. “Love you too.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro #jjk fanfic #jjk x y/n #fem reader #jjk imagines

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

Note

both is good!

both is great 👍

Alright let's get into it! For anyone wondering what this ask is about, see this post for context! And I'm going to be citing a lot of fanart for this post so make sure to go reblog the fanarts I link please. The artists deserve it, and I'll be tagging them all at the bottom!

━MARKIPLIER ☆

We all know and love Mark. Honestly not much to say here! The classic lucky flannel, FNAF playing, sex toy cooking king!! Goofy the majority of the time but knows when to get serious with people and set boundaries (which is pogchamp to the max)

━DARKIPLIER ☆

Dark is a silent and cunning man. He speaks his thoughts in riddles more often than not, so good luck trying to decipher them.

When around people he likes however (especially in more ways than one) he's more open and suave. Charming dare I say.

But don't forget he could snap your neck with a flick of his finger honey

━ANTISEPTICEYE ☆

Around a s/o or not he will still be the same hyperactive murderous Anti we've all come to know and love. (Well, at least know...)

Will pull a knife on anyone and everyone if felt the need too. And to repeat myself from a couple posts ago, I feel like he would cackle more than laugh. It just feels in character to me for some reason.

━WILFORD ☆

This man. This man <3

Call me biased but I love him. Wilford has just the right amount of murderous himbo energy as all people should.

Much like Dark and Anti however, I beg of you not to be fooled by his charms. Someone who can dismiss worm holes and create them like it's nothing should not just be written off as a pretty face.

━YANCY ☆

Golden retriever energy. He'd probably cross his arms and deny it if I said that, but he's not here is he :)

Point being, Yancy is like a big teddy bear. A teddy beat with a gun stuffed inside of it, but a teddy bear nonetheless. Kind boy. I would headcanons he's a mama's boy too, if it weren't for the, uhm, unfortunate passing away of his mom under strange circumstances eheh...

━ENGINEER ☆

Engineer Mark is the light of my life. The reason I get up in the morning. The reason I-

Well you get it. Man's is a bag of sunshine topped with sprinkles on top and more. Not only does he look adorable trying to eat his cookie, but he also is one of the most dedicated and caring people you'll meet

━ACTOR ☆

Rat bastard (/reluctantly affectionate)

I would give Actor a hug if I ever met him in real life and then bitch slap him so hard when he woke up his "luxury" clothes would be out of style

He's rude, he's mean, he's snooty, but Actor can be nice sometimes. Belive it or not heh

━ILLINOIS ☆

Now THIS is a mama's boy. Illinois gives off the vibes of someone who knows how to make really good campfire food, especially stew and/or soup.

Always there for a back rub or a quick game of rock paper scissors while hiking through mountains to get to an ancient temple. Always be prepared is the motto he lives by too heh

[Artists featured in this post. Please go check them out and reblog all their work! And if any of you want me to take down your art used in this post let me know immediately]

@bhavanti (Mark) || @the-bois-jim-and-jim (Dark) || @outoftheendgamenow (Wilford) || @antis-gauge (Anti) || @qlitchd (Yancy) || @artist-in-space (Engineer Mark) || @cldiiart (Actor) || @m-0-thmann (Illinois)

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souglias · 2 years

Text

The Weightless Word That Anchors You To His Side [Sougo] [Kamui]

c/w: blood, injury, violence, tons of swearing, slight spoilers for Mitsuba arc

Cross-posted on ao3

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOUGO!! This is my offering to you, mister super sadist. Meanwhile, @goldenlaquer HI uh it's me the anon who asked if I could write the Kamui idea. The Kamui fic is my offering to u, thank u for feeding me so much tasty gintama content. I will not shut up about 'Who Runs The World? Sadists' and 'All The World's A Stage'. I hope this is good enough for u (and if it is can we be friends :"> okay but on a serious note, no pressure!!) Lastly, shoutout to @divinavulpes and @pen-observing for listening to me scream about how much I suffered while writing these and helping me for the Kamui fic <3

Thank u for all the likes and reblogs on my first gintama fic <3

[Sougo]

How fleeting anything beautiful is.

