#right on the target wide of the mark

[backhurtyy]

it’s a think-about-rotwom-zukka-and-cry type of day i think

#them…. my beloveds…. #right on the target wide of the mark

[butterflypistolking]

id pay adam young an ungodly amount of money for like, an official release of paper tigers . its one of my favorite songs of his

#smoke.txt #owl city #CAUSE THE ANGRIEST BARK IS ALWAYS WORSE THAN THE BITE #LIKE THE ACHE IN MY CHEST THAT MY HEART DIDN'T INVITE #BUT IF THE PRETTIEST ROMANCE ISN'T PERFECTLY RIGHT #THAT MAKES EVERY LOVE LOST JUST A HOLIDAY EVERY NIGHT #but when i close these heavy lids after dark #each sweet dream is a target #and all my shots are so consistently wide of the mark #i could go on analyzing the lyrics of this song lmao

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟐 — 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐉𝐎𝐁

kinktober day 002 | secretary!natalie rushman x ceo!reader

natasha's mission to retrieve a thumbdrive file involves seducing a high-ranking executive, and the seduction goes smoothly. a little too well, in fact, that she doesn't notice you're not all you seem to be.

cont. reader has a cock, power play, begging

word count. 1869

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

To Natasha, you were nothing more than just another target.

She was an unfathomably, dangerously-skilled assassin, feared across nations and intelligence bureaucracies. She was a Red Room widow gone rogue, taking things in her own stride and shifting the world upside down as she pleased. Renowned political figures and billionaire executives were dropping like flies, and you, were no different.

This time, Natasha Romanoff was going undercover as Natalie Rushman.

It had been embarrassingly easy for her to infiltrate security and create a false persona for herself. Climbing up the ranks of a corporate business like this one had been more time-consuming, sure, spanning over a few months, but Natalie would reap what she sow.

Chief Executive Officer Y/N L/N was all-too-easy to fool, even more gullible than the other targets Natasha had preyed upon. 

All it took was the classic seduction: bending over to ‘pick up a pen’, coincidentally right in your field of vision, clinging onto your arm and looking up with wide doe eyes while you talked, giggling shyly when you made a joke and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

In the end, all her targets got caught up in the Widow’s Web. You were rendered useless and completely at Natasha’s mercy, waiting to be preyed upon for manipulation and her own personal gain.

Or at least, that’s what you let her think.

“Fuck, baby,” you cursed, eyes screwed shut as your secretary bobbed her head up and down the girthy length of your cock, lewd noises escaping both your lips.

Natalie looked up at you through glossy eyes, bottle-red lipstick smeared but unarguably pretty, batting her eyelashes every so often. It had only taken a week of flirting before you took her home, your actions seemingly foolish.

“Take it all down your throat, Natalie, fuck,” you said breathily, hands tugging onto her hair as you chased your own high. Natasha almost choked on the length in her mouth at the fast pace you had set, but she quickly hollowed out her cheeks to engulf your wet heat once more.

Shit, it had been a while since Natasha had gotten such a thick cock, above average in length, too. Normally, these high-ranking executives had disappointingly miniscule excuses of a member, but this was thrillingly different. 

Still, Natasha couldn’t forget why she had made all this effort to get to your house.

“Fuck, babe, you’re too good at this,” you comment breathlessly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “Bedroom?”

To speed up the process, Natasha finished you off with her hands working on the base of your cock, calculated squeezes and strokes that had you jerking your hips up as you toppled over the edge. Jets of hot white come went down Natasha’s throat, as she greedily sucked and swallowed.

Tastes fucking good too, she thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Natasha had to refrain from rolling her eyes. What you wanted was predictable, to have your cock inside her. She wanted something different, though. It was why she had embarked on this mission in the first place.

“Can we go to your office?” Natasha asks instead, never failing to load up on that sultry tone that had people falling to their knees. She licks her lips drenched in your seed, kissing her way up your unbuttoned shirt as she rises to her feet. Her navigation of your surprisingly well-built body ends at the column of your neck.

