#i feel like a peace of glass waiting to be shattered

[addypillar]

i am so anxious right now, i mean i always am but right now its more then usual and i dont even know why, my whole existence is just a ball of anxiety. I think i’m just going to break if one more thing happens in my life. I got diagnosed with anxiety years ago and its getting worse lmao

#i feel like a peace of glass waiting to be shattered #why am i so anxious all the time? #i just feel so alone #everything is falling apart

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.

it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.

a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in. 

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly. 

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car. 

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.

(— and the world wakes up.)

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position. 

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself. 

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted. 

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.” 

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.” 

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it. 

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes. 

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about. 

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street — 

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit. 

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings. 

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week. 

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings. 

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —” 

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin. 

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red. 

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek. 

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes. 

”or do you need me to call shoko?” 

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting. 

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things. 

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best? 

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber. 

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares. 

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close. 

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings. 

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace. 

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin. 

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do. 

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you? 

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before. 

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice. 

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee. 

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself. 

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.” 

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question. 

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you. 

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?” 

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell. 

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours. 

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick. 

then he’s leaning forward. 

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything. 

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him. 

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you. 

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

#someone sedate me i giggled while writing this. im so in love w this stupid weasel #this is rly just my attempt at writing a more canon-aligned gojo and the kinda-sorta relationship i could see him having in canon #i firmly believe that he’d feel most at peace w a love that sits somewhere right between platonic n romantic !! #”me n the bestie <3” (selfie of u wearing matching rings) #its the kinda love that u dont need to label bc its just There. its just love !! a love that comes easy #im happy w how this particular gojo turned out i think!! :'3 hes my lil baby #in other news hes so bambi coded ☹️ i need to nurse him back to health #listen to capable of love by pinkpantheress btw its so gojo to me #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[hoony2k]

TEXT ME BACK!

Synopsis: it's the middle of the night, the phone keeps buzzing, you've been trying to fall asleep, there's a knock on your window...wait what?

PAIRING: niki x reader

GENRE: fluff, crack, idiot x idiot

GUEST APPERANCE: older brother!heeseung

WARNING: none :)

WORD COUNT: 1k+

NOTE: hii did not dust this old work. please enjoy

masterlist

The Lee house was draped under a veil of utter darkness mixed with silence. After all, it was nearly eleven, yet you stirred awake every few minutes fighting the restlessness in your muscles.

The only sounds were your occasional sighing and a tick of the small clock on your nightstand. A woolly comforter draped over your body with an anchoring weight, no longer a fluffy cloud it suffocated you.

Sighing once more, you threw it off and it slid down the bed.

"Much better", you thought. Despite the winter chill embracing your bones, you finally felt like you were able to breathe. A couple of deep breaths and you could feel the crawling warmth of slumber.

The room suddenly lit up for a flash and your phone vibrating and lighting up shattered the trance you worked hard on.

This time you sighed out of annoyance and turned the device upside down. You fluffed your pillow and flipped it to the cold side.

Peace and silence were found once more.

Until there was a small tapping sound coming from your window. You decided to ignore it. However, the bird would not stop pecking the glass. Frustration laced your expression when you got up and stomped toward the window, ready to flick the bird away.

You threw your curtains apart and were met by the beloved sight of-

"Riki?", you questioned in pure astonishment.

The boy stared at you, eyes blown wide and nose red from the cold. He was perched on the tree branch that was near your window, hands gripping tightly for his dear life.

"Open up!" he whispered loudly.

Swiftly, you unlocked the window, slid the pane and grabbed onto your boyfriend's shoulders.

Niki winced at your force.

"Can you loosen up a-"

It was insane how he assumed you would react normally to him climbing a tree in the middle of the cold night to try to reach the first floor of your house. When all was icy and wet from the winter ambience, he could have lost his footing easily.

You had overestimated your strength and were unable to handle the boy's weight. He was taller and broader than you- a trait you loved on a usual day. Made you feel secure and comfortable but in one swift motion, his right foot imbalanced and your elbow collided harshly with the window panel, resulting in your bodies tumbling inside and toppling over one another.

Titling backwards, you let your head fall onto your arm yet felt no pain anywhere. When you opened your eyes, you were relieved to discover that Riki's quick reflexes stopped him from crushing you but unfortunately, the boy tried to soften your fall by lending an arm to cushion your head. He held his body upwards by his right elbow, your noses a feather away, his necklace ice on your collar bones. You could see your worried face reflected in the pools of mirth in his brown eyes. If his arm was in pain, he didn't dare show it.

"Hey, gorgeous," he joked but stopped chuckling when he saw your frown.

He slithered his arm from under your head and sat near you.

"I'm fine. Really."

You roll your eyes playfully but Niki notices how stern your tone is when you speak.

"Please knock at the door like a normal person next time, or at least text me."

The boy was visibly offended by your words, his shoulders hunched in a shrug and his brows furrowed in an accusing manner.

"I did text you!"

Oh…so that was his message, you realised albeit too late. You gazed up at him bashfully, neck heating up despite the chill in your room.

He gave you a pointed look which screamed "I told you so" so you pulled a classic Rizz move and leaned forward to find solace in his arms.

His shoulders shook as he giggled, his nose brushed against your hair he sniffed loudly.

"Woah you stink."

You mimicked his offence by shoving the boy away from you and glaring at him an with angry frown. He laughed loudly at the reaction he anticipated and watched you crawl on the bed. He stood up and waited for you to scoot over but you pulled your heavy blanket on your legs and stretched your limbs like a starfish.

He gazed down at you expectantly.

"I should have let you freeze outside," you spoke cooly.

Riki gasped rather obnoxiously. You saw how your words settled in his genius brain and the exact moment his gears turned as he came up with a plan for revenge.

When he drew closer, you swiftly scooted away from him and wrapped the blanket around yourself as a shield but it was no use because you had backed yourself against the wall and Riki was coming at you with his arms reaching out and fingers bent, ready to tickle the apologises and life out of you. Your cool resolve shattered instantly and a spurt of apologies rained but he paid no mind.

Before he could even touch you, laughter left your mouth due to nervousness and reflexes.

The poor bed jumped and shrieked as Riki pounced on it and began to unleash his true strength. One hand held your wrist away from you and pinned it on the wall while his other hand moved and hovered over your body.

Despite not exactly tickling you, your face was red from how much you were already giggling. Air escaped you like a can that was being compressed in hydraulic press videos Riki shared with you.

Unfortunately, a terrifying voice interrupted the sweet moment and drained the blood from both of your bodies.

Riki's hand that was rapidly hovering had grabbed your waist in panic and his grip on the other one tightened, once again in panic. His eyes searched for you but you were too busy not trying to piss the bed as you stared at your elder brother who had materialised out of nowhere.

"Having fun are we?"

When you tore your eyes away from his figure to glance at Riki, you winced. The poor boy looked three seconds away from running away and jumping out of the same window he came from. You grabbed onto his hand to ground him.

Heeseung saw the movement and rolled his eyes like a Disney teen movie elder brother. Then he looked dead in your eye as he scolded you.

"Do you know how loud you are? It's like you want to wake up mom and dad. I could hear you through my headphones!"

At his tone, Riki seemed to gain a bit of courage as he kissed his teeth and turned to the eldest probably to say something all the lines of "Don't talk to her like that!" But his chivalry was cut short when Heeseung interrupted him before he could even open his mouth.

"And you," Heeseung pointed like a menace, "you literally left 3 hours ago. What the hell?"

Riki's knight in shining armour image crumbled and he bowed his head in shame. It hurt to see his downturned lips, you were too used to his teasing smile.

You weaved a gentle hand through his locks and he let a small smile peek through.

Your brother had moved on from his impromptu scolding session and he marched to your window and slammed it shut as gently as he could. It was clearly all for show, you knew his manners too well.

He pretended to be irritated just to spite and scare Riki for the boy had pranked Heeseung before dinner, a few hours ago. He persisted in teasing Heeseung by not passing him the salad and pouring water into his glass until the liquid threatened to spill out.

Your parents found Riki's actions refreshing and adorable. They were too accustomed to grown men so Riki's youthful personality was a breath of fresh air.

You couldn't agree more.

Heeseung continued his rampage. "Did he come through the window? At least close it! It's so cold here you idiots will get sick in no time."

You and Riki exchange a look, almost (keyword: almost) bashful of your forgetfulness but it didn't matter when Riki's embrace was like sitting next to a fireplace on a cold winter's night.

Heeseung continued rambling but Riki's eyes were filled with so much adoration that you couldn't force yourself to look away.

Your brother began to leave but before he did so, he kicked Riki's hastily discarded shoes under your table and threw an accusing finger at the boy.

"Don't do anything stupid."

Riki gave him a love-sick smile and salute. Heeseung fake scoffed and stormed out though he closed the door softly.

Immediately Riki's hands snaked around your waist to pull you. He pulled you down and the two of you were greeted by pure softness and comfort as the blanket draped over your bodies.

You slapped his hands when Riki's fingers twitched to threaten you. Warm breath met your ear along with his giggles and he buried his face in your hair once more.

"He's such a freak," Riki whispered with no real malice.

You exhaled through your nose and nodded your head in agreement. Moments of serene silence filtered through, just you and the boy you loved entering dreamland together.

When his breathing evened out and his grip felt limp, you broke the silence.

"Thank you for coming."

It was such a quiet confession that you swore Riki's asleep self wouldn't be able to catch it but his grip on your waist tightened once more. His voice was gruff with sleep yet somehow even more saccharine than yours.

"Anything for you, love."

thank you for reading!

please do not copy/translate/edit. all rights belong to me.

#enhypen scenarios #k-labels #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen fics #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fluff #niki nishimura #niki x reader #niki fluff #enhypen niki #niki scenarios #niki soft hours #niki drabbles #niki imagines #niki headcanons #niki reactions #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #hana's work 》 #nishimura riki #riki x reader #riki fluff #riki fics #riki imagines #riki scenarios #riki drabbles #riki headcanons #enhypen riki #enha fluff

[samthestrangerthingsfan]

Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.

chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3

a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!

chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist

SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982

Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.

“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.

One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.

“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.

The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.

“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.

While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.

Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.

“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.

The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.

In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.

It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.

“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.

“What? Oh, mhm.”

She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.

“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”

The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“

“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.

It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.

“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”

The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.

Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.

So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.

The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.

“Shit…you okay?”

His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.

Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.

An angel--dressed like a devil.

You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.

“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.

“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”

He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”

The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.

“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”

You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.

Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.

What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.

He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.

Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.

As far as he was concerned, that changes today.

Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”

A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.

Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.

“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.

Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”

His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”

There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”

Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”

It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.

But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.

“Whatcha got in mind?”

Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”

“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.

The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.

Deep breathes. Deep breathes.

“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.

The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.

Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.

All of it.

Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories

“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.

You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”

“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”

I need to find a damn job.

You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.

You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”

Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.

“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.

“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.

“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.

You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”

The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.

The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.

Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”

“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”

Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”

“Sure thing, Sunshine.”

Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.

“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.

She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”

You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.

Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“

The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.

Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.

You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“

“Ho-ly shit.”

Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.

He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.

“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.

Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.

Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.

Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”

Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.

She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.

Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.

Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”

Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”

“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.

“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”

Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”

Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”

“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.

The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.

Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.

He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.

“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.

You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”

He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“

You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”

Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.

Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”

With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”

The for now went unsaid.

Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”

Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”

When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.

“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”

And with that, the floodgates opened.

You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.

It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.

"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.

You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.

"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."

"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.

"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.

You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #ootw

[irkimatsu]

Okay I’m obsessed with how you write husk…specifically his dick🙈

What if we got a scenario where husk has a ….i don’t wanna say partner because knowing him and his hate of labels ….we’ll call it someone who he hooks up with regularly and does have feelings for but can’t admit it to himself yet. She or they usually come to the hotel after hours when everyone’s asleep and husk is closing the bar. She/they help husk relieve stress after a long day of work. Maybe he was particularly stressed out so things were a little rougher than usual (still a gentleman though we love our caring king). This lead to some bite marks and scratches on both husk and his hookup buddy. The next day, when Husk comes down to work since he doesn’t typically wear a shirt, he just wears the slacks and suspenders the marks, of course, on his neck and back are visible. I love the dynamic of nobody knowing about this and then just like Angel, Charlie, Vaggie…you know the gang seeing these marks and being like 🤨🤨🤨 and husk being himself and playing it off. I feel like the only person who would get to the bottom of it is angel because he’s persistent. So husk admits to seeing someone which then allows him to admit to himself the feelings he feels for her/them 

Omg sorry that was so long I just love your writing😭🩷

Thank you so much for enjoying my writing, and thank you for the request! I hope this is worth the wait!

Husk/female Reader; reader uses "she" pronouns and has breasts. Explicit sex scene, absolutely NSFW. First half is second-person while the second half is third-person. About 2k words. Enjoy!

It’s well past midnight as you enter the front doors of the Hazbin Hotel. Despite all the scenes of chaos you’d heard about taking place here, all courtesy of Lucifer’s misguided daughter, it was always quiet by the time you showed up in the hotel’s lobby. That silence came down to you always waiting for most of the residents to be asleep before you showed your face. The only living being here to see you now is Husk, who is currently standing behind the bar and scrubbing one final batch of glasses in the sink, a “closed” sign displayed prominently on the counter in front of him.

“Good evening, Husky,” you coo as you approach the bar and take a seat on one of the stools. He acknowledges you with a grunt and a quick wave before turning his attention back to the dishes. “How’s your day been?”

His only answer is another grunt. Well, that’s not good. You know he doesn’t like being pushed, so you let him finish his cleanup duties in peace. In the silence, you notice how agitated his body language seems, his ears pinned back as his tail lashes. He mutters something under his breath - something like “fucking asshole”, you think - as he scrubs at the glass harder and harder. The shattering of glass catches you both by surprise as a chip breaks off of the glass and tumbles to the floor, where it breaks apart further.

“...sorry,” he growls as he slams the glass down on the counter, the impact shattering it into several more pieces. “Been a rough day.”

“Did you wanna talk about it?” 

“No.” His response is curt as he moves onto the next glass, anger still apparent in the force he’s using to scrub it.

“Residents bothering you again?” you ask. Even without meeting any of them, after everything you’ve heard, you’re sure the crew here don’t make Husk’s life easy.

“Alastor,” he says simply.

You bite your lip in concern and decide not to pursue that line of conversation further. You know that Alastor owns Husk’s soul, and while you’ve never pressed for any further details than that, you can only imagine how someone like the Radio Demon treats Husk when you’re not around.

Or how he’d treat him even if you were around. From everything you’ve heard, Alastor doesn’t strike you as the type to hide what a sadist he can be.

“Fuck!” Another glass slips from Husk’s hands as he wipes it down, joining the last one in the shattered pile on the floor. “Christ, I’m too tired for this shit. Niffty can clean this up later, she likes broken glass…” He carefully steps around the mess he’s made as he leaves his station and heads to the hotel’s stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

You remain at the bar for a moment, wondering what you should do. Husk seems to be in a worse mood than you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you should leave him alone for the night and go find entertainment elsewhere?

Before you can leave, though, he stops and turns toward you. “You coming or what?”

Trying not to show too much excitement in the face of his foul temper, you spring up from your stool and join his side. “Want me to help you work out some of that stress?” you ask seductively.

He smirks back as you head for the stairs together. “Sounds good.”

—--

Husk isn’t wasting any time once you both reach his room. The instant the door is shut, he has you pinned against it, his sharp claws digging through your top and into your shoulders. His mouth is on yours, nibbling your lower lip and suckling your tongue, and his waist is grinding against yours.

“If I went too far, would you tell me?” he asks, breathing heavily.

“Of course,” you tell him. You link your hands behind his neck, lightly digging your own claws into his flesh, as you pull him in for another rough kiss .

“You trust me?” he asks as he inches your pants down, dragging your claws along your thighs as he does.

“Of course,” you repeat. “Go on, work out your stress however you want… I’m all yours.”

I’m all yours. Those words unlock something primal in the cat demon’s psyche. He clumsily rushes to undress you, trying his best not to damage your clothes but still making the occasional tear. As soon as you’re both nude, he lifts you up by your knees and pulls you onto his cock, bottoming out in one fluid motion.

“You’re all mine…” he reiterates as he fucks you against the door. “Mine… mine…” He leans his head down to nip at your breast, hard enough to leave bite marks around your nipple. You moan and scratch below his wings, and he bites even harder.

“Mine…”

His frenzy lasts for hours as he takes you on every surface in the room; on every table, against every wall, and of course, a good amount of time spent fucking you into the mattress. The only consistency is that he always insists on having you face him.

“Look at me,” he commands as he drills you against the bed. You’re so sore, so overstimulated, and yet, still so fucking needy.