The maple leaves that cling onto their branches as winter starts to exhale its frost into the landscape. They all fall onto the ground at the end of autumn, no matter how much they try. When humans step on them, cracks run across their coloured bodies and are long forgotten.

His sister who was at the peak of health, yet it declined abruptly months after he left for Edo. She’s undergone countless treatments and swallowed thousands of pills. But she still left even before she had a single grey streak in her pale brown hair.

Sougo doesn’t see anything as beautiful anymore. A pair of dirt-tinted glasses he wears to view the world. Everything is shit and ugly, especially you. He makes sure he smears more mud on his dirt-tinted glasses when he looks at you.

You're just supposed to be a housekeeper who happened to take up the job opening at the Shinsengumi for the summer holiday. (Matsudaira finally decided someone needed to clean after a whole army of his men, especially with all the tamakin* lurking around.)

It's all good until Sougo bumps into you with a tray of cold soba. The soba spills all over your apron, bits of the soup staining your shirt.

With a deadpan voice, he comments, “You should keep your eyes on the path in front, mx housekeeper. Now you have to pay for another bowl of soba for me.”

You admit you weren’t paying too much attention to your surroundings and only focusing on cleaning. But the monotone of his voice ticks you off.

Pursing your lips, you attempt to be careful not to let anything too sharp out of your mouth. “I’m so sorry, I was just too focused on trying to make this place clean.”

He doesn’t break eye contact with you for a few seconds and you think he’s already going to send in a request to fire you. Instead, he holds out an open palm. You raise an eyebrow at him and it prompts him to brush his thumb against his fingertips as he mouths “money”. Scoffing under your breath, you shove your hand into your pocket and give him whatever change you have. You don’t check if it’s enough and storm off.

(It wasn't.)

Aside from cleaning, you help some of the men tidy their rooms if they request it. Your job scope does not include any of the men’s rooms because Kondo said that the men should all be responsible for their own spaces. But you don’t mind the extra work since you often finish the required tasks early.

It is all good until Sougo asks you to clean his room with a bunch of insults.

“Are you a pushover? You’re not paid to clean my room but you do it when I ask you anyway?”

You narrow your eyes at him before you turn back to wipe the shelf with a cloth. “I’m trying to be generous to a slob who has a dusty space for a room.”

He clenches his jaw because you’re right with all the layers of dust on the sliding doors and shelves.

“Generosity? Don’t kid with me, I know there won’t be any more of such shit as more time passes. You’ll laze around or leave for home early before you’re dismissed eventually.”

How wrong you prove him to be.

You help him to replace the yellowed and slightly tattered paper over his sliding door. You help Hijikata sweep up the ashes lying around in his room. You stash some different flavoured bread in Yamazaki’s cupboard so he doesn’t have to snack on anpan even on his off days. All with their permission, of course.

When they thank you in their ways, you give Sougo a look that says “how’s that, you sadistic bitch?”

Sougo snickers at you when Hijikata passes you a bowl of ramen with a mountain of mayo as thanks, filled with amusement. You force the whole bowl of ramen down your throat because you’re worried the demon vice-chief of the Shinsengumi was going to punish you for rejecting his gift.

He laughs at your face that’s gradually turning green and pokes at your queasy stomach.

(Not long later, you suppose you get the last laugh. You throw up all over him and you smirk at him while you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, albeit weakly.)

As time passes, the amount of tasks for you reduces and you’re finding it hard not to laze around. Whenever you see Sougo within your view, you wipe over the top of an already clean table a second time. The second time, you do it a little more slowly too.

When you lie in their backyard to admire the azure blue sky, Sougo’s voice bounces around the walls of your mind. Lazing around, are you?