Calculatedly, Natasha presses her slick lips to the hot skin of your neck, her residual lipstick making an enviable mark there. 

“I want you to bend me over your office desk.”

Natasha can’t help but smirk at your affected reaction. You hastily lift your secretary up by the back of her thighs, letting her hook her legs around your torso. A sloppy kiss kickstarts your burning need to meet her needs.

Of course, the sole reason why Natasha wanted to go to your office was to retrieve a very important thumb drive that was stored there. As you were the CEO of an incredibly powerful corporate firm, being able to have that kind of information meant a wealth of power, influence, and information.

There isn’t a doubt of the sinful possibilities floating through your mind right now, as you single-handedly unclasp her bra and rid of her remaining garments, as you stumble your way over to your office.

Everything was going according to Natasha's plan.

As if on cue, you kick open the door of your office and ungracefully deposit Natasha onto your desk. The way you’re manhandling her is arguably hot, and when you trail kisses down the back of Natasha’s neck, she quite nearly forgets what she came here to do.

“Need you inside me, now,” Natasha growls out, because she needs to get this operation going. What scares her for a moment is that her statement isn’t entirely untrue, because you were evidently more skilled than any of her previous counterparts and she so craved release.

 You certainly don’t disappoint in that aspect, forcefully bending Natasha over the desk as she wished, then painstakingly slowly dragging her skirt down with your teeth. 

“Fuck,” Natasha doesn’t mean to whimper when your cock slides between her wet folds, collecting slick arousal with that huge shaft, but she does whimper, and you let out a low noise from your chest.

As you’re busy getting your cock lubricated enough to enter her, Natasha seizes this opportune moment of your distraction to slides her hand over the desk to where your laptop was, unplugging the thumbdrive just as you speak up again.

“You’re fucking naughty, hm?” you growl, and Natasha freezes.

The fear envelops her whole, before Natasha realizes that you’ve remained blissfully oblivious to her actions and were trapped in the haze of sex.

“You’re fuckin’ naughty, wanting me to bend you over my table like that. Beg for my cock, and maybe I’ll let you use it.”

Natasha gulps, not understanding why she’s threatening to start drooling onto your desk, her body building up so much slick.

She’s the Black Widow, for fuck’s sakes, and she bowed down to no one. She was in control, dictating the decisions that crafted this very situation, hooking you around her pretty little finger.

After all, she had already retrieved the thumb drive. Her mission was already over, already completed. She had no reason to stay. She could knock you out cold in a matter of mere seconds, so why was she so hesitant?

Your grip hardens at her disobedience, and Natasha can’t help the whine that tumbles out when you pull your cock way from her wet heat. 

“You want it, hm? Then beg for it,” you repeat, dangerously close to Natasha’s ear, raising goosebumps with your hot breath brushing the surface of her skin.

Natasha wails when you push her back into the desk, pebbled nipples pressing into the cold glass. She’s clenching around nothing, wet walls fluttering emptily, slick arousal dripping down her thighs. 

Suddenly, you bring your hand up and harshly slap Natasha’s ass. The moan she lets out is downright pornographic, high-pitched and long-lasting as a red blush blossoms on her rounded ass, the pain stinging her skin and pricking tears behind her eyes.

It’s been so long, her body screams at her. You need this. Need to be fucked, need to be used.

“Beg for it.”

“Please! Need your cock, please,” Natasha babbles, finally, giving in to your urges. When you thrust your whole length down her tight pussy, all in one go, Natasha almost falls apart instantly.

You thrust up into her, hard, thick length pushing past her slick walls. If Natasha thought you were big before, with your cock in her mouth, now she knew you were fucking huge.

It isn’t long before you’re fucking into her with an animalistic nature, skin slapping against skin with dirty, lewd noises. “Can’t take the size, baby?” you question dryly, pulling on her hair as Natasha drools onto your desk.

Your cock is hitting her cervix with almost every thrust. The pleasure not only stems from the fact that you were the biggest she had ever taken, but also from your sheer skill.