How could you take your eyes off him? His eyes are wide and wild, his fur a ruffled mess. His fangs are bared at you, and in his current state, you feel as if this beast could tear you to pieces.

You’re more than happy to be his prey.

He howls as you rake your nails down his back, but it doesn’t stop his harsh thrusts inside you.

“Again-”

You comply, making sure to run from one sweet spot to the next, drawing lines with your claws from the base of his wings to just above his tail. “Fuck-”

He scoops you up and pins you against the nearest wall with his whole body. Both of you are slick with sweat and just a bit of blood, a hot, sticky mess, and yet you can’t imagine not having every inch of your body surrounded by him.

You bite down on his shoulder to muffle your next orgasm. He doesn’t tell you to let go, and so you don’t. He pulls you away from the wall and embraces you with his arms and his wings, his nails digging to the base into your back.

You can no longer tell where you end and he begins. You let him keep thrusting up into you until your thoughts melt into nothing.

—

You don’t exactly remember when the two of you stopped fucking. If you think really hard, you can recall some pieces of him cooling you down, his tongue lapping at the wounds he left behind as he gently asked how you were doing.

Could you even answer with words? All you really remember is holding him tightly as he kissed and licked your shoulder. Hopefully that got through to him well enough.

Now you’re laying in his bed, your entire body burning with the most delicious soreness you’ve ever experienced. He’s laying beside you, not taking his eyes off you. Was he watching you this whole time?

“How are you doing?” he asks, both his expression and voice so much softer than they were earlier in the night. He’s almost a completely different person.

“Amazing,” you say as your eyes drift shut. “You’re amazing…”

“You are too, baby,” he answers. “I feel a lot better now… thanks for that.”

You lay in satisfied silence, wondering what his next move will be. You know you have to go soon, but you wouldn’t mind a little more intimacy with him before you disappear.

“...hey,” he asks, his voice quiet. “I was wondering, um… I wanted to ask…”

You slowly open your eyes to see his own fixed on you, his tail slowly waving. “Hm?”

“Wanted to know, if, um… you wanted to stay the night here?”

You laugh in surprise. “I thought we were just fuckbuddies. We have a good time, and then I run. Besides, I don’t want Charlie catching me here and trying to recruit me. You know I’m not interested in heaven.”

“I just… don’t wanna be alone right now,” he says. Has he always been this vulnerable and just hiding it from you all this time? Up until now you assumed he was only a cold shell who needed someone to fuck into every once in a while. A considerate cold shell who cared about his partner’s feelings in the moment, but still.

“You can sneak out before anyone else wakes up,” he promises. “No one needs to know you’re here. Just stay a few more hours?”

You’d feel like such an asshole to turn him down. “Okay. I’ll stay.” You snuggle into his chest, and wonder if his fur has always been this comfortable…

You wake up before he does, and you’re careful not to disturb him as you put your clothes back on and slip out the door. By the time his alarm goes off, you’re gone.

—

“Husk?! Husk, are you okay?!”

Husk is barely conscious as he enters the lobby, and already a panicked Charlie is all over him.

“What?” He’s too fucking tired to ask what the hell she’s talking about. He robotically makes his way behind the bar to start his shift. If he could actively remember a thing from last night, he might have noticed that Niffty had indeed swept up the glass, but for now his only thought was about when coffee would be ready and how much whiskey he’d have to add to it to survive the day.

“You’re covered in scratches!” Charlie continues, panicked. “You look like you were bleeding! Did you get in a fight last night? Are you okay?!”

He finally snaps awake as the previous night’s events rush into his head like a speeding train. “Oh, uh… it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Telling Charlie not to worry about something only makes her worry even further.

“You lay down, you don’t need to run the bar today. I’ll go get a first aid kit, an ice pack… do you need painkillers? I’ll get you some that’ll make you drowsy so you can rest in your room today-”

“Relax, princess, he’s fine!” Angel says from his spot on the couch where he’s scrolling on his phone. “He had a rough night, but he’ll be fine.”

“You know what happened to him?” Charlie asks.

Angel laughs in response. “Oh, I have an idea. You guys weren’t exactly quiet last night, Whiskers!”

Husk growls as his ears flatten against his skull. “It’s none of your business.”

“Then keep your voice down and don’t make it our business!” Angel says. “Ain’t like it’s the first time I’ve heard you two! Last night, though… damn! If I didn’t see her leaving at some bullshit hour this morning I’d wonder if there was anything left of her!”

“There was someone else in the hotel?” Charlie asks.

“Just a friend,” Husk mutters as he turns his head, ears still flattened.

“...oh. Ohhhh.” Even Charlie is able to piece together a good enough read of the situation. “Right, um… Husk, if you need that ice pack, you let me know, okay? For now I’m just gonna… see how Niffty is doing with breakfast!” She hasn’t even finished speaking by the time she’s scurried away toward the kitchen.

God, Husk hopes she brings back coffee.

Once Charlie’s gone, Angel approaches the bar and sits with his chin in one of his palms.

“I ain’t making you a drink until I’ve had my own,” Husk snaps, wondering if it’ll help to skip the coffee and go right for the whiskey. Fuck his head hurts.

“Fine,” Angel says with a shrug. “Well, while we wait… who is she?” His sing-songy voice does not help Husk’s mood.

“Does it matter?”

“If you’re gonna be inviting a stranger into the hotel, the least you could do is tell us who the hell she is,” Angel says.

“Ugh… fine,” Husk says. “I met her at a bar a few months back. We hit it off, got drunk, and… well, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. Kitty likes playing rough, huh?”

Husk growls in response.

“So, what, is she your girlfriend or somethin’?” Angel asks. “Can’t believe you didn’t introduce your girlfriend to us… and here I thought we were a family.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Husk says. “She’s just…” She’d been using the term ‘fuckbuddy’, and maybe he would have used it a few months ago, but in that moment it feels too crass. “She’s just a friend.”

“A friend whose brains you’ve been fucking out a few nights a week,” Angel said.

“How the hell long have you been listening in on us?!”

Angel shrugs as a shit-eating grin covers his lower face. “I wonder if she lets other guys fuck her like that or if you’ve got special privileges,” he says.

Husk doesn’t respond, though his muscles grow tense, and his wings draw in close to his body. Other guys…?

“Oh ho ho! Someone looks jealous!” Angel laughs.

“What do I care what she does when she’s not here? It’s not like I own her.”

“Funny, coming from someone who kept screaming ‘mine’ last night.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just sayin’, you’re the one who’s always talking about honesty and shit. So if you really like this chick and don’t want her to go off screwin’ someone else, why not tell her that?”

Husk’s whole body droops. “I don’t know… I’ve fucked up enough relationships. Maybe it’s better that I don’t let her get too close to me.”

“Eh, suit yourself. Like you said, it’s none of my business. I’ll help you drink it off if she gets bored and leaves, all right?”

Husk isn’t sure if Angel is being sincere or mocking him, but he doesn’t bother to ask as Angel stands up from the bar.

“What’s takin’ Niffty so long? I’m fuckin’ starving,” he says as he heads for the kitchen to see what the holdup is.

If she gets bored and leaves…

He needed to have a talk with her next time she dropped by.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #irk blubbers about nothing #irk got asked a thing #irk huskposts

[claudemblems]

You Make Him Feel... | Genshin Impact

Ft. Kaveh, Alhaitham, Diluc, and Kaeya

I love these boys 🥺💖

Kaveh: Like He Has No Worries at All

All the stressors in his life -- the debt, the secrets, the frustrating roommate, and the picky clients -- vanish from his mind when he's with you. Your presence fills him with such a foreign sense of peace that makes the unending volume of thoughts in his head go silent. The only thing occupying his head space noa is you. He can't remember the last time he's felt so at ease. For a long time, he's lived in fear of his carefully crafted façade shattering, leaving behind shards of his failures in its wake. But you...you're the mirror reflecting all his hopes and dreams, his wants and desires. You're the looking-glass that shows him the bright future waiting ahead of him. Every time he looks at you, he sees what can be, what will be, so long as you choose to remain by his side.

Alhaitham: Like Everything Makes Sense

There are some things in this world that cannot be fully understood no matter how much a person researches, theorizes, and attempts to know them. Logic is a guide, not an answer to life's every question. But somehow, your very existence challenges these "truths". For the first time in his life, Alhaitham has found something that he is completely sure of: that he cares deeply for you. With each passing day, he finds his mind becoming clearer, his love for you growing more and more sure. Rationality dictates that he should not be unfazed by the chaos that surrounds him, nor should he find himself smiling in the face of adversity, but he does. The unknowns in his life are finally understood. The burning questions in his mind have found their answers. You are the key that opened his once locked heart, and now through your eyes he's able to make sense of the world around him: and truly, it's beautiful.

Diluc: Like There's Good Still in the World

For a long time, Diluc believed he would never open his heart again, not to anyone or anything. His world had already been destroyed by the death of his father and the reveal of his brother's teue identity. All the good things that were once his had been ruthlessly torn from him, his hope and optimism vanishing alongside them. His heart seemed to be wounded beyond repair, with scare hope of it ever going back to the way it once was, but that all changed when you came along and mended it. Little by little, he noticed how the sun shined bit brighter, how the bitter taste of wine grew sweeter, how your smiles made his monotone world burst teem with colors. He realized that he'd been wrong all along: goodness did exist in this world. Every time he looks at you, he's reminded of it, and he's determined to protect your heart of light that helped to guide him home to you.

Kaeya: Like There Are Second Chances

The painful memories of a day long ago had engraved themselves deep into Kaeya's heart and soul, a permanent reminder of all that he had once cherished and lost. Guilt followed him like a shadow, and loneliness clung to him like a curse. After losing all the people he loved, he thought that there would never be another place in this world for him. That was until your path converged with his, and he found himself believing that just maybe he could have another chance in this life, so long as you would have him. Indeed, the moment you accepted his affections, Kaeya knew you were a blessing sent his way, the answer to the question he'd been asking for so long: could he really start over and make things right again? With your every careful touch, every gentle kiss pressed against his skin, every comforting word whispered into his ears, the answer was an unequivocal yes. He would accept this second chance with grace, vowing this time to protect you, the person he loves -- to keep you in his arms and never let go.

#kat writes #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

RED-WING BLACKBIRDS AND DARK DAHLIAS (XVII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XVIII ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.3k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, guns/weapons, injury, abduction, talks of abduction, talk of interrogations, protective/worried Gaz, Gaz's POV, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

They called him back to the US the second word got out that you and your mother were gone, and all through the flight, Kyle couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his hands.

His eyes stared straight ahead, jaw so tight that he could feel his molars screaming at him to let off the pressure. All he did was bite down harder. Leg jumping in one of the metal seats of the C-17, the Sergeant had already run through his gear multiple times just to try and pull some semblance of surety from them—a weight of normalcy. 

He had his magazines, he had his med pouch, and lines connecting his radio. Straps and ties, scissors next to wire cutters. 

None of his mind games were helping. He couldn’t run through his mental checklist any more than he already had; having to be up into the twenties of times he’d counted through items and packed goods. Kyle was always steady—he was always ready. Yet, he can’t say he’d ever been as thrown off his course as he had when he got the hurried phone call from Laswell. 

They’re gone. Get back here as soon as possible. 

There hadn’t been a moment of peace afterward—the man doesn’t even think he’s slept, much less eaten beyond a granola bar and a sip of water. Price had been side-eyeing him since his impromptu interrogation session back in Russia; the blatant disregard of orders. He’d been less than impressed about it, even if it had hailed them the answers they’d been looking for.

Gaz can’t even care to remember the hissed words he’d been passed in the car back to base—can’t think beyond the heavy-set fear in his breast. His heart beat hard in his ribcage, like a hammer shattering glass. The man’s eyes are beady and small. His shoulders wound high.

With a small growl under his breath, Kyle moves his spine back stiffly to connect with the back of the seat, feet resetting themselves. 

Johnny, across the way, spares him a glance, lips thinning. Over the noise is the hard assurance. “She’ll be fine, Mate, yeah? Just focus on gettin’ down there and finding ‘er.”

“Right,” brown eyes aren’t able to convey the same hope, and Gaz says the word on autopilot. He doesn’t want to talk—he needs to move. A man of intelligence brought down to the level of sprinting head first onto the scene because of a single woman. 

The Scot frowns, sharing a glance with Price. It isn’t any use, they know the Sergeant is restless. 

Even as the plane is landing, Garrick’s skin is stiff across his skull, scars pulling tight. When the cargo hold is open, he’s the first off the ramp. 

Kate waits impatiently a small distance away, eyes grim.

“Laswell!” Gaz calls, jogging lightly away from the friction in the air from the C-17. The woman stares at him, blue eyes glancing back as Price catches up easily. The last two follow, bringing down the bags with their gear plus Garricks. Kyle licks his lips before speaking, sunglasses at the collar of his vest swinging. 

“How did this happen?” He hisses, teeth bared. “Bloody hell, you said Alex was on her—I was told she would be under twenty-four-hour watch.”

“Sergeant,” Kate levels. “There’s been more activity here than I’d like to admit.” Her attention shifts to the Captain, who slips up and speaks stiffly. 

“What’s the situation, Kate?” 

“John,” the woman sighs, tilting her head. “It’s good you’re all here—we need as many eyes on this as possible. Follow me.”

“Kate,” Garrick moves forward, but a firm hand snaps to his shoulder, keeping him back. John’s unblinking eyes dig. The correction was as clear as day: show some respect—the information was coming. It wouldn’t help to rush into things, and, under that heavy blue gaze, Kyle won’t. 

When had the Sergeant forgotten his training?

Gaz darts his head forward and clenches his jaw in thin understanding.  

The flight from Russia back to Chicago was over thirteen hours, all four men were tired from running in circles and the time difference. But the job was the job. Gaz would drink as much caffeine as needed, even if he knew that he needed the rest more than anything, if not for his body then for his mind. The meeting room was a short and quick distance—the door barely shut and locked before business began in its regular grisly fashion. 

Gaz refused to sit, instead standing with his hands hanging from his combat vest, thumbs tapping in a repeated, and obviously anxious, manner. 

He needed to find you—safe. Alive. He needed to, and he can’t describe why out loud. The man had thought that maybe your lack of a phone call the night previous had been because of general fatigue and sickness; it would make sense with how you’d been nauseous all the time. On a few calls, you’d been falling asleep mid-sentence.

The flashing images of you possibly injured, bloodied, or even dead, left Gaz’s throat clearing quickly; face going from rage to fear to panic in a split second before forcing itself back to a practiced nothingness he reserved for interrogations. Except it felt like he was the one in the chair this time around. 

Please, he thinks. Please, for the love of God, let her be okay. Fuck…this never should have happened. 

He never should have left.

Laswell starts explaining just as the Captain lets off a grunted sentence. “What’s going on?”

“I went after her, but by the time I heard the gunshot, it was already too late.” The woman shakes her head. “This base was on an entire lockdown—no one was allowed close to our building.”

“Gunshot?” Gaz takes a step forward, head leaning closer as if he’d heard wrong. The others move past it, knowing there’s more. “Why was there already a lockdown in place?”

“Any cameras?” Ghost asks, partially interrupting. His intimidating form looms near the corner, casually leaning against the wall. 

“That’s why I called you back so quickly,” Kate breathes. “Look.” The laptop is grabbed from the side of the main table and dragged over as everyone mulls around. “I didn’t want to risk it over an open channel. Who knows who could be listening.”

“Kate?” John asks, a bit confused as the man’s legs shift weight. “Listening? Who are we talking about?”

“That fellow?” MacTavish asks, glancing at the others curiously. “Chiyou, was it?”

“If it is,” the woman breathes, “then every one of my hunches is proved right.” Blue eyes dart up as the projector whirs to life from above. The light blinks on, shining to the white screen along the wall. “No one else has seen this, and I’d like to keep it that way, boys. All of it from this point forward is completely Black. Off the books.”

“Then let's get to it,” Gaz states firmly, nearly shaking from inaction. His attitude is snappy; body eager to move. He has to do something. “We’re wasting time, Laswell. Every moment is a second lost where Spitfire could be hurt—”

“We all know how much you care, Kyle,” a stern face bares down into his, but the Sergeant’s gaze doesn’t falter for one instant. “But this is far more complicated than anything we’ve encountered before.” A pause. “Focus.”

“I am focused, Ma’am,” Gaz utters, clenching his hands again, feeling the scrape of rough material from his vest. His eyes are sparking with rage, brimming with a deadly promise. “Lazer.” 

“Good,” Is the easy response. “Because you’ll want to see this.”

The first image Gaz sees is you, and for that small instant, his pounding pulse stutters like a schoolboy. The grainy motion of your body as you sit down into the seat outside, placing down your journal and your laptop…brown eyes finch closed in confusion. 