It makes you immediately jump up to find something to do. You spit a 'tch' out of your mouth, frustrated at how you're letting a mere captain influence your actions.

Eventually, you find yourself peeking through the windows of their dojo and watching them train. You pick up a branch and try to imitate whatever you see being taught. Engrossed in your new “skill”, you forget to be on the lookout for the super sadist. The one time you forget to check if you’re within his line of sight, Sougo catches you.

“Slacking off, are you? Or are you practising some ‘special’ sword techniques to swat a fly that intrudes into our compound?”

You drop the branch, fumbling for an excuse.

“I’m already done with my work today. Besides, I could use some self-defence skills with a stick.”

He mocks you, “Please, [name]. What kind of world do you think we live in? Look, your footwork is already all wrong. You can’t just stand with your feet shoulder apart, you need to have your dominant foot forward too.”

The two of you have an impromptu session behind the dojo, him correcting your posture first. You can tell midway he decides to go spartan on you because you think he’s already asked you to swing this stupid branch 50 times. After possibly the 100th time, you start swinging the branch at him.

As he dodges your strikes, he comments, “You’re already as good as me when I was 7.”

“Is that a compliment?”

He just scoffs and tells you to think what you like to think. Right after that, he whacks your side with the wooden sword he pulls from his hip and you tumble to the ground.

(He grins as he watches you clutch your side, face contorted with pain. You swear you will defeat him one day. Perhaps you will since you start showing up to the dojo to train and you’re improving fast.)

Towards the end of summer, you start helping out in the kitchen too. On a particular day, you head out to the market to help the canteen chefs replenish their stocks. Hijikata asks you to help him get a bottle of mayonnaise from the supermarket.

A bunch of ruffians bump into you as you’re carrying bags of food back. You hear the eggs crack in one of the bags that dropped. They stare daggers at you, but you glare back at them. The guy with a red afro, who you suppose is the leader, stomps up to you. His face hovering right in front of yours.

“Hey, apologise.”

“Why? You should apologise.”

He barks out a laugh, “What a feisty kid! You wanna die or something?”

You’re about to open your mouth when a hand grabs the red afro man’s face. Whoever's behind you shoves the man away from you, causing the ruffian to pinch his nose in agony. A monotonous voice replies, “Sorry, this housekeeper is a fucking cockroach, hanging around dirty corners. I don’t think it’s a good idea to put your face so close to them.”

Sougo pulls you backwards, your back colliding with his chest. He raises his unsheathed sword and points the metal tip between the afro man’s eyes. His voice comes out low, a snarl of a vicious dog.

“Leave.”

They turn tail and run. You hop out of his grasp, fanning your burning face.

You mutter thanks as Sougo picks up the bags you’ve dropped. Sougo tilts his body towards you, his free hand cupped around his ear. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you?”

It’s your turn to scoff and you walk forward without replying to him. On the way back, the back of your hand bumps into his way too many times.

(Sougo doesn’t see non-samurai talk back often. Maybe you’re secretly one.)

With you, Sougo forgets for a while he’s not allowed to see anything as beautiful. That’s his fatal mistake.

He only remembers he shouldn't when he sees your body leaning limply on the wall behind you, head hanging forward. It only slaps him in the face when he sees streaks of red all over your body as if the perpetrator took your body for a canvas and your blood for paint. A sickening halo of crimson starts to pool on the ground beneath you. He notices you holding a metal rod with a splotch of blood on its edge.

Sougo hears swords being unsheathed behind him. He immediately identifies them as remnants of a malicious yakuza that the Shinsengumi attempted to wipe out months ago. They start making threats that Sougo knows are empty. He makes easy work of them, unaware of the beast that his enemies see in his eyes. As he cuts them down, he notices that one of the opponents already has a bleeding wound on his head.

An amused laugh spills out of his lips.

The moment the last opponent falls to their knees, he rushes to your side. Your pulse is weak and your breathing is shallow. His breathing starts becoming erratic. He pulls out his phone. It's out of battery.