Natasha’s first orgasm of the night comes in a tidal wave. It’s like water breaking through a dam, hitting her with a strength she didn’t know her body possessed. Her walls flutter around your girthy cock as she squirts. 

“Oh, Y/N!” Sinful moans of your name fall from Natasha’s lips as you thrust even deeper than she thought imaginable.

In other words, that was only the beginning of the rollercoaster-esque high you would bring Natasha to.

***

Natasha awakes with groggy eyes. There’s a warm, muscled forearm splayed over her torso, and it takes a fraction of a second before Natasha remembers it’s you.

“Shit,” she whispers, looking out of the window at the rising sun. She was supposed to leave your house last night, but the events had gotten more than out of hand.

The ache in Natasha’s legs and back is a blaring reminder of that fact. The image of sweaty, slick bodies moving together in a darkened room flashes across Natasha’s mind, and she has the decency to flush a pink-red.

Checking again for the thumbdrive in her strewn clothes, Natasha nods to herself assuredly and gets herself together to make an exit. Her eyes float to your sleeping figure. Looks like she had worn you out.

“You’re kinda stupid, but you were a good fuck,” she whispers with a tilted head.

As soon as the front door of your house clicks shut, you sit up slowly, letting the blanket slide over your toned abdominal muscles and down to your waistline. 

“Just a good fuck?” you ask amusedly. “Squirting three times in a row seems better than good, if I do say so myself.” Relaxed, you reach over to your bedside and take your phone.

Dialling in a number that you’d memorised by heart, the receiver picks up in less than two rings. “You’re fuckin’ late,” a gruff voice sounds out. “What did we tell you about not fucking the targets for the whole bloody night?”

You scoff in half-annoyance and amusement. As long as you got the job done, your bosses didn’t have any reason to question your methods. "You’re just jealous you didn’t get a taste of that sweet pussy,” you drawl out contedly, delighting in the aggravated huff that crackles over the line.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” you continue, your face taking on a more serious expression. “The Widow left my house thirty seconds ago, with the false thumb drive."

"Details?" 

"Swapped it out while she was cumming on my cock, sir."

"......Microchip tracking device?"

"Implanted in the top button of her blouse."

"Audio recorder?"

"In the hem of her very scandalous skirt.”

There is a pause on the line, but you know not to fear. When a low chuckle is emitted from the other end, you can’t help but smirk in smug satisfaction. The next words you hear are almost as sweet as Natasha’s moans of your name.

"Well done, Agent. Your mission is complete."

if you liked this, please give it a reblog! it means the absolute world to me <3

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

#sytoran's kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober fic #kinktober 2023 #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natalie rushman #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you smut #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha x reader smut #natasha x reader #wlw smut #gxg smut #sub natasha romanoff #bottom natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader

[90ekz]

BLEED INTO ME!

in which… ony is your vampire boyfriend, and he tends to overfeed, even when you tell him not to. guess you have to teach him a lesson, yeah?

word count: 3.4k (WOAH?)

content. smut + plot, sub!vamp!ony, light angst, nicknames (baby, princess, ma, pa, pretty), dacryphillia, heavy discussion of wounds and injury, established relationship, n-word usage, hematolagnia & blood consumption, black!domfem!reader, overstimulation, handcuffs, light feminization, handjobs, male squirting, dry humping.

syno speaks. i really apologize for the delay on this, but i hope y’all love it! thank you for all the support :) btw, i know some people are squeamish about blood, so if that bothers you in any way you may need to avoid reading this. kk that’s all, love y’all 💋

ony annoys the fuck outta you.

he always has, ever since he came shimmying through your houses’ chimney while you’d fallen asleep on the couch watching your favorite movie. the action hadn’t even registered in your bleary mind until he was poking his sharpened talon against your cheek, silently praying that you’d wake up so he could explain his current situation.

the poachers were running a muck on the town, and they were out to kill any and every vampire they could find.

ony, specifically, had been a prime target, due to him being the only full-breed left in the country. he had been on the run for months now, and whether it was finding caves to sleep in or crashing at his boys’ houses when he could, he’d been keeping his distance between him and the enemy, until now.

he’s suddenly awoken in his cave to the sound of heavy footsteps clammering against floors of the gravel, and he recognized the sound like his own voice. he wasn’t quick enough to move out of their line of sight before he was shot in his stomach and chased through town, only getting away once he saw your house with an easy entrance.