Journal? 

Wasn’t that your father’s? When did you find that? Kyle’s mind runs, but all he can settle on is the possibility of you finding it back at your estate…and never mentioning it to him. Despite it all, there’s a quick flicker of something like a smirk across his lips before he watches you cough into your arm through the video. From there, though, Gaz’s attention becomes sharper, honing in like a blade the longer nothing happens.

Kyle studies every frame—every shift from the bushes and your hands pulling out your coin from your pocket, the item glinting in the low light. He’d never got to ask you why that thing was so important. A pang hits his chest, making Gaz’s sweaty hands twitch a bit harder. Seeing you there made his lungs crush in on themselves—there’s a need to try and break through the projection just to grab you back. 

Focus, the Sergeant has to think. Get her back.

But his mind jumps to every time you’d stared into his eyes up to now, your growing bond that he felt proud of being a part of—some semblance of healing. Your lips so very close to his in the remnants of a dark room. 

By the time the figure slips up behind you, the realization is enough to make Kyle’s hands drop seriously; Johnny, Ghost, and Price all going stone-still as their eyes snap back in slight shock. Gaz’s face drops.

Because it was no one else but your mother that now goes and points a gun at your head. 

“What the fuck,” the Sergeant hear’s Johnny whisper under his breath. 

It’s as if the fire is stolen from Garrick’s chest in one foul gust of wind. A chill so deep it leaves the hair on his arms standing pulls from the depths of his gut—intestines bunching; stomach writhing. His eyes stare so hard, that the tendons behind them pull like a tight string. 

Your mother. 

It all fit together so well, that the sudden realization made his mouth water with the warning of bile. Gaz wants to will the video to stop—and his teeth grind together as he glares at your pixelated form, none the wiser as your matriarch raises and levels the black barrel behind your head just after your fingers grasp at a something from the journal; dropping another piece of paper to the ground before quickly bending to retrieve it.

“Turn around,” Kyle harshly whispers to himself. “Fucking hell, Love, Please turn around.” 

He pleads to whatever God might be listening, no, even then, to any anti-christ or demon that grips at his blackened soul—any of them; any broken, rotten bit of his heart. Something had to move you.

The gun raises, it follows the shifting of your head.

Kyle’s legs wanted to bolt, to run to wherever this footage had been filmed on some off-chance-hope that this was all a big farce—some lie; a test. A test he can break apart and analyze, a test he can understand. But Gaz can’t understand the raw fear that makes his eyes snap from you to the gun like a quivering child.

Suddenly he’s a little boy again, and his mother is giving him his father’s watch and explaining why the man isn’t here. Kyle feels very, very small. In fact, the Sergeant had never felt like more of a failure in his entire life. 

“Please,” is all that he can mutter past numb lips, the others in the room irrelevant in the grainy shadow of a mangled woman trying to piece together her family's broken bits of polished glass. A kaleidoscope of crimson shards, dripping blood over her head; he knew how much it weighed on you, damn it, he knew. The things you’ve already gone through, he burned because of it. All of this is some great brand that sears his flesh: sinner.  

Kyle shakes his head, jaw grinding before his fingertips threaten to draw crimson crescents in his palms.

“Just turn around.” He snaps, voice grating in his throat like a dog—eyes tight.

By the grace of whatever God had heard him, just before the quick flare of the bullet being discharged from the gun, your body drops to the ground. 

John grunts beside him, arms shifting, and a great heaving sigh rattles through Gaz’s lungs. Your figure scrambles as pages erupt into the air—the journal on the table having been struck at the angle your mother had pointed the weapon; trailing down with her arm steady at the force. 

The sense that she’d held a gun before was a quick thought, nothing more, as Kyle’s brown gaze sears the projector screen. Scrambling, the Sergeant holds his breath as you break for the cover of some potted plants, limping because of your thigh before your mother turns her head and calls sharply to someone out of the camera's range—there’s no sound on this footage, so the command is lost. 

There’s a crackle on the screen, and the video snaps to black. Kyle’s heart breaks itself.  

“Bring it back up!” He barks, neck straining itself. Gaz rushes forward, grabbing at the computer as his Captain gruffly reprimands his actions. 

“Garrick!” 

“This is all we could grab,” is the even tone. “There were multiple arrests in our surveillance building, they’re all being questioned right now. No one’s spilling.”

The Sergeant’s hands run the keys, messing with the space bar. Brown eyes land on the silent woman in barely hidden desperation.

“Where’s the rest of it? Where’d she run off to—there needs to be more we can go through. A–” He trails, teeth snapping. “A direction, a lead, something, Laswell.”

“What the fuck is going on,” John grinds out, moving his glare from Garrick to Kate. 

“Her own mother?” Soap adds, raising a dark brow and making a noise under his breath. “Talk about a special family, aye?”

“Could say that again,” Ghost utters, huffing. “She got the package deal.”

“Bloody watch it,” brown eyes barely move from the screen as silence seeps into the room. Gaz’s fingers shift back the time to when you were rushing past that potted plant. A sharp sheen of horrified analysis was rooted like veins into Kyle’s sights now—a feral want.

You had to have left him something to find you. You were smart like that; you were devilishly sneaky when you needed to be—when there was only a second of lightning-strike action. 

You had to have.

An aggressive fire so rare to the Sergeant seems to easily overtake him every time your mother’s face is visible to the camera. A blood-red adding of his brain so much so his hands visibly twitch along the pad. 

“Major breach of all functions on base,” Kate answers the Captain, looking deathly serious. “We have no clue how long this has been going on.”

“The mother,” John levels. 

“I had a hunch,” the woman admits.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” Kyle’s body straightens from where it was hunched over the computer, anger getting the better of him. “Fucking hell, Laswell. Spitfire,” he breathes, “my charge is gone and you had doubts?!”

“Sergeant,” the Captain’s voice is deathly cold. “...Stand down.”

Blazing brown meets Kate’s deep blues—drilling.

“I left her here,” Kyle forces out, shaking hand moving into a slow fist over the laptop. 

The room is swept with a delicate pause. 

Laswell sighs, blinking. She looks to the side, averting her eyes. “There was no actionable intel on her mother. I did the best I could without support, but it was limited to what Alex could find out and relay to me.” The woman shakes her head, motioning with a hand. “Medicine was going missing from the hospital building, but the records never showed that was the case—it was word of mouth. Business dealings that didn’t add up from years back after the failed interrogation of Spitfire’s father; all of it not enough. The tracks were hidden so well, it would have taken a team that sat in the hundreds—thousands, even.”

“Needle in a haystack,” Ghost breathes. “The cell overseas?”

“East China?” Kate blinks, tilting her head.

“Only lead we’ve got,” John grunts, shaking his skull and glaring at the table. “Doesn’t help much, Kate. Whole country.”

“That’s if she’s still alive,” MacTavish adds under his breath, sharing a glance at Gaz. 

The other Sergeant isn’t even listening—the pointless babble of the ones who’d ripped him away from you; as if it wasn’t his own hands that had sent in that reassignment form. ‘

“C’mon, Spitfire,” Kyle bites his lips, fastly tapping the arrow keys to see every frame over and over again. 

Your quick duck, the whites of your eyes, that slackened jaw of terror—he doesn’t think you even realize that it’s your mother, just the threat of death enough to block it out. You turn, and the item in your hand bunches with the tightness of your grip. 

Gas interrupts the hurried speaking from the others. 

“The journal—the USB, did you find them?” 

“All of it was recovered,” Kate answers. “Except whatever it was that she was holding.”

Kyle’s spine hunches, looming closer to the screen. It’s the grain that blocks his vision from the truth—the utter shite of the quality pathetic even to him. 

“Where was this?” The Sergeant asks. “The camera recording?”

Laswell nods, giving away the information as if citing off a report. “It’s a small rest area off the back entrance of building C. We kept them both there as new personnel cycled through.”

Kyle’s already out the door, only blinking at the last image of your hand slapping the side of a potted plant and the glance backward as your mother once more raises the gun. A stupid hope was that you’d be here, despite it all. But the slam of his boots only echoed to his ears alone.

Brown eyes shifted from one area to the next, scanning table and chair—everything had been searched already; most likely by Laswell and Alex. 

“Anything,” Kyle turns a circle, hands sweaty. He needed you back. He needed you here minutes ago; hours ago. Your rare eye contact, your laugh that he had become addicted to drawing out of you like honey, the way you spoke, and walked. It had become too much for the man, and his affection for you was so deep now that it was impossible to deny—you’d snuck your way into his heart when he wasn’t looking, and even if you never returned the feelings that you’d infected him with like a poisoner, this agony was unlike anything definable by vocalization. 

This was torture that he couldn’t fight against. 

“You’re smart, Sweetheart,” he gasps, expression pained. “You left me something, I know you did. You left me something to follow.”

If you were the hare, then Gaz would become the hound. You wouldn’t be gone for long, mark every work he’d ever said and most certainly the ones that he hadn’t. He was getting you back beside him, and then he needed to look into your eyes and spill every secret that was ingrained into his DNA. 

Lashes moving, Gaz’s legs carry him across concrete and patches of grass, the crunch of it underfoot. He glances at the table, giving it a once over, bending to study below it—nothing. Kyle grunts lowly, growing more desperate as the seconds draw longer. 

The man passes the potted plants, shifting to run his boot over the grass and ruffle anything that might be stuck in the earth. 

Nothing. 

“Spitfire,” Kyle growls under his breath, backing up a step stiffly. He runs a hand over the base of his neck, fingertips dragging to stimulate the heated skin. 

When it’s all nearly lost, there’s a moment when the light of the sun perfectly aligns with something metallic from the corner of the Brit’s vision. A tiny glint of reflection from the sun leaves Gaz’s eyes flinching in a reactionary display. Grunting, the Sergeant’s head tilts away in annoyance, looking over with a growling ill-temper to the dirt of the first potted plant, ready to snap at it with vitriol. 

But the insult to the inanimate object dries like a desert storm slashed through Gaz’s mouth on the back of a lion. It’s a small thing, hidden under the deep brown of the dirt—the Sergeant doesn’t even know what it is or if it’ll even help before his hands are grasping and ripping away the top layer rabidly. 

His heart pounds, bruising his ribs with the frantic pulse of life. Dirt flies through the air, and Gaz’s grip slides over something metal—something cold. A sharp hiss is barked from him as he accidentally slices his fingertips as he snatches it, the crinkle of paper mimicking before that, too, is stolen with a fast thought. 

“That’s my girl,” Kyle chuckles, though it's serious—lacking anything more than a hurried second of relief. “That’s my fucking girl…okay. Okay, I can work with this, yeah?”

What is pressed into the soil is your coin, the one you always try to carry no matter what, and a piece of lined paper. 

Gaz thinks out loud.

“From the journal?” He asks under his breath, brows pulling in. His attention jumps from one word to the other, but the sudden color of red steals the only ounce of hope he may have gotten. 

Blood. 

Your smeared fingerprints spread along the page and Kyle’s face balks back with a blink of panic, eyes snapping this way and that until it’s clear that the display of gore was more than residual splatter—it was circling a sequence of numbers; if the contents of the letter were anything to go by, the date of your expected graduation from college. 

A sequence of numbers. 

Kyle’s jaw slackens, and he reacts much slower than he knows he should just off of the anxious shaking of his hands as he clenches the paper and the coin. 

“USB,” he utters, breathing heavily. 

And the coin—that tiny piece of your life, that small item you fiddled with but never showed beyond a quick glimpse when you were twirling it. Kyle flips the image as he stands fully, licking his lips as he begins to jog back to Laswell and demand the USB. 

Yet, there’s something that makes a startling amount of pained sense about the inscription on that coin. But he still takes it like a knife to the stomach with a sharp breath. 

‘TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE: UNITY, SERVICE, RECOVERY.’ A triangle with the image of the Roman numeral ‘I’.

It was a one-year Alcoholics Anonymous sobriety coin.

—

“Where was it?” Laswell takes the note and blinks down at it, face stiffening at the smears of blood. Kyle’s fingers grasp and drag the laptop to him, panting from how he’d run. The man doesn’t answer, muttering under his breath the numbers as the screen blinks to life. The USB was already plugged in—a result of the fast call that Kyle had thrown the woman’s way, needing it to be ready for him.

Kate passes the paper to Price, who walks to stand behind Gaz—Ghost and Johnny both following to see what the Sergeant had found before he busted back through the meeting room door. 

“She hid it,” Kyle grunts. Long fingers tapping, the keys give way as the numbers are typed in one after the other. “I knew she’d left me something—there was no way she wouldn’t.”

His Captain’s fingers push away dark particles of dirt, but his blues blink up to stare at Garrick as, finally, that password screen breaks away to the pop-up of the file selection. 

“Yes!” Gaz says under his breath, eyes intense; nearly unblinking. 

There isn’t much left to do except look—study. But there wasn’t time for that. Wherever you were, if your mother had you, there was an urgency that couldn’t be overlooked. There had to be something in this USB that gave the answers that everyone was searching for—what you had been searching for.

The location of a hub. But now…there could be something even more valuable in these files—a place where Gaz could bring you back to him.

Brown eyes slip from one file to another, all labeled from ‘2006 Dealings’ to ‘Reports from 04-03: Row’. All organized neatly, maybe no more than ten plainly visible.

“Sergeant,” Kate shifts closer, reaching. 

“I’m getting there, Laswell,” he breathes, “I need to find her before she’s gone forever.”

Kate and John share a look. The woman breathes, “This needs to go to the proper channels for analysis. We can’t rush this intel—one wrong step and the USB could wipe itself if there’s a failsafe hidden in the code.”

Gaz huffs, clicking through documents ruthlessly. “Bullshit.” 

Soap blinks in shock. They all knew that Garrick could be hotheaded and stubborn, but it never extended itself so much as to be a repeated hindrance to the team—in Russia and now were the exceptions. 

“Gaz,” Price says under his breath, watching tightly. “We all know you’re worried, but until we get solid intel, we can’t move after her. Location is only a part of what needs to be understood, Sergeant.” 

Long fingers flinch to slam into the file near the very bottom, and the screen freezes before Gaz blinks at it in anger—in rage—as his palm slaps the table, eyes spearing the individuals behind him.

He barks, “You’re not the bloody people who promised her she’d be safe!” 

The second the sentence sparks electricity in the room, an explosion of blueprints, diagrams, and progress charts move over the laptop screen. Attention snapping back, flinching wide, Gaz’s face pulls as all of it settles on the very last image—the only one he needs to see. 

It was an aerial view of Eastern China, and along the vast coastline, there were markings in the tens of navy-colored pinpoints. Port locations, maybe; warehouses and factories. But all locations.

Gaz stands up, blinking down at the map slowly. 

Taking a slow breath, Kyle swallows down the saliva in his throat and grinds out lowly into the deathly silent room, “When are we starting, Sir?”

TAGS:

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#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #cod mw22 #x female reader #mw2 #call of duty x you #mw2 2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz garrick #cod gaz #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x you #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

[metalbuckaroo]

KINKTOBER DAY 5: BLACK MAIL

Summary// Bucky is sent to find his only peace and bring her home

Warnings// obsessive behavior, mentions of Bucky’s time in Hydra, mentions of Bucky’s memory being wiped, mentions of cryo, Bucky gets a little aggressive but nothing graphic or injuring, maybe dub-con??? Kinda??? There’s consent??? Black mailing, brief mention of anxiety, use of nicknames- dove, sweet dove- kinda forced breeding? Bucky mentions breeding reader so idk? Smut, unprotected sex, cursing, if I missed any let me know

AU// Winter Soldier!Bucky x F!Reader

Note// I put dub-con in the warnings bc idk if it’d be considered that. It’s wanted on both ends buuuut Bucky uses leverage for it.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

You had been there every time his brain had been wiped for years. Reminding him of his real name whenever he’d be pulled from cryo for a mission, even if you weren’t suppose to.

Until you were no where to be found one day.

The entire lab had been put on lockdown, every available hydra agent sent to find you as he was locked away in a concrete room. Alone and cold, his only peace had left him behind.

He wasn’t sure why he chose you to grow an attachment to over the years. He’d been there for almost seventy years and never grown an attachment to any other agents.

But, the moment he caught wind of why he had been locked in that room, with the whole lab unable to go anywhere, it sent him into a panicked frenzy.

An unfamiliar feeling bubbling in his chest making it hard to breathe, like someone was squeezing the air out of his lungs as he paced the room. Destroying the rickety, uncomfortable bed and screaming until he found it useless. His body trembling in need for you to comfort him like you had before when no one was around.

Closing his eyes, he sunk to the floor. Trying to lose himself in a daydream where you were still there, your honey-sweet voice trickling into his ear as you repaired the bionic arm he was cursed with.