He peels off his jacket and drapes it around you. Following that, he lifts you up his back. He ignores the cuts and gashes that cry out with agony when he stands up. He piggy-backs you out of the abandoned warehouse and towards the nearest hospital.

Fuck this shit, he should have made sure his metaphorical shit-filled glasses rested securely on the bridge of his nose. Hell, he should have gotten goggles instead.

Anything mesmerising isn’t for him to keep.

His white shirt feels paper-thin today. He feels the fabric with your blood plaster onto his back.

He curses under his breath, “For fucks sake, [name]. You’re supposed to be a cockroach. If a meteorite didn’t wipe you out, this wouldn’t kill you.”

Sougo thinks he heard a weak hum in your chest.

“Stay with me, idiot. This is an order from the Captain of the 1st Division of the Shinsengumi.”

(You’re not even one of his men.)

Even with your face right beside his ear, he strains to hear your inhales and exhales. It’s hard to hear with his feet that drag themselves across the concrete.

“Is it that hard for you to stay? Did you have a death wish you told no one about?”

Unconsciously, he grits his teeth. Why did his phone have to run out of battery right at this crucial time? He should have charged it this morning. It’s your fault. It’s always because you charge it for him but you weren’t there to charge it this morning.

He feels like he’s clutching his sister’s hand beside her death bed again.

“Stay.”

It comes out like a whimper of an abandoned puppy. He hates how pathetic he sounds, but it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no one left to listen to him. You’re slowly moving further from his grasp.

“I will.”

Your words almost get carried away by the wind. There’s a sudden push in the muscles of his legs and every part of him goes into overdrive.

He makes it to the hospital in time. You almost don’t make it, but you make it. By your bedside, his hands wish to hold yours. But there’s no urgency, no desperation for him to clutch onto your hand like he’s trying to keep your life in his grasp.

After that, he makes sure he puts on a pair of dirt-smeared glasses.

(Sometimes, when he’s feeling less of a coward, he’ll look at you through the gaps between the smears. Sometimes, he’ll remember you’re a cockroach and that you’ll show up yourself on the surface of his glasses.)

[Kamui]

Ever since you were kids, you have done everything for Kamui. Silently. So when he asked you to join the Harusame with him, you followed him without asking for anything in return.

There were many instances where you regretted joining the Harusame. But you’re thankful that you’re no longer looking out for Kamui alone. Housen mentored Kamui and you’re glad there’s someone much stronger than you he could approach. While you belong to the Yato clan too, you think (and deep down you know) that you’re no longer able to keep up with his strength. You stop sparring with him because a part of you screams that he’s going to toss you out of his squad for potentially losing to him. Due to there being other matters concerning Kamui that you have to attend to, you’re grateful that Abuto is there to clean up Kamui’s mess when you can’t.

You’re aware he has no interest in romance and he’s unlikely to ever look at you the same way you look at him. (And you look at him silently for it.) Even so, you think you can stay with him forever, status quo. It’s not as if you could find guys elsewhere because once you’re in the Harusame, there’s no way out. You can’t imagine being with all the other cluck-faced amantos in the Harusame either.

But it gives you some solace that he cares about you in some way. In the middle of wolfing down his meals, he’d stop abruptly and ask you if you’d like a bit of something he thought tasted good. He’d pull a piece of lint that’s clinging onto your hair. He even once brought back a squashed piece of manju (a poor bystander that suffered collateral damage from one of his fights) when you stayed behind to watch the ship during his visit to Yoshiwara.

He gave you the umbrella you use in fights now. He also gave you your first-ever umbrella.

You still keep it because he gave it to you. You still keep it because it was his first umbrella too. Now, it stands in the corner of your room, beside the much larger one you use now.

“Hey, why are you walking in the rain on your own?”

You sniffle, watching the vermillion-haired boy’s reflection from the puddles beneath you.

“I don’t have one. My parents left me and I have to keep my money for food.”