“hey, wake the hell up.” ony complained, his jabs slowly getting softer as he took in the state of your sprawled out body.

your appearance should be the least of his worries right now, but you were so captivating. even with the droop of your plump lips, and the way your blanket was completely kicked off you, revealing only a crop top and shorts. your curves were on full display, and he felt his fingers itch with the need to touch, to mark.

as your eyes blinked open, ony hovered over your frame, drool pooling in his mouth as he patiently waited for your full awakening.

“oh, look who decided to join us.”

silence stretched over the room for an unbearable amount of time as your brain caught up to what exactly you were looking at, and you were scrambling to your feet and behind the couch. you were swift on your feet, and suddenly ony had a knife barreling toward his head that he barely dodged. the knife cemented itself into the wall, a reverberated sound bouncing against both of your ears.

“get the hell out of my house!” you gritted out, trying to keep your voice even. ony’s eyes are wide as he flicks his attention between you and the literal machete in the wall, what just happened?

“can you, uh, let me explain first?” ony presses on as he tried to ignore the way your voice was calling to him like a siren song. something about you was making his knees physically weak, but he would figure that out later when you weren’t ready to chuck another knife at him.

“explain what—you’re a random nigga in my house! how did you even get in here?!”

“the chimney, look can you just calm down—shit.” ony doubled over, as more blood started to leak from his wound. he hadn’t been fed in over a month, and was now losing his own blood. his regeneration isn’t as effective when he’s hungry, but he couldn’t risk going to some hospital to get help either.

you let a gasp slip out as you saw his hand clutches against his stomach, and you warily made your way over to his crumpling form.

“fuck, is that a bullet wound? i’ll um—let me go get some gauze, don’t move.” you rushed into a room outside of ony’s field of vision, and just as suddenly as you left, you were helping him to the couch. ony flopped down, quiet curses falling out of his mouth. you felt your cheeks heat as you removed what was left of his shirt and inspected his wound. it wasn’t too deep, and you were able to pull the bullet out with your tweezers without much effort.

the rest of the process was seamless, and ony was left relatively feeling impressed as he eyed the stained gauze wrapping his stomach. you even handed him a glass of water, and kneeled by him on the floor. you were so caring, and his stomach was in knots at your close proximity.

you kept making eyes at him like you wanted to ask something, until you finally did.

“what the hell happened to you?” your voice was much softer this time around, and ony was definitely a bigger fan of this tone. ony hooked his pointer finger into the corner of his mouth to reveal one of his pearly white fangs, his tongue lolling out involuntarily.

“poachers.”

he really did owe you a better explanation, but his head was much too fuzzy from hunger and blood loss to fully spit out that whole monologue. plus, your cheeks were now stained burgundy with shyness and another emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint, and you looked way too cute like that.

only now did you finally take a good look at the man before you, and you were embarrassed to realize that this was the man that had been labeled all over the news as “the last living full-breed.”

and he was bloody, shirtless, and sexy right here on your living room couch.

“y-you’re…”

“the last living full-breed vampire? yeah, something like that.” ony rolled his eyes, his hand waving in a nonchalant manner as if he wasn’t the most wanted… thing walking right now. you’d built up an impressive saved folder of videos, blog articles, and news headlines about him and his whereabouts, and you’d always felt so bad for him.

a bout of shame washed over you at your previous actions. you’d attacked him and screamed at him without even realizing that this was the same man you’d been pitying for months now, and now that he’s here, you have a strange urge to protect him.