Though it was no use. Your promise had already been broken and he was left to deal with the terrors that waited for him alone.

After the search was called off, he had been sent to find you.

To bring you home with him, where you belonged. To melt away a little bit of the cold on his frozen heart as you’d assist in whatever they decided to do with him.

He took his time in the search, maybe a little too long as you moved motel to motel, city to city- slowly getting further away from where he needed you until he couldn’t wait any longer. The cold was starting to take over again and he needed the little bit of hope you gave back.

James had watched everything that night. The delivery driver drop the food off at the door of your motel room, you disappear into the bathroom for a shower.

Up until he slipped into the dark motel room, the only light coming from the dim bulb above the kitchenette’s counter as you stood at the counter. All of your guards down as you got ready to lay down for the night, thinking you’d finally managed to make it far enough to not worry about running anymore.

“Oh, dove.” His gravelly voice tore through the dark room. Your breathing stopping and fingers letting go of the glass you were about to sit in the sink. Shattering into a hundred pieces against the stainless steel. “You didn’t think I would find you, did you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, his voice closer than it was the first time you’d heard it. Hoarse as if he hadn’t talked in weeks, and footsteps silent despite the heavy boots he wore. Your fingers curled against the counter top, body frozen in fear as you white knuckled the surface.

Run. Just run.

No matter how many times you mentally told your body to move, it was locked down. Your heart pounding in your ears and breathing erratic, entire being shaking in wait for him to make it just a few feet across the floor to you.

“You’re scared of me…” his voice was laced with genuine curiosity, almost right behind you this time as you swallowed thickly. “Why?”

“Please, don’t kill me.” You tried to hide the edge in your voice, but, the tremble of your body gave it away.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, dove. I just have to take you home.” He said as if that was so much better, like it would make you happy. His body heat now radiating into your back. “Look at me.”

The threatening tone had you turning to face him as if on instinct. Eyes blinking open to see his expressionless face, stare cold and intimidating. “James-“

“You left me there. And, now, you keep moving. Keep leaving me behind.” He seethed through gritted teeth, hand reaching up to brush along your cheek bone. The touch much more gentle than his tone as it trailed along your jaw and down the length of your throat. Tears welling in your eyes as you looked up at him and swallowed hard, taking the opportunity to dart for the window.

Not making it far before your side met the bed, bionic hand wrapping around your arm to shove you onto your back. James’ larger frame bending over you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry- please, James, please don’t take me back there.” You pleaded, the tears threatening to spill out as his grip on your arm tightened.

“You swore you’d take me with you. You’re a liar!” The heighten in tone made you jump, a sob escaping your lips as your eyes screwed shut again. His face so close you could feel his hot breath.

“I was going to come back for you, I swear.” You rushed out, lungs burning from the heaving breaths you took.

His fingers dug into your cheeks, making your eyes snap open to look at him again. “Quit lying to me!”

You apologized over and over, the words tumbling out as the pad of his thumb swiped under your eyes. Tenderly wiping the tears that flowed freely. “Don’t cry. You’re coming home with me, we’ll have each other again. That won’t be so bad, will it?”

“I don’t wanna go back, James. I’m begging you, please, don’t take me back. I swear, I’ll find a way to get you out too.” You blubbered, free hand reaching to wrap around his warm wrist.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.” He murmured, voice small as his hand slipped down to toy with the thin fabric of the shorts you wore. Mind going other places as he thought about what it’d be like to have your body trembling under him for a reason other than fear. “All I have to do is press one button and they can find us. Unless- you give me what I want.”

You nodded frantically, looking at him with such desperation as his warm fingertips danced along the tops of your thighs. “Anything. I’ll give you anything.”

He hummed, low in his throat as his fingers trailed higher. The bed dipping when he leaned his knee on the end, slipping his hand under the loose shirt you were wearing to trace every curve and dip of your waist. Stopping at your chest to caress the supple flesh of your breast, thumb pressing to your nipple. “You, dove. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I know you want it too- can smell it.”

There was no denying you were deprived of physical touch after your time at Hydra. The thought of feeling him making your stomach flip as your fingers laced in his long hair.

“Okay, yeah. I can do that.” You nodded, lifting your head to catch his lips in yours and hands going to work at the different straps and buckles of his gear.

James groaned against your mouth, tongue pressing against yours as his fingers traced the waistband on your shorts. Hand slipping in the front of the fabric to feel the arousal that had already pooled in your underwear.

He knew this wasn’t the way to go about it. That using Hydra as leverage against you was wrong. But, he’d waited so long for the chance, he would do anything to have it.

Which, could be why he was slowly losing patience.

He quickly helped to shed the layers of gear and drag your shorts down your legs before pressing your knees apart, letting his eyes wander for a moment as he slotted himself between your thighs. Bulbous head prodding at your slit before he eased in, a mixture of a whine and moan pouring from your lips as your hands clung to his back. Every touch of your skin against his fueling the fire in his veins.

The stretch from him was euphoric, pain tinged pleasure making your back arch into him. Giving a few moments of adjustment with short, slow thrusts before he hooked his arms around your thighs.

Practically bending you in half as he set a rough, steady pace. Finding the spot that set off the most reactions and fucking into it as your nails curled into the meat of his thick thighs.

“Good girl, take everything I give you.” He grunted, hair falling in front of his face as he peered down to watch how you coated his cock with your slick. Your body rocking with every punishing thrust as he fucked you into the squeaky mattress.

You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him. No matter how heavy your lids were- you couldn’t look away from the sight of him.

Tanned skin taut over rippling muscles and shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Metal and flesh gripping your thighs as he turned his head to sink his teeth into the supple flesh. Your body so pleasure ridden, all you could do was attempt to move it away from his mouth and whine.

But, what could’ve sent you over the edge in a matter of seconds was the look on his face when his head tipped back. Brows knitted together and jaw slack to let deep moans fall freely into the air, drowning out the salacious sound of skin slapping.

“My sweet dove-“ he huffed, feeling the way you clenched around him. Milking him as your orgasm crested higher. “Come for me, wan’ you to make a mess on my cock.”

You whimpered in response, a shift of his hips being your breaking point. Ecstasy crashing into you like a ton of bricks, his cock pushing so deep you swore you could feel him in your chest as your mind blanked. A jumbled chant of profanities pouring from your mouth as sparks coursed through your body with every snap of his hips.

The dull ring in your ears drowned out what James was saying when he finally released your legs. Broad frame bending over you to brush his lips to yours, thrusts slowing into a frantic grind as he chased his own high.

“Might even breed you- can have a family.” He panted, his fingers fisting into the sheet under you.

Fear mixed in with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your hands pressing to his thighs as you shook your head. “You can’t-“

“My soul is already damned, dove. I can do what I want.”

His lips smothered yours in a messy kiss. Teeth knocking together as each bump of his pelvis to your clit crested the second wave of bubbling pleasure higher. Barely registering the twitch of his cock as he painted your walls in his spend, pushing as deep as he could to feel your cunt spasm around him.

The fog that had settled in your mind slowly started to lift, James’ lips grazing along your shoulder as he pulled out of you. Fully sated as he hummed in content.

“Feel that? The warmth? You belong with me, my sweet dove.” He murmured in your ear, knuckles of his right ghosting along your trembling thighs. Goosebumps raising on the skin in their path. “You have 30 days. After that, I have to take you home.”

————

Taglist: @auriel187 @marvel-3407 @winters1917 @k-jones16-blog @wickedravyn @ah-blossom @tilltheendofthelinepal9950 @buckybraneslover111 @bonkybarnes106 @wakandabiitch2 @vllowe @kmuir1 @alyhull @stardust-galaxies @michellefoster12 @xleggo-my-elevenx @fionanovasleftnut

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier!bucky barnes #kinktober 2022

[darlingdekarios]

so this is goodbye.

rating: mature for canon themes length: 1,752 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, established relationship, hurt no comfort, set in the hours leading up to Arthur's death, mentions of blood (tuberculosis related), canon compliant

Arthur Morgan's most important goodbye - the one he gives to you.

"Let's just go together."

It was an impossible plea - one you knew the answer to long before he turned to face you, blue eyes transparent with the cold truths of the situation. For as many roads as you'd taken together, it seemed the path had thinned - going forward, there was only room for one.

"You and I both know it's too late for that now," his voice was thin, the result of his lungs failing in every aspect - you couldn't stand the sound of him like this anymore. "Even if we ran, I'm on borrowed time. I'd just die on you tomorrow, we both know it."

It was true, there was no denying it - only a fool would try.

"I'd rather you die with me in peace than at the hands of men who never deserved to be in your company," your words fell into the air like shattered glass, broken beyond repair.

"I will die in peace knowing you're safe," he promised, reaching forward to grasp both of your hands in his. It occurred to you this was the last time you'd feel his hands against yours. "But I can't do that if you don't go now, while you have the chance still."

His thumbs ran across your knuckles, memorizing the feeling of them one last time - the same thoughts in your mind echoed in his. You tried to steady yourself, deep breaths in and out to pretend you were okay - the façade dissipated when a quiet sob left your lips, though he'd been waiting for it all along. Just like his death, your brokenness over it was inevitable.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye," you choked out, words squeezed through a throat that felt smaller by the minute, much like the world closing in on you. "I should…I should be with you until the end. I should be by your side."

"They won't allow that. You've been by my side all this time, don't you ever forget that counted for something. Everything we did together counted for something."

Some part of him was glad for all the trouble that was about to be caused so you had to go your separate ways. In truth, since the doctor had informed him of his fate Arthur was certain of one thing above most others - he didn't want you to be around when he succumbed to this cough, despite the fact that seeing your face as his eyes closed one last time would be a dream for any man. He didn't want you to watch him suffer, because he didn't want you to live with that suffering forever.

So now in his final hours, finally in a semblance of control of his own actions, his mind and heart were radiantly in love with you - so much of his remaining energy focused on your ensured survival through another day. He could only be thankful for the time he'd received with you, for every day you'd spent telling him you loved him - particularly knowing he never deserved something as divine as your love.

Any amount of time with you was more than a man like him had earned in life to begin with.

But as for you and your heart?

"It hasn't been enough time. We didn't get enough time, Arthur."

Tugging you forward gently his arms wrapped around you in a hug, the only comfort you'd ever found in this life wrapping you in warmth once more. He was filthy, but that wouldn't stop you from taking as much of him as you were allowed now - your face buried into his chest, arms tight around his torso, clinging to him as though it gave you life.

He pulled away to shed his jacket from his frame, reaching around you to wrap it on your shoulders. He'd always preferred it on you, anyway.

"But the time we did get made me a happy man," he reminded, his voice earnest and truthful, words offering no amount of doubt. "You made me want to be a better man."

His hands came to your shoulders to squeeze gently, holding you against him still.

"I need you to promise me you're not gonna turn that horse around and go back up there after me," his voice was serious, steady - it left no room for disagreement and yet you couldn't help the desire to do just that. "You've got to promise me. You are not to follow me. That's no place for you anymore."

"Arthur, I…"

"Now, I don't want to hear it," he grabbed both of your hands again, squeezing them in his - even now you could feel his strength waning. You were hanging on his every word, memorizing how each syllable fell from his lips - already dreading the day you couldn't remember his voice anymore. "Please listen to me. Those men up there…they're nothin' more than animals now. They will kill you to hurt me, and you're all I have left that they can use. Already lost John…don't make me lose you, too."

There was so much…too much to say in this moment, this goodbye you'd known was coming and yet had sprung so suddenly. It was impossible to pick which words to give him, which words would hold the most meaning - which would make him feel the most fulfilled. They were in your mind like debris picked up by a tornado, far too much chaos to make sense of.

"I can't do it without you. I'm not ready to live without you."

"You're goin' to have to, sweetheart," his hands left your shoulders to hold your face instead, thumbs running over your cheeks as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. His next words were whispered against your skin - his private form of begging between the two of you, one last time. "You go on and you live your life, and you don't ever try to find Dutch or Micah or any of 'em, outside of Abigail or Charles or Mrs. Adler. Forget the rest of 'em. Please."

He leaned away to meet your eyes again - you gave yourself a moment to hold your response purely to enjoy the splashes of color in his blue eyes, knowing no other would compare to these hues again. You nodded, knowing this is what he needed, knowing it was the only remaining peace you could offer him.

"I won't go lookin', but if I see Micah or Dutch again I will put a bullet between their eyes, Arthur," you promised, eyes dark as you spoke the names of the men who he would soon face. "I swear I will, even if it's the last thing I do."

"I know you -"

He was overtaken by a cough, the worst one yet - he leaned against a tree to support himself but you were also there - just as you had been all these past weeks. You rubbed his back as he coughed, reaching upward to smooth his hair away from his slick forehead as it fell about. He tried to motion you away when blood spurted from his lungs, spraying the grass beneath you. You held strong, instead pulling a cloth from your satchel to wipe his mouth.

He loved you with a passion you were certain no one else could come close to matching. You could see it manifested in his eyes.

"You are the best man I have ever known, Arthur Morgan," your words were quiet, movements delicate as you wiped the sweat from his brow as well, pushing his hair back again. One of his arms wrapped around your waist again, a wheezy breath sucked into his lungs as he watched you talk. "You deserved far better than what the world gave you."

"I got more than I deserved."

When I got you.

His eyes gave life to the words he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.

You stepped closer despite the fact he tried to push you away again briefly, ignoring his plea as you wrapped your arms around his torso again, pinning him between yourself and the tree, wondering how long you could get away with holding him there. Almost as if he sensed your thoughts he kissed your forehead weakly, a heavy, raspy sigh huffing from his lungs. You turned your head to kiss his cheek gently.

You both nuzzled your heads together for a moment, enjoying the closeness and serenity of one another for as long as the cruel circumstances would allow. When he pulled away it was to lift you back onto your horse - one he'd gifted you years ago now - strong hands rubbing your thighs one more time.

"You go on 'n' get out of here," his voice was firm, resolute - you had one option as to what to do next. "And don't you dare look back."

He withdrew from you, turning his back to hide the way his Adam's apple bobbed as the threat of tears welled in his chest, something he'd sworn from the beginning he'd never do in front of you. As he climbed on his horse the leather reins shook in his trembling hands, leaving you for the last time becoming the hardest thing he'd been asked yet.

He heard the hooves of your horse as you attempted to retreat, and was painfully aware when they stopped - an immediate fear taking over him that you wouldn't be able to go through with this.

"Arthur," you called out, the sobs chasing the end of your words a hammer to his heart each time. "I loved you. I do love you…I will love you always. Every day."

He turned his horse to you, glistening eyes mirrored by your own as he rode up along side you. He removed one of his gloves to reach out and hold your cheek in his hand, thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye gently.

You would never let yourself cry again.

"So many things I should've done different," for everything that was happening, Arthur sounded at peace with what he had chosen, content with all that he was leaving in the world as long as it included you. "I don't know what happens when we die, but I know if this…all this shit in life…ain't it for us…I'll be waitin' for you."

He released your face to reach for your hand, raising it to his lips in one final kiss. With that, you watched Arthur Morgan set off on his final ride.

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic

[earl-grey-teacake]

Hey, it's me again! Cause I'm mass suckered for angst, would you like to expand on the accident snippet? You don't have to :)

I also, really enjoyed all of them aswell!!

Awww! Thank you so much!!!

I had a lot of fun writing them so I'm glad you enjoyed reading them.

Instead of just expanding on the snippet, I wrote a whole fic for it!❤️

I hope you enjoy it!

❤️❤️❤️❤️

******

George could see it out of his mirrors and felt the agony sink into his bones as the blue Williams went straight into the barriers.

Alex!

George wanted to yell, scream, cry. He was in a multitude of emotions as “Red Flag! Red Flag!” blared in his ears. He hoped Logan didn’t see that. Hopefully, his child was still asleep, just as he was before George had left him to return to Mercedes

“How’s Alex? Is he okay?” Please be okay. You have to be okay. Logan will be very upset when he wakes up and doesn’t see you there.

“ He is conscious. Will let you know more when we have info.” Marcus answered.

James Vowles

Wanted to make sure you were aware,

Alex had to be flown to the hospital.

He needed emergency surgery.

They say it’s internal bleeding.

There it was again. That bone-breaking agony. The feeling of his world, his peace, shattering like glass against hardwood. Alex was supposed to be okay. He’s always okay.

Logan.

His son, his baby, was there alone in Williams without his parents. He must have woken up from his nap right now. He should be hungry and asking to be held right now. If you ask George, he doesn’t remember what happened besides sprinting to the Williams garage at breakneck speed.

Logan didn't like the atmosphere in the garage today. He had fallen asleep when the race started and woke up two hours later to find everyone rushing around. He could see his dad's car was back in the garage but Alex wasn't anywhere to be seen. His dad always comes and picks him up the moment he comes back. Even if Logan was asleep, he would bring Logan to the debrief or to the driver's room.