“Where did your parents go?”

You don’t answer him and you pick up your pace discreetly. He keeps up and continues to pester you, even making an off-handed comment on how rude you were to ignore him.

You keep your eyes fixed on the ground, unsure what the fuck is this kid’s problem. The adults barely even bat an eyelash at you when you needed them and this kid just tries to barge in to find out more about you.

Suddenly, the rain stops. No wait, it didn’t. You still see ripples on the puddles ahead of you and the sound of droplets hitting the ground. You look up to see Kamui stand close next to you, tilting the umbrella to favour your side.

“You can have mine then. But in return, you have to be my friend. Makes up for not answering my questions too.”

When you reach your door, he shoves the umbrella handle into your hand and sprints off into the downpour.

A few days later, he comes back to your place with a slight cough. He comes back again the next day. And the next…

The problem you have is that no one seems to be able to reign in his lust for battle. He doesn’t care for you enough to do that. He probably cares the same way a group member would care about another useful group member in the project.

(He still asks you why you keep that worn umbrella, especially when you’re no longer using it. You don’t tell him it’s the only gift from him that came from him when strength was not all that was in his head. It’s a gift from the Kamui who had space for both you and his ambitions in his heart.)

Abuto says that you’re their best bet in persuading him to learn how to pull the brakes, but you haven’t so far. It makes you want to launch yourself into space and run away from this godforsaken crime syndicate. When he returns to you with blood-soaked sleeves, you don’t know how much longer the dam of your tears will hold. You pray with your entire being, to whoever’s still listening to you, that they're all blood shed by the enemy before he undresses for you to treat him. You pray in silence.

Of course, some of it is blood shed by the enemy. But the bloom of red on one side of his shoulder is a gunshot with a bullet you have to pull out before it closes at godspeed. A crimson river flows down his forearm and you have to stitch his skin up.

Even after umpteen times, you still feel the heat in your cheeks when you examine his toned and refined body. But the cuts and splatters of dirty blood make your worry curl its witch-like fingers around your windpipe, making you forget about how he's shirtless.

Kamui says there’s no real need to patch him up. But even if he’s not hurting, you are. The Yato are meant to fight, but you wish for once, he’d stop throwing himself into battles as if nobody values his life.

You lock up all your lamenting and tuck it in the deepest corner of your mind. It’s not like he’ll value what you say to him. You continue to stick by his side as if there’s super glue between you two.

But even with time, super glue can be worn down. You feel something in your heart snap when he walks into your room with the head of a spear lodged in his back that he couldn’t pull out. That dumb smile still on his face. What the hell are his subordinates doing letting him walk around without removing it?

Ever since you were kids, you did everything for Kamui silently. You give him the last piece of manju you wanted for yourself without protest. You bandage up his cut-littered arms, holding back your tears when you think about the bullies so he wouldn’t hear your sobs. You spar with him after a long day, biting back whimpers when his wooden rod grazes against your skin.

But this time you tell him to fuck off. The smile on his face falls a little. In Kamui’s mind, you never swear. You make it a rule not to look at him until you’re out of his sight.

“You having a bad day?”

You ignore him, grabbing your shawl and draping it over your shoulders. He’s standing in the middle of the door, blocking your way. You shove him off with your shoulder and see him flinch at the corner of your eye. You dig your nails into your palm.

Kamui grabs your wrist with an iron grip.

“Where are you going?”

You try to pry your wrist out, but his grip tightens.

“I’m leaving the Harusame.”

There’s no delay in his question. “Why?”

“I’m done with you.”

Kamui clenches his jaw, trying to keep that grin plastered on his face. He tastes metal on his tongue. Your fingers find their way to your shirt and you crumple a portion in your fists. He chuckles with his mouth closed, the forced laugh thrumming about haphazardly in his chest. Instead of relieving the tension, he feels the echoes of his laugh suffocate him.

“Fight me. If you win, I’ll let you go.”