“i, uh…i’m sorry for all the knife-throwing and stuff,” you mumble into the arm of the couch. “i didn’t realize it was you.” ony huffs, clearly amused with your response.“i did break into your house to be fair. i wouldn’t sweat it.” he shifts in his seat on the couch, still unable to fully sit up without the pain spreading. fuck; he really needs to eat soon.

comfortable silence sits in the room with the two of you, the same thing on both of your minds.

“so, what’re you gonna do now?”

“no clue. i can’t go back to my cave, and most of my homeboys live in the old city i was staying in, so i can’t go to any of them. probably just gonna skip town. again.” ony mentions sadly. he was tired of always having to run from people, and it was getting lonely without any of his friends or family around anymore. it was a constant battle, and he was tired of fighting for it.

you him to affirm him, but can’t shake the ridiculous idea you have brewing on the back of your tongue. it should be out of the question, but you wanted to protect him, and he needed somewhere to stay. what’s the worst that could happen?

ony sighed, and as he went to stand up, you grabbed his wrist firmly.

“why don’t…why don’t you just stay here?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“onyankopon, i’m not boutta play wit you all night.”

“please baby, im so hungry.” ony presses his cheek against the innard of your thigh while you diligently finish on the outline of your english literature essay and pouts.

fuck you and your dedication to a masters degree, hmph.

he’d been teasing you for hours now so you could feed him, but you wouldn’t take the bait. you just roll your eyes in response as he grips onto the fat of your thigh, licking and sucking at the bite mark from 2 days ago that hadn't faded all the way yet.

this only spurred ony further, his instincts just telling him to ruin your thighs for any one else, to just drain you of everything you had.

so he did.

“o-ony! what did i just say?!” your thigh trembles against his lips as he digs his fangs in, his eyes low and cloudy from your taste. this, this right here, was his personal heaven—desperate whines slipping from your lips, your fingers gripping his hair, your sweet stream hitting his tongue as he sloppily drinks you alive.

ony groaned deep in his chest as his pants began to feel far too tight all of the sudden. this happens often, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. it isn’t uncommon for him to come completely undone just by feeling your sweetness flow down his throat and pool into his stomach. your blood was his weakness; it made him stronger, faster, and healthier than he’d ever felt or been, and you protected him.

you the first—and the only—to not cast him out, and for that reason, he fell deep for you. deeper than he ever thought possible.

and even now, ony craved more of you.

you shakily pressed three taps to the side of his biceps, your sign that you needed him to stop. he whined loudly, but pulled away nonetheless. he knows that restraint is very important when it comes to this, but he’s still so hungry. you feel your cheeks heat up as you brush a thumb of his now trembling lips, and take in just how wrecked he looks.

his eyes are watering tinted and watery, and his hair was ruffled from the way you’d pulled on it. ony was a complete mess of himself, and you felt your pride swell at how easily your blood can do that to him.

“mmm, fuck ma, tastes so fucking good—‘m so hard fr’m it…”

you smile down at him, loving how quickly he fell under your spell. ony’s your obsession, but he had disobeyed you, and you couldn’t let that slide. as much as you wanted to just give into him and let him take what he needs from you, you had to remind him who was boss.

“uh huh.” you shrugged, simply going back to your paper. you wanted to make him even more needy than he already was.

“‘fuck you mean, uh huh? make me nut already.” ony licks over the freshly punctured bite as a little blood rushes out. he expects you to do something, anything in response, but you just huff and continue to work on your paper. you’re basically done with it already, but you choose to add little details just so he gets irritated, and boy is it working. ony was absolutely itching to just break that stupid laptop so you'd pay attention to him, but it was all in vain.

no matter the amount of kissing, licking or teasing he did, your resolve didn't crack one bit under the pressure of his touch, and that in itself made ony's blood run cold. he just wanted you to look at him, and his cock was throbbing even without your attention.

“don’t act like you ain’t just drink a whole pint outta me even when i said wait. you not gettin’ shit else.” you wave him off with a simple signal of your hand, and his stomach drops. not only were you ignoring him, you were shooing him.

ony raises to his feet and nuzzles his face into your neck, positively whiny now. he undid the button of his pants and you gasped as his cock sprung free. of course the freaky nigga wasn’t wearing any drawls, he strange like that.