"It's okay. I know you're scared. Let's go wait in my office." James gave a thin smile, carrying the baby carrier into his office. Setting it on a chair, James readjusted the blanket that was slipping off. "It's a bit cold here."

"UH! UH!" Logan was starting to get fussy. He wanted his dad. He wanted to go back to the hotel and play.

"I know. Your dad is just a bit delayed." James smiled before returning back to his phone, hastily shooting off texts.

Logan wanted to cry and wail. It had been so long since he saw his dad. Did his dad forget him here?

The door swung open revealing a frantic Mercedes driver with a bag slung over his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry. I came here as fast as I could."

"It's okay, I didn't expect Alex to have to be flown to the hospital."

George breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing Logan. "Hey, Logie. How are you doing?"

"Uhhhh!" Logan kicked his feet and held out his arms, tired of being in the carrier.

George quickly undid the buckle and picked Logan up, hugging him tightly. "We'll go visit Dad right now, okay? He'll be so happy to see you."

"George, it'll be okay. Alex is strong, you know that."

"I know." Logan didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like it. Even though his dad hugged him tighter, it didn’t feel nice.

Logan was very displeased to have been taken out of his carrier only to be brought to the worst place in the world, the hospital. Logan hated it here. It was bright and loud, and people poked him with needles. He wanted to go home and eat and play with both of his dads. Don’t they understand that?

“Uhhhh!” He fussed in his dad’s arms.

George laid a hand on Logan’s head and gave soft scratches, similar to how he’d seen Alex do.

“Babies are just like little kittens.” Alex had said the first time George asked about it.

The gentle scratching seemed to tickle him and made him squirm and laugh. “Just a little bit more okay? Dad will be so happy to see you when he’s out.” Logan’s found his dad’s voice soothing but his voice sounded the same when Logan got really sick and wouldn’t stop crying.

George busied himself with Logan, tickling him, playing with him. Distracting Logan and by extension himself, from what was happening. Logan clung to his shirt and tried to pull at his hair.

“Ow, ow, ow.” George hissed. “That hurts. Don’t do that.”

“Ba! Ba!” Logan laughed and clapped his hands.

Before George could respond, the doctor walked into the waiting room. “Mr. Russell?”

George felt his heart drop and his throat close up. Holding Logan tightly to his chest, he stood up. “How is he?”

“Mr. Albon is stable. We managed to stop the bleeding and there should be no permanent damage to the hand and wrist. There was some bruising to the chest and lungs but it should heal in a week. He should wake up in an hour, however, given Mr. Albon’s complications with anesthesia in the past we will be keeping him under close supervision.”

Stable. Complications with anesthesia.

George’s mind rushed. How could he forget Alex’s complications during his appendectomy? George almost didn’t drive, wanting to be by Alex’s bedside in case something happened.

“Can we see him?” George needed to see him. He needed to see Alex whole and healthy.

“Yes, of course.”

George never saw what Alex looked like in the ICU but he imagined it looked like the scene in front of him, attached to different machines with a million tubes and wires. It burned to see his husband like this like someone had struck him with a knife.

“AH! AH!” Logan reached out, struggling to wiggle from George’s hold despite the fact that he can’t walk on his own. His other dad was here. He wanted to see his dad.

Logan patted Alex’s arm and pulled at the blanket but nothing. Gone were the laughter and coos and all the noise and happiness associated with Alex. Logan started to whine and fuss, no doubt upset his father who wouldn’t wake up to hug him like he promised.

“Uhhhhhh!” Logan started to fuss, clinging onto Alex’s suit as he tried to place Logan back in his carrier. Logan wrapped his arms around Alex’s neck, refusing to let go.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Alex rubbed circles on Logan’s back and kissed him on the head. “When I come back, I’ll give you all the hugs you want. Okay?”

Logan’s eyes squeezed together and fat tears started to roll down. “WAH! WAH! WAH!”

“Logie! Shhhh! It’s okay. I know you’re upset but Daddy will wake up soon. Shhhh.” George started to rock him but Logan refused to have any part of it.

He was tired and fussy and he wanted to go home. He didn’t like the loud beeping and the weird machines and he really didn’t like his dad not waking up to play with him.

“WAH! WAH! WAH!”

“Please, Logie.” George pleaded as Logan buried his face into George’s shoulder. “Please stop crying. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Logan, however, was inconsolable. His poor little face was scrunched up and he wailed until he started to choke and cough and was unable to cry loudly anymore. So he stuffed his face into George’s shoulder and cried silently instead. George felt the puddle of tears forming on his shoulder and the fragile yet violent way Logan’s body shook with anger and exhaustion.

He tried to walk around the room and rub small circles on Logan’s back the way Alex always did but Alex was always better at it. He had a sort of charm George just didn’t have with Logan. Logan could cry for what seemed like hours and all Alex would have to do was pick him up and coddle him and Logan would be laughing as if nothing happened. Their house was always filled with laughter when Alex was at home.

“Please Logie,” George begged, his throat heavy and his eyes burning. “I know I’m not like Daddy, but please stop crying. You’ll make yourself sick if you keep crying this hard.”

He wasn’t Alex. He couldn’t replace Alex for Logan. He couldn’t comfort their son or make him laugh the way his beloved always did from the moment they brought Logan home.

“Please…Logie. I know. Dad’s here, okay? I’m right here.”

He didn’t know how long he cried but he knew he stopped after their son had fallen asleep. Still clinging to George, Logan was knocked out with the puddle of drool replacing the puddle of tears made earlier. With one hand supporting Logan, George reached out to take Alex’s hand.

“Look, Alex. I did it,” George let out a wet, pitiful laugh. The only sounds accompanying him were the beeping of the machines and Alex’s and Logan’s breathing.

“You need to hurry and wake up Alex. Please wake up. I can’t do it without you.”

***

Alex felt like someone had run him over with his own car. His throat felt like sandpaper and every joint from his knees to his knuckles ached fiercely. He knew the blinding fluorescent lights and the wires well from his time in the ICU and one time George rushed him to the ER over a broken collarbone. He tried to move his hand to shield his eyes from the lights but found it being held down.

Alex turned his head to the side with great effort and saw the most beautiful scene he could wake up in the hospital to. George was sleeping in a chair next to him and in his arms was their son, curled up against his dad’s chest and sleeping soundly without a care in the world. It warmed his heart to know the two people he loved most in the world were okay.

He stared at the tight hold George had on Logan and the grip he had on Alex’s hands and felt so grateful to have a husband who loved him and their child so much. Knowing Logan, he would have given George a hard time at night so Alex didn’t feel compelled to wake him. Logan, however, was starting to show signs of fussiness and waking up.

If Alex had the strength, he would’ve sat up and taken Logan out of George’s arm to lull him back to sleep but instead, he watched as Logan slowly opened his bright blue eyes and locked onto Alex. Alex gave a smile back hoping to lull his son back to sleep but it only received a wide, gummy smile in return.

As Logan started to move towards Alex, George's arm instinctively tightened around him. This did not dissuade the baby, instead, it only caused Logan to wrestle with George even more as he tried to pull himself over to Alex.

“Logie,” George muttered. “You’re going to fall.” His grip getting tighter which only earned him protests.

“Ba! Babababa!” Logan hit his tiny fists against George’s chest.

“Mhm, go back to sleep, Logie.”

“Bababababa! Babababa!” Logan was getting more agitated at his dad getting in the way of his goal. Doesn’t he realize that Logan wants to hug his other dad? His face was getting red and scrunched him as he kept protesting.

“Georgie.” Alex rubbed his thumb against George’s hand.

“Hm?”

“Do you want me to take him?” God that sounded awful coming from his throat.

“Huh?” George’s eyes slowly blinked out. Now that he had a closer look, Alex could tell with certainty Logan had given his poor husband a hard time.

George stared off into the distance for was seemed like minutes before whipping his head around to see Alex lying in bed. His eyes, which were filled with exhaustion just moments ago, turned glassy and wet and his grip on Alex’s hands tightened. “Oh my god, you’re okay. Oh, thank god.”

Alex laughed. “Aww, did you have a rough night?”

“I was so worried Alex. Me, Logan, we were both so worried about you.” George picked up Alex’s hand and held it to his cheek. “I was so worried I was going to lose you and have to raise Logan all alone. I-I can’t do it without you.” His voice cracking up as a tear fell from his eyes.

“Awww, Georgie. I would never leave you. Especially with Logan around, you can’t stop him from crying without you also crying.” Alex joked, hoping to cheer his husband up. Once their home, they can talk about it more seriously, but now, he just needs to see George smile.

George gave a feeble laugh before wincing in pain as Logan yanked roughly on his hair.

“Owowowow! Logan, no!”

Alex gave a deep laugh. “Aww, here let me take him.”

Navigating around the wires, George placed Logan in Alex’s arms. “I missed you so much, Logie. Did you miss me? Did you have fun with Dad?” Alex asked as Logan curled up against Alex’s chest and wrapped his tiny arms around him.

“Aww, baby.” Alex cooed, kissing him on the top of his head. “I missed you too. I didn’t hug you huh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break my promise to you.” Alex hugged Logan tightly to his chest as an apology as his son babbled happily and poked at the little dots on the hospital gown.

Thank you so much for supporting my work!❤️

Please feel free to send more asks!!!

#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #galex #logan sargeant #alex albon #george russell #baby!loscar #This was in the works for weeks and I finally finished it!

[whoistartaglia]

are we too young for this?

summary: you sleep on the couch after another fight with diluc.

warnings: gender neutral reader, angst.

notes: inspired by softcore by the neighbourhood.

the king sized bed in the master bedroom in the dawn winery manor was especially large. but tonight, the extra space was not nearly enough to separate you from your boyfriend. not after the hours long unresolved fight you just fought. 

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching as diluc slept. his face was passive, his eyelids fluttering ever so softly. he looked so peaceful, in such a sharp contrast to the anger and annoyance that had contorted his face earlier. it looked as if diluc had never been in a fight at all.

you, on the other hand, still looked a mess. the bags under your eyes seemed darker than usual, a physical manifestation of your tiredness. but despite your exhaustion and instincts to lay down next to your boyfriend, you just couldn’t. 

it didn’t feel right, sleeping next to diluc when you were both very much angry and very much hurt. 

slowly, as not to wake diluc, you gathered an extra pillow and a spare blanket from the closet. with one last glance over your shoulder, you left the room and gently shut the door behind you. 

the living room was decorated with impressing guests first and comfort second. you sat down on the couch. the light brown leather certainly looked expensive, but it was stiff and not at all like a mattress. 

with a small sigh, you proped the pillow against one of the arms and pulled the blanket over you. it was uncomfortable, but you were so exhausted and drained that it hardly mattered. your eyes closed and you soon fell into a restless sleep. 

the manor filled with sound of the master bedroom door being opened. echoing footsteps followed shortly after and a worried diluc appeared in the entrance to the living room. his eyes scanned the room and a wave of relief washed over him when he spotted you, lying on the couch. you were still here. 

but the relief didn’t last long because he realized that you had been sleeping out here. that you were so upset that you refused to share a bed with him. that he was at fault for that. 

he made his way over to you, and you stirred, not quite awake, not quite asleep. you gazed at diluc, now standing over you, with bleary, sleep-filled eyes. 

“diluc?” you asked in a small voice.

“yeah, it’s me,” he responded, his voice also quiet, barely above a whisper. diluc took a seat on the couch and you pushed yourself up into a seated position. 

you both sat in tense silence for a long while after that, not knowing what to say or do to repair the damage between you. even now, hours after the fight, everything you said and heard still hurt like an unhealed wound, still vulnerable to the world. and it never used to be like this. in the past you fought of course, but it was never like the blowout yelling matches you seemed to have every other week. 

you would have never pictured yourself sleeping on the couch, but things have changed and so have you. you asked yourself the unwanted question. are we too young for this?

or are we old enough to know better, but foolish enough to stay together anyways?

you didn’t have an answer. you didn’t want to break up with diluc, but you were tired, so very tired. and as if sensing your exhaustion, diluc murmured a quiet, “come back to bed.”

it might have been a plea. diluc continued.

“i’m sorry i made you feel uncomfortable in our room. we may fight, but that doesn’t mean i don’t want to share my bed with you, [you].” diluc stood up and stretched out his hand. you stared up at it, unsure of what to do. he offered it like an alliance, a mutual agreement to resolve the argument later, perhaps in the early morning, to be together now. 

“i’m sorry, too," you whispered and finally placed your hand in diluc's. he held it so gently, as if you were made of cracked glass he was unwilling to let completely shatter.

“i know.” there was nothing more to be said, nothing that couldn’t wait until the morning. you would talk when you were both rested and rational. you both needed to resolve the argument at present, and dive into the deeper issues after. but for now, you allowed diluc to lead down the hall and back to your shared bedroom.

you didn’t fold into each other’s arms like usual, but sleeping together in the same room in the same bed, was enough. you glanced at diluc. as you drifted off into a deep sleep, so unlike the fitful tossing and turning from earlier, the thought echoed through your mind. it was enough. 

we will be enough. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact angst #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact diluc headcanons #diluc headcanons #diluc x you #diluc x reader #diluc #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin anst

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 6

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

It wasn’t unusual that “Technoblade” was late to meals. Philza wasn’t entirely sure if he needed to eat anymore. The hoard of spirits using Technoblade as a conduit assured Philza the body of his real son was technically still alive, but it didn’t change the fact his child looked less alive every day, pallid skin and sunken sockets. “Technoblade” was rather diligent in feeding the body they possessed, though often grew distracted, consumed with ghostly obsession. “Technoblade” had taken it upon themselves to farm the land, and with armies of ghosts set upon the task, there was little use for Philza. He was left to domestic upkeep, shaved down into nothing more than a sweet and nurturing caretaker. Hopefully such a docile persona would cause them to underestimate him.

Technoblade was stolen from him, but not truly gone. Perhaps it could have been some relief. Only his darkest nightmares could begin to fathom what the fates of his other children were, and yet he could still embrace Technoblade. It didn’t change the gut feeling that he was cradling the icy corpse of his son. Philza wasn’t sure if he could handle realizing he was watching his dead son’s carcass laugh and walk alongside him, puppeteered by ancient specters. No. The real Technoblade had to be in there somewhere. He had to. 

“Technoblade” hadn’t come back from the barn yet. Philza frowned as he dished out stew, then ordered “Tommy” to fetch his brother. While Philza only pretended to care if the others ate, he needed to believe Technoblade’s body was still alive. 

The demon whined about waiting to eat, then hmph’d and crashed through a window, morphing into a dark stallion as he raced for a distant barn. Philza flinched at the shattering glass, then sighed as Wilbur began to weave yet another illusion to ‘fix’ the broken window. Sometimes Philza wondered how much of his life was distorted into the image of a happy normal family, pasted over with magic to hide the real damage. 

A sound like distant thunder cracked through the air. Suddenly he could see the towering true form of the demon that stole Tommy, hissing and recoiling as dark waves of an undead legion poured out of the barn, attacking everything in their path. War unfurled from the barn.

Ah. So the façade was finally over. There was a grim relief in relinquishing the fragile peace. It was too soon, he still didn’t know where all his children were. But Philza was prepared. He’d been covertly stockpiling the means to defend himself for a long time now. These creatures wearing his children wouldn’t kill him that easily.

“Tommy” scrambled back from the ghosts that charged at him. Powerful claws slashed through the ranks, but their fury was ceaseless and phantasmal. “Tommy” turned tail and scampered back to the house. A blur of his form, and a bristling raccoon burrowed around Philza’s shoulders, shaking and bleeding.

“He’s crazy,” the demon hissed, ringed tail puffed up. “I tried to help him like you taught me to,” “Tommy” insisted, expecting reprimand. “He attacked me! And he was rude! He wouldn’t die even when I tried to kill him!” Philza pressed a kiss to the injured raccoon’s forehead, ignoring the sulfuric smell. Only a little longer must he pretend to love them. He coaxed the demon and changeling into resuming lunch, promising to handle it.

And then Philza prepared to finally kill the thing festering inside Technoblade’s body. It would have to be fast, before the others realized they were next.

Ghosts poured out of the barn, the restless legions of the slain pouring out upon the land they once tilled. Philza gripped his iron sword, praying the clumsy holy runes he’d scratched into would be enough against the undead. And then Philza charged in, flashes of blessed metal carving through the ghosts. It caught the spectral blows of swords that otherwise would have cut him to ribbons. He plunged into an army. Flashes of searing cold scraped through his form, numbing his soul. Still he sliced his way through the ghostly legion, fighting to the heart of the war. The world was a blur of darkness, but a trail of blood guided him to where ancient armies poured out of his child.