As you try to take a step forward, he jokes with a feigned spring in his voice, “It’s an order by the way. Can you believe I’m using my authority right now?”

You bite your lip to push down the lump in your throat, but the tears come flowing out anyway. He’s always talking about how your potential is wasted. You’re leaving and this is probably all he’s thinking about. Make full use of [name] before they go.

“Go ahead and kill me then. I’m done. I’m fucking done watching you waste yourself away on the battlefield. I’m done feeling like I’m the one who got stabbed when it’s you.”

You start to choke on your words and sob. In between sobs, you scream, “I’m sick of wondering when you’ll stop showing up to get yourself patched up.”

You heave and exhale, the frustration rendering you unable to form words for a while.

“I joined you because you asked, but you don’t even care about me because you can’t do the basic thing of taking care of yourself.”

(Oh, how he means the world to you, too. But you’re probably just a pawn in his whole scheme of getting strong. Silence still follows you here because you zip your mouth when the thought pops in your mind. Maybe silence is a curse because you wish you dared to say that.)

When you regain your composure, you say, “I’ll get executed by the Harusame for leaving anyway, so you can have the honour of killing me in a spar before they do.”

You think your bones are on the verge of cracking like your heart.

“You’re being fucking unfair, Kamui. Let go. I’ll fight you, that’s what you want, right?”

It’s one of the rare times Kamui stays silent. Should you be grateful you’ve witnessed him shut his mouth before your death or should you desire him to answer you? You throw your fist towards his face. He stops it with his palm, a loud boom reverberating.

“Stay.”

The word drops out of his mouth like a pin falling off a table. You almost miss it with the noise and the whirring of the engine that kept you up for many nights when you first joined. You almost miss it with how raspy his voice is. The word clinks against the ground and its echoes roar over the machinery in your ears. It holds your feet down like a boulder that you can’t kick off or lift. Unconsciously, his grip on your wrist loosens.

The other hand that blocked your fist holds onto your shoulder. His touch is still rough as if it only knows how to make someone keel over, but you can feel him hold his strength back.

You mutter, “How do you expect me to stay in this shithole when you don’t make it any better?”

You hear Kamui inhale as if he’s about to say something, but stops as he chokes on his words. He falls to the ground on his knees. You crouch down to his level and look him in the eye.

Whatever light that was left in his eyes is snuffed out. He’s dropped the pretentious smile he always wears and in its place, a bittersweet curl of his lips.

“You’re the only one left to protect.”

You don’t move for a moment, your mouth slightly parted.

The man in front of you is no longer the bloodthirsty captain of the 7th division. He’s the boy who sat by your side after yet another heavy downpour. The same boy staring into the distance (not even the horizon but instead into another rundown building) with dejected eyes, telling you he wishes he could have protected his sister from the bullies.

You slide your wrist out of his grip and he abruptly looks up, expecting you to walk away from him. Instead, you embrace him in a hug.

You whisper, “Will everything end when you reach the top of the world?”

Kamui’s arms circle your body tentatively. After much hesitation, his palm rests on your back while his arms go lax. He only nods, but it’s timid. You hover your fingers over his wounds on the back, over the wound with the spear.

“And when will that be?”

He doesn’t have an answer for you. He thinks of a couple of answers. When you guys rise to the top of the Harusame? When he defeats that silver-haired samurai down on Earth?

He doesn’t answer you.

Maybe you’re asking too much from him all at once. After all, you’ve never asked anything much from him before.

“Pick your fights, will you? The ones that are just slightly more challenging. This is the last time I’m pulling a spear out of your body.”

#okita sougo x reader #okita sougo imagines #kamui x reader #kamui imagines #okita sougo #kamui #gintama kamui #gintama x reader #gintama imagines #gintama writing #gintama #souglia.s #I cannot believe I wrote 2k for each of them #the word count was so unplanned #going to pass out for 12 hours now #and then try to do a single person party for sougo when I wake up

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