“ony, put some damn drawls on.”

“baby please, ‘s literally throbbing. ‘can’t take it.”

you found yourself holding back a smile as he peppers kisses along your face and neck, and you’re trying not to giggle. your restraint is slowly slipping, and you figured that you could indulge him just a little. you meet him halfway, his tongue slipping into your mouth easily. it was just how you liked it. ony had a way with kissing—his fangs usually came as a bit of a roadblock, but you two found ways around it. you tug the back of his head toward you, and he’s stumbling down to your height.

you smile, and ony feels himself melting once more. you could tell that he was getting needier, the glint in his eyes giving away how ready he was to be ruined by you.

“you need it bad, pa?”

“fuck, so bad.” he gasped into your mouth, his fang nipping your lip and watching a bit of blood bead at the tip of it. he eagerly licked it up, and you could feel your own arousal building. your gray panties did nothing to hide the wet spot growing in your core, but you had bigger things to worry about.

you wrapped a manicured hand around ony’s wrist, pulling him to the bedroom. he chuckled deep in his chest as he trailed behind you like your personal mutt, and you couldn’t help but smile. you loved when he got like this.

as soon as you entered the room, ony blinked and he was suddenly cuffed to your king sized bed, the silk of the sheets rubbing up against his skin. he already felt overwhelmed, and was pouty about not being able to touch you, but he had to remember that this was his punishment, and he wanted to be good for you. he was completely naked and the cold air of the room barely registered to him as your clothed pussy rutted against his bare cock.

it was like torture, but he knows that’s the point.

“c-cmon ma, you can go harder,” ony sighed, gesturing his head toward your matching bra and panties. you ground your pussy down against him harder, wanton moans falling from your glossed lips. ony cursed under his breath as he watched you stimulate yourself on his cock. your nails dug into his waist as you moved, arousal clear on your face. “is fat ma wet for me yet?”

it was a ridiculous question, really. he already knew the answer, and you did too. squelching noises filled the room as your sticky underwear made friction against his cock, and that was answer enough, but ony wanted to hear you admit it. you weren’t that vocal in bed (at least not with words), but it was always ony’s goal to make you.

“mmhm, she’s so wet f’you pa.”

“oh fuck.” ony feels his hips jerk up involuntarily as you talk dirty to him, he loves that nasty shit. he can’t figure out if it’s because you’re kinda mad at him or something else, but you were so responsive today and he needed to be inside you now. just the simple act of watching you climb the ladder to your climax was enough to have him panting and moaning along with you.

your head drops backward as you get closer to that sweet release, and ony is falling in love all over again. you look perfect like this, drooling over his cock rubbing between your folds without even properly touching you. your hand rubs under his chin as you force him to look at you, and he hopes he isn’t blushing.

“ony—fuck! ‘m cummin!” the coil in your stomach snaps, and ony watches in awe as your panties get completely ruined. his lap is sticky from the mix of his own pre and your juices, and he whines as his fangs start to protrude from arousal. you smile and let your thumb trail over his teeth and tongue, and he’s struggling against the cuffs.

there’s so many thing ony wants to do to you right now—but he wants to touch you more than anything. run his fingers up the indent of your wide hips, choke you, rub your oversensitive pussy, fuck, and he really wants to bite you. he wasn’t even that hungry, but there was an ache under his skin to mark you and make you bleed, and watch it all drip out.

just the thought was enough to have a spurts of cum shooting onto his stomach, and you let out a little coo at his twitching stomach as you take the opportunity to begin stimulating him, not even caring if he was too sensitive. you ran your fingers over the head of his cock, pay extra attention to the tip just the way that makes him fall apart.

“w-wait!”