Spectral hands ripped at him, though he warded them off best he could with his Prime-blessed blade. His sword was torn out of his cold-numbed hands, too rigid from the rime crawling up them to pick it up again. And yet Philza pressed on, weathering the arctic shadows cutting to his core. In the heart of the darkness, “Technoblade” curled into a haystack, shuddering as waves of undead soldiers clawed their way out of him.

The hoards descended upon Philza, shrieking and ripping into him. Frost struck through him, brutal in its cold. Philza stumbled, struggling to pass through the gale of spirits to the body they possessed. His heart began to freeze inside his chest, sluggish as it tried to join the host of the undead. He reached for the boy, fighting with everything he had, and slammed the binding tag onto him.

The spirits screeched as they were suddenly ripped backward and shoved back into “Technoblade”. It snapped to silence abruptly, the spell tag having done its work. The ghosts couldn’t leave their vessel now. Philza panted, each exhale no longer spilling condensation. His fingers were still numb even as the soul frost melted, but he stumbled over to his dropped weapon, dragging it as he slowly approached the shaking boy. Blood trailed toward “Technoblade”, staining the hay he curled in.

Philza pointed his sword at the hyperventilating ghost. “Give me back my son.”

“Technoblade” didn’t seem to hear him, mumbling over and over to themselves. “Don’t hurt him don’t hurt him don’t-" the monster began sobbing as he raised the sword.

And Philza realized he wasn’t going to be able to kill them. Not when they begged for mercy in the voice of his children. No, not when they shared his home for months, when they looked to him for guidance to mold them into gentler lives. “Technoblade” putting down their swords in favor of plows, “Tommy” learning to be careful in his affections, “Wilbur” slowly realizing he might be loved for himself and not the child he replaced. They all called him father long past when the deception was broken.

His heart howled. He wanted the monsters that destroyed his children dead. And yet Philza couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

The sword clattered to the barn floor. “Technoblade” whimpered and struggled at his approach, kicking out wildly. Philza wrestled them down, catching the hands clawing at him. “Technoblade” was a bloodied mess, a gash crossed over an eye and digging down his collarbone to his heart. “Don’t hurt him dON’T HURT HIM PLEASE—“

And suddenly, Philza remembered that “Technoblade’s” last vessel had been murdered.

Philza brushed “Technoblade’s” hair from where it fell into the wound. “Shhh, it’s okay. If I wanted you dead, you would be.” It soothed the strategically-minded spirits a little. Philza would exorcise them in a heartbeat, but then he’d have to deal with the others and in that time Technoblade could very well bleed out. Never mind the fact he still didn’t know where the other children were.

He peeled out of his jacket and used it to soak up the blood, murmuring assurances. Slowly “Technoblade” began to calm, realizing they weren’t being attacked. Shakily, they explained that they’d accidentally hurt Technoblade’s body when tilling, and panicked, sure they’d be finished off while weakened. They kept apologizing for hurting the body, like Philza couldn’t see how deeply the ghosts cared for their vessel. Carefully, Philza removed the binding spell tagging the spirit, shoving it into a pocket for later. “Technoblade” reached dark hands for him, clinging on for comfort. 

Foolishly, Philza thought that was all they did, till too late he saw the shadow and whirled to find his sword hovering over him in a phantom grasp. “Technoblade” examined the runes Philza scratched into the metal. “You have been scheming against us,” they said almost levelly. Red eyes pinned him from within dark sockets, staring up from where “Technoblade” clung to his chest. A spectral hand clawed at the fabric covering his hammering heart, poised to rip it out. He’d let his guard down. 

Philza was silent, realizing he’d revealed his intent far, far too soon. “…I’m not a foolish man. You’re a warrior, are you not? Would you deny me strength? We all know I’m nowhere near you boys’ equal.”

“Technoblade” pressed the sword hilt back into his palm. “True. A far better man than any of us. Few soldiers are strong enough to stop fighting.”

Next>

#gave lambs!Techno the scp tubbo treatment lmaooooo #get they/them'd idiot #the lambs wolves wear #philza #philza minecraft #sbi #dark sbi #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #sbi au #Sbi angst #Dsmp au #sbi fic #mcyt #philza fanfic #dark sbi fic #dark sbi fanfic #technoblade fanfic #emerald duo #emerald duo fic #tw injury #emerald duo fanfic #something to nom on

[intoxicated-chan]

Worthy

♡o。.✿ฺ Paring // Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

♡o。.✿ฺ Summary // Simon questions everything about you, was he really worthy of someone like you?

♡o。.✿ฺ (A/n) // I didn’t proofread so be prepared for mistakes. Also Part 2 of Welcome Home Surprise is being written as well as Each Other’s Other. I’m just not sure when it will be ready for you guys. As usually, COD requests are open.

♡o。.✿ฺ Word Count // 1.3k

♡o。.✿ฺ Content Warnings // Gender neutral reader, heavy angst, OOC GHOST, nightmares, profanity, pet names (love)...

There were many things that Simon “Ghost” Riley thought he was never worthy of. His number one being someone like you. Always there with him in the good and the awful, it pains him that you allow him to push and shut you out, but his thoughts were at ease when you cupped his face, staring right into his heartless eyes and spoke the words he thought no one would ever want to say to someone like him.

Each day, each time he wakes up before you, and before he could open his eyes, he wouldn’t blame you if he found you gone. After all, who would want to stay with a guy with a shit ton of baggage.

Trauma stacked on top of more trauma without a single break to allow him to fix himself. Yet when you arrived, you slowly picked up the shattered pieces and attempted to fix what was left of Simon Riley, an attempt to allow him to have a somewhat peaceful life outside of his trauma. He knew your goal was impossible, Simon wasn’t going to change, Simon wasn’t going to be the man there for your ugly or the sad, but you were there for him and never expected him to do the same.

His nightmares that plague him and that make it impossible to enjoy sleep, yet you’re wide awake and already soothing him, you’re careful to not touch him so quickly and you make sure he knows you’re there. You stay when he panics as he believes you’re an enemy, you don’t become afraid of him, you just hope he’s okay.

Those days of being without you don’t pain him, mainly because he believes he shouldn’t be around you in the first place. He knows you get looks for being with him in public, your parents’ opinion of him, everyone’s thoughts…

Simon hates it, oh he fucking hates it. He should be proud, happy, or the usual emotions someone would feel with someone like you. But how would he know? Was it those late night drives after another argument? Or after you receive the silent treatment as a way to make you leave for good?

It was the same results every time. You waited for Simon to speak, waited for him to collect his thoughts. You always believed that Simon was good, he just had a difficult way of showing himself. He wasn’t just going to be vulnerable, he wasn’t going to bear everything right away.

And you waited, and waited, and waited…

He tried to make those painful nights something pleasurable for him, breakfast in bed, hiking together, watching a movie together… But those days where you fell asleep in his arms, he’d ask, how was he worthy of someone like you? Why do you stay after everything? It was like his mind was on repeat, months would be so perfect and all of a sudden he’s plagued with worry.

Again you let him push you away, again you let him shut you out, and again you let him not speak and leave during the middle of the night for another drive. What broke his heart was the smile you gave him even when you felt like crying, you muttered, “Please be safe, I love you.” You continued to let yourself be heartbroken, and you continued to hope for those unreturned I love you too’s.

You couldn’t push a person like Simon and at the same time, he never liked being treated like glass. You tried to be careful and hope that he was getting enough space from someone as overbearing as you.

It was another empty bed tonight, you replaced your shirt with one of Simon’s black hoodies, and you were ready for bed. But you couldn’t help yourself this time, you cried, sobbed into the pillow silently while begging for his return. The argument left you both feeling like shit, but it was worse than the others.

You held onto the pillow, finally letting yourself fall asleep after hours of crying. But what you did know was that Simon was going to return but not to the bed, rather fancying the couch on nights like these.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he turned off the engine, he looked at the door, then to his steering wheel. How long was this pattern going to continue? How long will this pain go on for? How long will he leave you crying?

He slowly walked into the freezing house, slightly surprised to not find you waiting for him. He found you in the shared bedroom, he could tell you were crying, he didn’t need to see your tear stained face. Simon carefully sat next to you, he knew you felt the bed dip and you tried not to notice it. A large hand placed on your shoulder and you went back to sleep.

Simon knew he couldn’t give you what other guys can, he lives with his life redtracted, barely leaving a trace. He knew you deserved to be out in the open and not chained down to a very simple life just for a man like him. He was the one being difficult, so might as well make it easier on you.

You watched as Simon tied his shoes, dressed in his uniform and a bag slung over your shoulder.

“Be safe.” He heard you speak, “And I… I hope you come back, I love you.” The amount of times Simon wanted you to stop saying those words, the words that made him weak…

He didn’t return those and with his usual comment, “I’m off.” He leaves, and leaves you standing there sadly. No hug, no kiss, not even taking a look at you.

Why don’t you take those words back, shout at him for being a fool, and letting him know how much pain he’s been putting you through. But Simon has his own problems, he doesn’t need to be bothered with your silly feelings.

You sat at the table, hands shaking, eyes becoming blurry as you felt the hot tears falling down. It wasn’t new to you at this point, it was becoming a routine, nothing special, like how you weren’t special to Simon anymore.

Would things have been different if you spoke out your first worries to him, would he have tried to at least try? Or was it you? You put in the work for a relationship that he’s clearly backing out of.

Days, weeks, months passed without a single word from Simon until his supposed return was replaced with a letter addressed to you, titles his forever love. No, you shouldn’t cling onto false hope just because he finally called you love.

Slowly you opened the letter and started to read.

My forever love,

I thought how things could have been different, those nights I left you alone to cry in our bed. I could never forgive myself for hurting you so much. You took good care of me and gave me more than what I could offer, you were there when I was ready to shut down, there for me for the nightmares, yet you allowed me to give nothing in return to help you. I should have appreciated you more and I see that now, but the best course of action would be to let you go. As much as this relationship makes us happy, it hurts you at the same time. Don’t do this to yourself (Y/n), don’t continue to hurt yourself.

From Simon Riley

Even after days of no response from you, he decided to return home. But this time, there was no you waiting to greet him, no you sleeping in your shared bed, there was no you.

Was Simon Riley worthy of anything?

© Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.

#x reader #cod mw #cod mw22 #cod modern warfare #x gender neutral reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #cod ghost #cod angst

[kthyg]

ghoul. — (consign)

[SIXTH INSTALMENT OF GHOUL SERIES : CONSIGN]

"Kiss your clean record goodbye." Provocation or prediction.

or

S2 squad went to the 13th ward for a Wipe Out Operation but didn't expect to encounter an Owl in the midst of the operation.

pairing. jungkook x reader, hoseok x reader, jin x reader (ft. myg & pjm)

rating. M

genre. tokyo ghoul au, soulmate au, gore, violence, mass attack

disclaimer. this story is a work of fiction. descriptions of the BTS members in this story does not reflect nor portray them in real life. everything in this story only fits in imagination and does not apply outside of imagination.

warning. lots of bloodshed (mostly spilled from the ghouls :/), depiction of people (doves) getting killed ruthlessly by the Owl and killing methodology was described.

word count. 5k+

lexicon & profiles . masterpost . masterlist . navigation

note from winter 💌

sorry for the long disappearance </3 but er hey, a brand new banner for ghoul!! beta read by loyal beta reader @zyphqr <3 this is just a short one maybe can be counted as a filler chapter too, but it will make do. hope you guys enjoy this <33 and u lots might not notice, but i kind of changed my writing style a bit? I think consign has got to be the most elaborated fic I've ever written cause those detailed words? idk how my brain came up with that but I'm proud of this one

💌 what is winter listening to? in sequence; D-DAY, Interlude: Dawn, HUH?!, AMYGDALA. (All by Agust-D)

📑 if you want to know more about this au, you can refer to lexicon & profiles. any other questions you can refer to me !!

dedication. a gift to all of my readers.

The urban avenue of Seoul tonight was oddly still, with only sporadic leaf rustling in the soft breeze breaking the silence. The streetlights emitted a pale light illuminating the desolate pathway and generating a creepy ambience that felt unsettling. The towering edifices on both sides of the street looked imposing and austere, with dark windows and walls stained by the wear of time. In Seoul, quiet streets like this one often serve as a warning sign, hinting at the stillness that precedes a night of horror and violence.

This only served as a warning that hazards could present in any situation, even in the calmest and most tranquil circumstances.

The only sounds that interrupted the quietness were the faraway noise of cars and the faint footsteps’ echoes. A stray feline would occasionally scuttle across the street, eyes gleaming, barely visible in the low light. Despite the peacefulness of the evening, the street’s stillness felt unusual and peculiar. A strong odour of rot and other, more ominous scents, detectable only by those with heightened senses, hung heavily in the air. An enduring sensation of peril seemed to permeate the surroundings, giving the impression of being under surveillance by something lurking in the shadows. The silence was broken by the occasional sound of shattering glass or the screech of metal against metal. A car alarm would blare for a few moments before falling silent once more.

These sounds, too, added to the unease that hung in the air, hinting at the possibility of danger lurking in the darkness.

For those who knew of the existence of ghouls, quiet streets would be even more unsettling. People would be acutely aware that a ghoul could lurk somewhere in the shadows, watching, waiting for its next victim. The silence of the street, combined with the faint scent of blood in the air, would make them feel like they were walking on thin ice, with danger lurking around every corner.

The 13th ward, Seochu-gu.

The pale moonlight bathed the ward where ghouls were recently reported to be lurking in the shadows. The usually bustling streets were now empty, only to be filled in by a large group of doves - some dressed in formal KCCG attire while others were heavily armed. Operating vehicles and drones were also present, adding to the sense of preparation and anticipation in the air. As Jung Hoseok, the Chief Director of Division II, approached, the sound of footsteps echoed through the night, accompanied by the presence of bureaus.

“Alright, good evening, doves,” Hoseok spoke, his voice firm and commanding. “I, Jung Hoseok, Chief Director of Division II, will be leading today’s Wipe Out Operation that is to be conducted here in the 13th ward.”

You and another four supreme investigators stood at attention, listening to Hoseok’s every word. “Operating squad involved in this operation will only be the Supreme Squad S2 and 75 Bureaus. Other than S2 and Bureau Investigators are required to leave the scene. Failed to do so and get caught by S2 squad members, the bureaus, or me, will receive disciplinary action.” Everyone present at the scene nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Hoseok continued, “Commencing roll call on S2 squad. Please present your weapon.”

Each member stood tall and proud, eyes scanning the surrounding area for any signs of danger. The atmosphere was tense, and they knew they were about to embark on a dangerous mission. Finally, Hoseok began calling out names; each member stepped forward to present their weapon.

“Present as always.” A soulful voice spoke with confidence.

The roll call started with Jeon Jungkook, the Branch Director of 2nd Ward, as he confidently presented his weapon, the Angel Beat, an SS-rated Ukaku type known for its incredible speed and accuracy. Min Yoongi stepped forward with a bored, unbothered expression and presented his weapon, the 13’s Jason, a Rinkaku type rated S+. 13’s Jason was one of the most potent weapons in their arsenal, and Min Yoongi knew how to use it to devastating effect.

As the roll call continued, Park Jimin, another Special Class member, stepped forward proudly with his charming smile, “Never not present,” and presented his weapon, the IXA, a Koukaku type that was rated S+.

Kim Seokjin, your fellow Associate Special Class, followed suit, responded upon his name being called and presented his weapon, the Narukami, an S+-rated Ukaku type known for its incredible range and power.

Finally, your name was called out. Your grip tightened on your quinque as you presented your weapon, the Aus, a Rinkaku-type rated S+. The Aus was a fearsome weapon known for its speed and agility, and you had spent countless hours training with it to hone your skills. As the roll call came to a close, you stood steady, weapon at the ready.

Hoseok looked around at his team, impressed by their impressive arsenal. “Total of five members. Weapon rating from SS to S+.”

He then briefed the investigators on the operation. “This operation aims to cleanse the 13th ward off ghouls. It was brought to our attention that quite a number of ghouls have been roaming in this ward. Expect every worst possibility as the data collected by the bureaus have shown that several S+ rated ghouls are hiding in this ward.”

“Movement will be in personal formation with 15 Bureaus as back-ups. I will be assisting each one of you through the earpiece and monitoring through the drones.”

The investigators nodded, preparing themselves for the dangerous mission ahead. Hoseok gave them a nod of approval. “Doves, fight with your all. Best of luck,” he said before giving the signal.

“Operation commences.”

With a nod from your leader, the five of you set out into the dark night, ready to fight for justice and protect the citizens of the 13th ward from the threat of ghouls. You moved out, determined to eliminate the ghouls that lurked in the darkness. As all of you moved through the eerie streets of the 13th ward, the tension in the air was felt by everyone. The sound of footsteps echoed loudly as if warning any lurking ghouls of the doves’ presence. Jungkook took point, his Angel Beat quinque ready in his grip. He scanned the area, searching for any signs of movement.

“Clear,” he informed Hoseok, his voice crackling through your earpiece too.

As Jungkook ventured to his chosen route, the rest of the team moved forward, staying in formation before breaking into personal formation. Your squad moved deeper into the ward, searching every nook and cranny for any sign of ghoul activity. The tension was palpable, as all of you knew that any misstep could mean certain death or injury.

To describe Wipe-Out Operation with one word would be unpredictable. This operation was assigned to the Supreme Squad for a reason. Given the unpredictability, KCCG only sent out Associates Special Class and above to prevent any unwarranted damages, and it was usually conducted and supervised by Division Chief Director, Hoseok or Namjoon, according to the wards involved. KCCG strictly prohibited any ranks lower than Associate Special and Special from participating in the operation, no matter how great and exceptional one’s skills were.

It was the experience that counted, at least according to the KCCG’s higher-ups.

“Remaining doves, split into pairs,” Hoseok commanded. “The headquarters sent a newly found vision radar of the 13th ward, and the Rc levels are increasing. Jungkook, be informed. I will send out more bureaus to your side.”

“Very well.” His voice echoed in your earpiece following Hoseok.

“Bureaus, load your Q-bullets,” he ordered, stern and commanding.

The bureaus sprang into action, their movements quick and efficient. They reached for their bullet cases, deftly loading their Q-bullets into their quinques. The sound of the bullets clicking into place was the only noise in the silent night as they prepared themselves for the upcoming operation. They stood in line as they finished loading, waiting for the following order. Each one was ready for whatever lay ahead, their minds focused and their hearts beating with anticipation.

“Weapons are to be fired upon the orders of your respective formation leaders,” Hoseok instructed one last time before going off the communication system.

Suddenly, Yoongi urged you to follow him, “Let’s go (Y/N).”

Noticing the confusion on Jimin’s face, he clarified the situation by pointing out that it wouldn’t be a good idea to form a team with two associates and two special classes.

“In that case, you can take Jin,” Jimin countered, crossing his arms.

Yoongi scoffed, “Damn. Did I miss a notice stating that (Y/N) is your partner again?” He then grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the other side of the ward, leaving Jimin fuming with anger and Jin puzzled.

As you and Yoongi turned to a corner, a loud noise erupted. The two of you stopped any movements, weapons raised as a reflex. You knew better than to speak out loud, so you waited with bated breath. Suddenly, a figure leapt out from the shadows.

It was a ghoul.

Its Kagune gleamed in the dim light and moved at a thunder-like speed, but before the ghoul could even reach the two of you, Yoongi had already unsheathed his jagged quinque. His quinque sliced through the air with deadly accuracy as he pivoted on his heel and swung, slicing through its kagune. The ghoul stumbled backwards, blood gushing from the wound on its side. Yoongi didn’t give it a chance to recover, though. He pressed forward, striking blow after blow with his quinque.

The ghoul crumpled to the ground with a loud thud, lifeless.

You stood back, watching as Yoongi wrenched the blood off his weapon and rested it on his shoulder. You weren’t oblivious to the fact that Yoongi was the most ruthless, quick-witted investigator ever to be born in KCCG. But at that moment, you wished he was anything but those. The ghoul you and Yoongi had encountered was a lone male ghoul. But it wasn’t that fact that made you hesitant.

He looked terrified. Eyes wide with fear.

It wasn’t the fear of being found by doves.

The fear in his eyes was present even before the pair of you arrived. He was about to say something before Yoongi killed him. You didn’t miss the tremble of his lips. “He was trying to tell something.” You approached the dead body.

Yoongi crouched down beside you and examined the ghoul’s face. “It doesn’t matter now.”

You frowned; you couldn’t shake the feeling that you might have missed something important. You scanned the area to see if there were other ghouls nearby, but there weren’t any. You and Yoongi moved forward cautiously. The streets of the 13th ward were silent. The moon shone down the deserted road, casting an eerie glow on the surroundings. As you and your partner walked further into the area, Yoongi suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing you to do the same.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, approaching you rapidly.

Yoongi swung his quinque, ready for use, a menacing look on his face. You followed suit, grip on your weapon tightening. The footsteps grew closer, and you could see the silhouette of three figures approaching your direction with crazed expressions on their faces, ready to attack.

Without hesitation, Yoongi charged forward, striking one of the ghouls with a swift blow from his quinque. They clashed back and forth, Yoongi using his agility to dodge the ghoul’s attacks and strike back with his 13’s Jason. Each time he landed a hit, the ghoul would let out a pained growl, but it only seemed to make it more aggressive.

But it made Yoongi scoff.

He found it funny how the ghoul tried to act mighty and strong when he could easily detach the head from the neck with bare hands. Yoongi fought the creature with a clear stance and graceful movements as if he was performing a dance.

A deadly dance.

He was, after all, a killing machine masking as a delicate doll.

The remaining two turned their attention to you. The male ghoul was massive, towering over you with impressive height and a menacing expression. His kagune, a long tentacle-like appendage, whipped through the air as it prepared to attack. He lunged forward, forming his kagune into a claw; he aimed at your chest. But you quickly dodged the attack, stepping to the side and bringing your Aus up in a defensive stance. He snarled and attacked again.

Yoongi launched a powerful attack with his kagune, slicing through the ghoul’s torso and causing him to fall to the ground with a thud. He dragged his quinque painfully slow through the ghoul’s body as more blood flowed out. He lazily turned his head toward your direction. You were fighting two ghouls, but he didn’t have any intention of helping you, so he continued playing with the dead body.

You can handle them…

Probably, he shrugged.

With a swift movement of your wrist, you sliced through the ghoul’s arm, causing him to screech in pain and recoil. The second one finally jumped into the fight. She was relentless, her kagune striking out again and again, but you were unyielding, dodging, blocking, and attacking with unflinching determination. She charged at you upon seeing her friend being taken down, but again, you instinctively dodged to the side, swinging your quinque in a wide arc. She was fast, but you were quicker as you blocked and deflected her attacks while landing blows of your own. Your weapon finally made heavy contact with the ghoul’s flesh, spraying a shower of blood into the air. She howled in pain, but you couldn’t feel any sympathy; instead, you could feel a rush of adrenaline.

Suddenly, the injured male lunged forward with lightning speed, his kagune striking at you with deadly force. You looked at him with a condescending smirk, “A strong one, aren’t you?”

It was almost psychotic how your tone sounded because nothing could’ve prepared your opponents for your sudden move. Your quinque pierced through the ghoul’s flesh in a blink of an eye, and he let out a final howl before collapsing to the ground, dead.

It took the female one off guard, but you didn’t give her time to recover as you jumped over her head and delivered a powerful kick to its back. She was sent flying with great force; probably broke a few bones and damaged some areas of skin. You looked down at her spasming figure with malice and plunged your Aus into her back, ending her life immediately.

The bureaus under your command had shocking looks on their faces. They exchanged glances with each other as if realising that you were not to be underestimated. Of course, they had always heard the praises that fell from the lips of the higher-ups that you were a skilled investigator, but seeing you in action was entirely another thing.

“New recruits?” Yoongi’s voice was calm and collected, betraying no hint of emotion as he finished off the ghoul he was handling just now.

He did detach the head from the neck.

The bureaus’ complexion paled, every colour drained at the horrendous sight before them.

“Right, I forgot bureaus don’t kill all the time,” because it was clear that killing ghouls was just another day in the life of a KCCG investigator.

Suddenly, a shiver ran down your spine as you caught a glimpse of a figure moving in the corner of your eye. It has to be a mistake. A low growl echoed through the hallway, causing the team to freeze. They knew that sound all too well - it was the sound of a ghoul.

Not just an ordinary ghoul.

“It’s the Owl.”

Yoongi’s voice was the last thing you heard before the explosive sound of the Owl crashing on the ground, announcing its presence and causing debris to rain down on everyone. The heavy feelings that have been crawling on your back. The first ghoul you had encountered, the terror and fear in his eyes.

The three ghouls that were killed.

They died in the hands of doves instead of the Owl.

It was unintentional that they encountered us.

They were running away from the grim reaper but still stumbled on death’s door.

“Take cover!” You commanded the bureaus, grabbing the nearest to you by the arm and pulling them towards the most immediate cover. You and Yoongi were split as he jumped toward the right side. You positioned yourself in front of the female bureau you had pulled with you, shielding her from any potential danger.

The Owl planned all of this. None of these were coincidences.

Reaching for your ear device, you contacted Hoseok, “Emergency code red-O, triple S; Yong. Location, North–”

“Bureaus, fire!”

Upon Yoongi’s command, the bureaus opened fire on the Owl. The air was filled with the sound of gunfire and the whistling of projectiles. But the bullets seemed to have no effect on it. The Owl grew even more enraged and began to thrash about wildly. Its tentacles flailed out in every direction, knocking over walls and sending debris flying through the air.

What the fuck?

Why is he provoking Yong?!

Owls were immune to Q-bullets; sometimes, even quinque does no damage. He should know that.

“Fall back!” You shouted through the chaos, but your command fell on deaf ears. The sound of the continuous firing prevented your voice from reaching your comrades. You scrambled to dodge the tentacles and find another safe cover. You could feel the ground shaking beneath you as Owl continued to wreak havoc on the ward. The dangerous creature let out a deafening screech. Its eyes glowed red as it turned its attention toward the bureaus. It flapped its kagune and leapt into the air, swooping down towards them with incredible speed. The armed investigators scattered desperately, trying to avoid the creature’s deadly tentacles.

“Investigator Min, we need to–”

Yong pounced on a group of bureaus, slashing and tearing with its razor-sharp appendages. They screamed in terror as the beast’s relentless assault tore them apart. Some were still shooting and firing in hopes of distracting or even injuring – just a minor wound on the Owl, but despite their best efforts, the attacks seemed only to enrage the Owl further. It seemed almost invincible, unstoppable in its rage. Its attacks became increasingly ferocious, and the investigators found themselves quickly losing ground.

You turned to your partner in terror, hoping he would just look you in the eyes and bellow a command. “Min Yoongi – !” Except he was not in his spot.

The Owl turned around just in time to block your superior’s attack with its own kagune. It countered with a devastating strike that nearly took Yoongi off his feet.

“Yoongi, Hoseok is on the way. We need to retreat first!” You tried to reach him again while trying to gather the bureaus. The situation was already chaos at its finest; Yoongi definitely didn’t need to add up to it.

With a violent swing of his 13’s Jason, Yoongi charged forward once more, his quinque gleaming in the dim light of the ward. The two engaged in an intense battle, their weapons clashing with each other in a violent symphony. He lunged at the Owl, his quinque slashing through the air toward the ghoul’s head. But no matter how skilled Yoongi was, Owl was no easy opponent, and it had yet to unleash its full power.

Yoongi was not Namjoon.

Not even Hoseok.

Skills unmatched.

Yong’s eyes glowed with malice. Sidestepping the attack, it launched itself towards Yoongi; massive kagune extended, robust scale-red slashed through the air and to his abdomen. Yoongi stumbled back as blood seeped through his shirt.

He cursed under his breath, looking down at his open wound. His stamina was decreasing significantly from all those attacks and defences. But his body had long entered survival mode; he was far from exhausted. The Owl that stood in front of him, he knew very well.

The same Owl that caused a riot and havoc back in his hometown.

The very same Owl that became the reason why he was in KCCG instead of living happily with his family.

The one and only Owl that was responsible for his first ever traumatic event.

The fucking Owl that–

“Yoongi, dodge!” You slammed your body toward Yoongi without thinking twice the moment you saw his eyes go blank. You’ve seen that Yoongi way too many times. The Yoongi that would be deep in thought and stare into nothingness when you passed by his office. The only moment where he would show vulnerability unconsciously, and you knew how much he hated it– because you hated it too– but that always happened in the KCCG building and never, ever during a mission.

The collision between your body and Yoongi’s was extremely powerful that it sent him flying to the other side, to a safer side. His eyes finally met yours as his train of thought was interrupted. The worried expression on his face was the first you ever saw in your time working with him as he screamed your name with great desperation. You could swear you saw his eyes turn glossy before you were sent flying.

You pushed him just in time but were a second late to dodge the Owl’s full-force attack. Your Aus managed only to cover your torso as the Owl’s movement was too quick for your reflex. Your whole body met with the Owl’s heavy blow.

Since when does getting hit by your own quinque hurt like bitch? “S-shit…”

Your body was numb.

Hey, at least you’re not feeling pain.

Better than feeling the pain like someone was taking away your soul.

“Oh, my lady,” A voice reached your ears, although it was very faint due to the impact your body had experienced. You knew whose voice it was. “Do you recognise me?”

It was Hoseok.

You blinked twice as a yes.

“Good girl.” Weirdly you could feel his gentle stroke on your hair. His warmth reached your cold, numbing body. You wanted to close your eyes. “I need you to stay with us until you reach the hospital. Can you do that for me?”

You were tired. You didn’t think you could comply with this order.

“I know you’re tired and hurt, (Y/N), but I need you to just stay conscious. Jin will keep you company. I will take over everything from here. Take a rest, but please stay alive.”

The next thing you know, Jin was already on your side with a worried expression. “(Y/N), hang on there. The ambulance is on the way.” He stroked your hair with his rough, calloused hand – probably due to handling those heavy killing weapons. Your hands were no different. In fact, all ghoul investigators were bound to roughen their hands.

With the quinques.

And with blood.

Oh, are you regretting your decision, (Y/N)?

Never.

“Stay with us, (Y/N),” you heard Jungkook’s voice. Quinque was thrown to the side as he kneeled next to you. You swore his force could’ve injured his knees, but he didn’t seem to care at all by the looks of it. His eyes were only on you. Pupils dilated in fear. Hands and lips trembled as he spoke. “It must’ve hurt a lot, Sakura.”

Sakura.

“Yeah,” you said with minimal energy. “It hurts a lot, Koo.”

Jimin arrived last at the scene. He was out of breath from the sprinting he did when he received Hoseok’s assembly order. His eyes first landed on your half-alive body before the sight of the hideous monster caught his eyes.

Yoongi and (Y/N) couldn’t be that stupid to try and take the Owl down.

One was a half-ghoul, and another one was pure human.

“Oh, Yong Owl,” Hoseok had left your side, hands stuffed in his pockets and walked towards Yoongi, ordering the other fellow Supreme Squad members to follow him with bureaus at the ready. “It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

Yong Owl.

That name caught Jimin’s attention. When Hoseok commanded him to come here, he wasn’t informed which Owl was at the scene; only his rate was told. Jimin pushed back his hair from his forehead. He so badly wanted to burst into a loud laugh. He let his hand stay on his face longer but couldn’t contain the vicious smirk tugging on his lips at the realisation. Of course, it wasn’t you that could be so stupid in this situation.

You were the result of Yoongi’s stupidity.

Yong wasn’t some random Owl. Of course, he wasn’t, even for KCCG. But Yong was especially not some random Owl for Yoongi.

Jungkook hesitated to walk away from you but got on his feet and stood next to Jin with a concerned face for a few seconds. You were, after all, a Jeon. He couldn’t bear to see his family in pain and let the assaulter run away. He was torn between staying by your side or taking down Yong Owl. Jimin slung his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, pulling the younger with him heading towards the Owl.

Yong was the murderer of Yoongi’s family.

“We’ll be right back, (Y/N),” Jimin sent you a wink. A smirk followed shortly after as he continued. “After this, no more danger you can’t take on will come your way.”

Silly Yoongi, but thank you for the opportunity, soulmate.

“Didn’t expect to see me?” Hoseok smiled. “I know you wish to have encountered Namjoon instead because he always lets you go unscathed, worried for his teammates.”

Yong took a step back as the Chief Director took a step forward. Hoseok was known for his ruthlessness, and that fact was well-learned even for ghouls, even for Owls. While he seemed like the most gentle and caring person, the fact was that he was still a ghoul investigator. His motto in KCCG was to kill with passion. He has worked for KCCG for the longest among everyone. His entire bloodline was born only to serve KCCG for the betterment of the world.

Most Owls have their own hideouts that were undetectable by KCCG; hence it was unlikely for Owls to bump into the doves. Moreover, Owls always stayed lowkey.

“But things work differently for me. You bark, I bite.”

A bureau walked towards Hoseok to hand him a quinque suitcase. Jimin whistled at the sight. He knew what was in that. Heck, it even looked different than any other quinque suitcase.

It was the legendary quinque.

It was the quinque imported from CCG, Japan. Previously wielded by Kishou Arima, the legendary ghoul investigator before he died, since then, the quinque has been stored in CCG’s top secret room. It was only recently an evaluation was done to hand over the quinque to worthy hands and make use of it. Hoseok was invited to take part in the evaluation and easily scored the highest. The quinque was named Owl, created from a kakuhou torn out of the Non-Killing Owl during the battle against Arima. Crafted with precision and designed for devastating efficiency, it possessed an air of elegance despite its deadly purpose. It was the only known SSS-rated quinque and the only one known to be created from a living ghoul. 

“Unlucky for you; you hurt my favourite person.” Hoseok shook his head in disappointment as he was just scolding a child for his wrongdoing. He activated the suitcase, and immediately, it transformed into the Owl.

The Owl quinque was a masterpiece of engineering, combining intricate craftsmanship with advanced technology. Its appearance was both captivating and haunting, resembling a pair of oversized metallic wings. The wings were adorned with intricate patterns and etchings, reflecting the meticulous attention to detail put into its creation. The surface of the quinque gleamed with a metallic sheen, hinting at its superior strength and durability. The blade of the quinque was razor-sharp, capable of easily slicing through flesh and exoskeleton. Its edges were finely honed and meticulously maintained, ensuring maximum combat-cutting efficiency.

But it was not just its physical attributes that made the Owl quinque so formidable. Within its core lay a unique and deadly mechanism. With a simple flick of a switch, the quinque would unleash its true power. The wings would unfold, revealing hidden compartments and mechanisms, each serving a specific purpose in enhancing combat capabilities. The Owl quinque was known for its incredible speed and agility. It allowed its wielder to move with astonishing swiftness, striking down enemies in a flurry of precise and lethal attacks. Its versatility was unmatched, enabling the wielder to seamlessly transition between offensive and defensive maneuvers, easily adapting to any situation.

Moreover, the quinque possessed a unique ability to absorb and manipulate the kagune, the potent weapon of the ghouls. It could absorb the kagune’s energy and redirect it with devastating force, turning the enemy’s own power against them. This ability allowed the wielder to effectively counter even the most formidable opponents, turning their strength into their downfall.

The sheer power and elegance of the Owl quinque made it a symbol of Arima’s skill and prowess as a CCG investigator. Its reputation preceded it, striking fear into the hearts of ghouls and admiration in the minds of fellow investigators.

It was a weapon of legend, capable of rewriting the course of battles and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Weapon at ready, Hoseok began again, “I don’t want your death.”

In the hands of Arima, the Owl quinque became an extension of his own being. It embodied his relentless determination and unwavering resolve in the face of darkness. With each swing and strike, he delivered justice with chilling precision, carving a path through the ghouls that dared to challenge him, and it was about to be the same for Hoseok.

The legend of the Owl quinque would be relived in his hands.

“Your scream when I extract fragments of you in Cochlea sounds more satisfying.”

And he would start by painting the blood of Yong on the quinque.

All rights reserved © 2023 kthyg. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost without permission. Feedback is very much appreciated. It keeps me motivated! Send me an ask!

#kthyg : ghoul #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #yandere bts #jin x reader #hoseok x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts angst #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #bts smut #jin x oc #hoseok x oc #hoseok x you #jin x you #bts imagine #bts scenarios #hoseok smut #jin smut #jin angst #hoseok angst #yandere jungkook #yandere hoseok #jimin x reader #yoongi x reader

[simplepotatofarmer]

the real pig hunt

another mini fic for my 'hey loyal write this' challenge, this time based on this post by @curosart! an alternate take on 'hog hunt' and the butcher army execution.

“What if it doesn’t, uh, work?” Ranboo swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in their throat and then swallowed again. “Like, what if it goes wrong or something?”

“It’s going to work, Ranboo,” said Quackity in a tone that made it clear there would be no further debate past this point. “Besides, if it goes wrong, that’s just less work for us, yeah?”

Tubbo nodded.

“Exactly, exactly.”

“But it’s going to work.” Quackity grinned. “And Techno is going to learn a lesson he’ll never forget.”

Techno should have known this would happen. Part of him had been waiting for it, ready, and there was no surprise when he received Phil’s message, just a pit in his stomach that the peace he had wanted to build here was about to be shattered.

And now there was blood on the snow (and he had tried, he had begged, but it was no use) and Quackity had an axe to his horse’s throat.

“Get away from them, Techno, or I’ll kill your horse right now.”

Techno stopped, holding his hands up.

“Quackity, you leave that horse alone…”

“Cooperate or I’ll kill Carl,” said Quackity. “Do you understand? I’ll slay this horse. Now drop everything.”

With a deep sigh, Techno’s shoulders sagged. He knew this would happen, he knew it, and began dropping his items on the ground.

“Okay, okay…”

“Your armor too.”

A moment of doubt made Techno hesitate. If he was going to get out of this, he would need his armor. Sunlight glinted off of Quackity’s axe.

“Do it or I’ll kill the horse right fucking now.”

Techno pulled the netherite gauntlets off and dropped them into the snow. The helmet was next and then the chest plate and he was about to ask what they were planning to do when he heard the unmistakable sound of a potion bottle breaking and the feeling of something wet hitting him.

“What the heck—”

And then the world around him was getting much bigger and Techno hit the ground.

_________________________________________________________

“Is this a fucking joke?” asked Punz.

Dream shrugged helplessly, not knowing how to answer the question. He needed it to be a joke, it had to be a joke, and yet—

“What do we do now? I mean, this really messes with the whole rescue plan, right?”

It did and if it was anyone other than Technoblade, Dream might have cut his losses right then and there. He groaned, rocking back on his heels.

“Okay, new plan.”

A beat.

Punz looked at him.

“Which is…?”

“Well, same plan for you, I guess,” Dream said. “You get up there and distract them. I’ll get Techno out.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Do you have an extra invis potion?”

Raising an eyebrow, Punz dug through their inventory and pulled out a glass bottle, the liquid inside an almost matte grey in color. They handed it to Dream.

“Good luck, buddy.”

Dream nodded; he was going to need it.

_________________________________________________________

Techno had a brief flash of optimism when they tossed him into the small cage that maybe, just maybe, he could squeeze through the iron bars. That maybe whatever Quackity and his goons had done to him could work in his favor. But the bars were too close for him to fit through and his ear caught on the metal, making him let out a squeal.

This was embarrassing.

He got the point – turn the pigman into an actual pig, haha, very funny – but it was really cramping his style. How was he going to get out of this? How was he going to make sure Phil was alright? Techno could barely turn and he didn’t have hands to hold a weapon or that totem Dream had so kindly pointed him to.

There was a flash of white and then shouting and an explosion. Beneath him, something thumped against the wood plank he was standing on, hard. He didn’t have time to think about that. Tubbo’s voice cut across the commotion.

“Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Bruh, Techno thought, not like this. 

The wooden plank beneath his hooves – all four of them – broke and he fell. He expected to hit the ground and then for the anvil to hit him but someone grabbed him awkwardly, hands almost slipping on his haunches as they yanked him back. The anvil slammed into the ground with a rush of air, barely an inch away from Techno’s snout.

__________________________________________________________

If there wasn’t a saying about how hard it was to catch a pig already, Dream thought there should be.

With one hand still on his axe, he scrambled to grab Techno as he pulled him back and out of the way of the anvil at the same time. It had come too close for comfort and Techno was practically upside down. He adjusted his grip but Techno seemed to be panicking.

“Techno—Techno, stop, it’s me.”  There was an indignant sounding squeal and Dream groaned. He was invisible; even if Techno was in a position to look at him, he would’ve seen nothing but a floating axe. “It’s Dream.”

The squealing turned into a series of oinks that could only be described as laughter.

“Yeah, whatever, laugh all you want,” said Dream.

He tucked Techno under his arm. Above the commotion still raged and it was surprisingly easy for Dream to slip away. That ease made paranoia stick in Dream’s chest and it took all his self-control not to look over his shoulder every few seconds and instead made his way to where Quackity and the others had left Carl.

Grabbing the lead, he pulled the horse towards the tunnel, the sound of shouting and explosions fading into the background.

__________________________________________________________

Techno had thought being turned into an actual pig was about as low as he could get and then he had realized they hadn’t even planned on giving him a clean death. There was no honor in being crushed while trapped in a cage and Techno knew that was the whole point.

And now Dream was manhandling him as if he had never once held an animal before and also was afraid Techno would bite him. Techno had certainly considered it, especially when he had mounted Carl and turned the horse away from his home in the arctic.

He had considered wiggling out of Dream’s grip and taking his chances but he knew Dream wanted him alive, even if he didn’t know why. That was enough for him.

“Whoa.”

Carl took a moment to listen to Dream and Techno snorted in amusement.

The invisibility potion had worn off and Dream tilted his head down slightly to look at him. When he spoke, Techno could hear the frown in his voice.

“Your horse sucks, Techno,” he said as he pulled out his communicator with one hand.

And I’m gonna feed him so many golden carrots, thought Techno, oinking.

“Shut up.”

As Dream typed, resting the communicator on his thigh, Techno tried to peer at the screen, see what it was he was saying, who he was talking to you.

Techno oinked, rising in intonation.

“I’m trying to figure out where’s safe,” said Dream in reply.

Flicking his ear, Techno thought, I take back fifty percent of the times I’ve called you stupid, alright, Dream?

“Damn it.”

That didn’t sound good. Squealing, Techno nudged Dream’s arm, dignity forgotten. Dream tightened his grip on him as Carl side-stepped with a whiny. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “It’s fine—We just need to find somewhere to lay low for a bit.”

We also need to figure out a way to turn me back into a dang person, thought Techno. If something went south, he’d be useless. A pig couldn’t hold a sword and Dream was good but not that good. He oinked.

“What? I don’t speak pig.”

Techno oinked again.

C’mon, Dream, that’s whole problem, man.

He couldn’t see the expression on Dream’s face but the way he looked down at him and then leaned back slightly spoke of a sudden realization.

“Okay, but I don’t know what to do about that so,” Dream said and then nudged Carl lightly with his heels. “We’ll figure it out.”

We better, thought Techno with a soft huff.

_______________________________________________________

Things had spiraled out of control. It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission, just make sure that Techno got out of there alive with his stupid horse, and now Dream’s mind was racing as he tried to plan where to go, what to do next.

How the fuck was he going to turn Techno back to normal?

“Fuck! Milk!” 

In his lap, Techno squealed and the horse shied and Dream had to work to keep him under control without dropping Techno. He pulled the horse to a stop.

“Can pigs drink milk?” he asked, looking down at Techno.

The noise Techno made was somewhere between an oink and a snort and very clearly held the tone of someone who thought they had just been asked a very stupid question. Dream felt his cheeks go hot and he was glad he was wearing the mask.

“Well—Well, to be fair, I don’t know pig biology or whatever.”

Techno snorted again. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Look, we’ll just—We’ll find a cow and fix this.”

__________________________________________________________

It was a good idea.

Techno was actually a little bit disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself but it wasn’t as if he could have told Dream anything. Their means of communication was pretty limited though he had to admit that Dream was quick to figure out what he was trying to say.

So when he felt that odd tingle, starting at the tip of his tail, he had a good idea of what was about to happen. He tried to wriggle out of Dream’s grasp, giving a squeal, but Dream held on.

“Techno! What the hell?”

Oh, this is gonna be awkward, thought Techno.

There was a stretching sensation in all his limbs and then a pop, like a bubble bursting, and he was falling and taking Dream with him. Techno landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of them both. Startled, Carl whinnied and danced away before stopping to munch on some grass just a few feet away.

Techno looked down at Dream.

“Hey, good news, Dream, I don’t think we’re gonna need to find that cow,” he said.

Dream lifted his head and then gave up almost immediately with a deep sigh.

“—we’re never fucking talking about this again.”

With a laugh, Techno got to his feet – the two of them, not four – and reached down to offer Dream a hand. He hesitated for just a moment before taking it and letting Techno pull him up.

“Oh yeah, this is stayin’ between us,” he said and then, “For now, I mean, it is kinda funny…”

“Techno!”

#technoblade #dreamwastaken #the butcher army #dream smp #dsmp fanfic #hey loyal write this #rivals duo #rivalsblr

[monsterloverwriting]

Hey bae if ur reqs are open cause u pls make a part 3 to that demon x reader (demon-visitor) fic u wrote😩😩like what happens after they're binded together

Hello my friend! I am genuinely more than happy to add to this story and I am actually thinking of turning into a full length novel should the want for it arise! I have a lot of ideas for them. In the mean time!

Concept Part 1

Mine

Fem!reader/M!demon, slight mind altering, claiming, MDNI

The week had been long for you. Long and trying as you did your best to make sense of what had happened to you. You tried briefly to forget it, act as if it had been all a nonsensical dream made of some deep desire you weren't consciously aware of. That quickly became impossible as you now had to attempt to hide the two very large bite marks on either side of your neck. Thankfully no one really questioned why silk scarves suddenly became a staple of your summer wardrobe. Part of you hoped they would fade away to nothing, another slightly stronger part wanted them to stay just as they were so you could never forget that night no matter how hard you tried.

Not that you were really trying to forget, the image of the demon littered your mind at every moment, invaded your dreams and often had you waking up needy and wanting to be able to feel his hot skin again. You were constantly reminded how good that night felt to the point that it was almost distracting you from the day to day. Often you would find yourself ripped from the day dream of finding Zed in your small living room just waiting for you to get home, only to be reminded you were at work and most definitely was supposed to reply to that customer with something other than a dizzy nod. It got to the point that your boss convinced himself you were sick and sent you home early on Friday for a long weekend so you could "recoup in peace".

It ended up not being nearly as peaceful as anyone would have thought.

You noticed the smell first, a sickly sweet almost burnt smell that made a bubble of anxiety build in your chest. There was no way you left a candle burning all day was there? You didn't even remember lighting one that morning. You've been so scatter brained lately that that barely mattered anymore. The anxiety quickly reformed when you heard a small crash, glass shattering and a low hum of disapproval.

Before you could even reach for your phone the large, all too familiar figure appeared before you, his height and muscular frame taking up the archway as he gripped the top leaning toward you.

"Welcome home sweet thing."

His smirk was devious as he stretched his arm holding the top of the arch to lean closer to you, his free hand reaching out to gently run one claw tipped finger from the top of your scarf to just under your chin forcing you to look up at him. His eyes searched your face before they fell to the scarf wrapped around your neck. Tutting softly his claw slid down your throat catching the edge of the smooth silk before gently pulling it away from your throat, a wide toothy grin forming as he revealed the marks he'd left on you.

"Hiding my marks? Oh sweet thing you should know better. How is anyone going to be able to tell your mine?" When he said it his voice was so smooth it nearly puts you into a trance. His gaze looking down on you was hungry as he glanced at the marks. Thinking better of yourself. You took a step back away from him trying to gain some distance in the hopes that it would help you clear your mind. It didn't really, but there was only so much you could do when there was an 8 ft tall demon standing in your foyer wearing very little clothes he didn't advance as you stepped back. He simply watched you. He let the silk scarf fall between you. Almost acting as if he was disgusted with it. He did, however, watch you closely.

" I'm not sure what is happening actually. I don't I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone. I am a person and you do not get to decide that I belong to you after we have sex once. That's not how it works." You said almost frantically as you saw the grin quickly return to his face, he leaned closer once again his hand reaching out fingers twirling in your hair before he brought it up to his nose taking a deep inhale.

"Oh so once was the issue now I can fix that very easily. Sweet thing. Why don't you tell me exactly what you would want me to do to you and I will make that wish come true to my utmost pleasure."

It was like his presence was intoxicating a very small part of you wanted to tell this demon to get out. Leave your house but there were so many other parts of you screaming to let him do the most unholy things you could possibly imagine. And all of you was absolutely certain that he would get just as much pleasure out of this as you would because you were sure it wouldn't simply stop at him pleasing you. You shook your head resolving yourself for at least this one time to think it through before you decided to fuck the demon.

That could happen later.

"No I want you to explain what you're doing in my house. How you even got here? How you knew where I was and why, why are these still here like this? It's been a week and they haven't healed at all." Bracing yourself against the wall you looked up at him all of your resolve showing clearly as you demanded answers. He seemed to find this amusing and pushed off the door stepping toward you, pinning you to the wall between two strong muscular arms.

" I'm here because I marked you. I marked you because I want you. I want you because you're mine and those will remain there for as long as you are mine. Sweet thing, you're my mate now and you are going to be stuck with me for a very long time." His gravel voice was almost a hum as he leaned down close, his forked tongue flicking out to lick at one of the bites causing your knees to go weak.

You were fucked, in more ways than one.

#monster fucker #monster lover #writing #mdni #monster smut #monster romance #monster boyfriend #asked & answered #anon asks