“for what? you were just begging me to make you nut earlier, weren’t you?” you smirk as he bucks against your hand. when ony gets sensitive, his voice will pitch up and it’s the sexiest thing in the world to you. he’s always the neediest after he feeds, and it’s so cute. your eyes landed on the lube sitting on your nightstand, and you took the opportunity to squirt a few drops onto your hand. it was almost too slippery for you to keep your pace, but the added moisture made it easier to stimulate the most sensitive parts of him.

“shit, it’s so wet.”

“yeah? wetter than me?” you asked, tilting your head to the side.

“uh uh, ‘s nothing wetter than you mama—oh shit,” ony’s mouth dropped open as your finger passed over his slit once more, and he was spilling into your hand with a groan. there was more of it this time, and his hands tugged at the handcuffs as you continued to work him through his second orgasm. you were almost afraid that he was going to break them with his pure strength, but you just let him struggle.

you’d seen him break many things in your shared house. door handles, alarm clocks, your counter, (don’t ask about that one) so you wouldn’t be shocked if he tried to break his restraints, but you knew he loved them too much. “baby—can’t take anymore, fucking hurts!” ony trembles, his legs bucking under you as you stroke his harder. both of your hands were working on his cock now, and his lip was bleeding from gnawing on it too much. a few stray tears even started to trail down his face.

“cmon princess, you can give me one more,” you kiss along ony’s neck and chest, and smile as you feel his breath stutter under your touch.

“ma, w-wait! ‘m serious, it feels weird—shitshitshit—”

before you could ask what he meant, ony’s orgasm was slamming into him and a clear stream of liquid was shooting out of his cock in uneven spurts. each shot was shorter than the first, but you were taken aback nonetheless. he’d never done anything like that before, at least not that you’ve ever seen, but you could feel arousal pooling in your belly again as he writhed under you. you finally released his cock as it softened against his stomach, and room was developed in silence apart from the heaving breathing of both of you.

you gave him a wet kiss on his cheek and began undoing his cuffs, his look of embarrassment not going unnoticed. he rubbed his wrists together, inevitably proud of the marks you’d left on him. “onya.” you pressed your chest to his, but he wouldn’t look at you. you figured he was embarrassed about what had just happened, even if you didn’t know exactly what that was.

“hmm?”

“you gonna look at me or just do that blushing school girl shit all night?” that made him smack his lips and finally let his eyes meet yours. you held his jaw with your hand, stroking right where he was starting to grow some hair finally. it was a shame, ony really had no idea how pretty he was, even with his eyes streaked with tears, swollen lips, and marks left all along his neck and chest. his hands finally grasped your waist, eventually sliding down to paw at your doughy ass.

“you’re ruining my street cred, fat butt. out here makin me squirt and shit.”

“what street cred, nigga? you from the woods!” you laughed against his chest, and he felt his heart swell. he lifted your chin up to look at him, and your little smile made him remember that everything would be okay as long as he had you. you’d saved him, taken him away from a dangerous life, and he couldn’t find any way good enough to properly thank you.

your eyes twinkled and you closed the distance between the two of you. the kiss was slow and ardent, and you wanted to stay like this forever.

“you did so good, ony. ‘so proud of you, baby.”

“if you were really proud, you’d feed me some more—”

“mmkay, don’t push ya luck.”

special tag 444 my baby <3 @hoesluvshanti

#onyankopon #onyankopon x you #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x y/n #onyankopon smut #onyankopon snk #aot onyankopon #ony x y/n #ony x you #ony x reader #ony x black reader #ony aot #attack on titan smut #aot smut #syno’s picks 💌 #this is freaky woah

[mistydeyes]

Hi,if you’re not busy can you write a fic of Cod characters with a cia agent gf ?

yes ofc! yk i love a good little government agent gf moment :)

a double life

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summary: From hidden occupations to a particular set of skill sets, the 141 learns to adapt to having a girlfriend who has all the right qualifications (and who could completely kick their ass).

pairing: Task Force 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

"Sorry I can't be there to meet you, Price," Laswell spoke over the web camera feed, "got tied up in South America." Price nodded as he held the bridge of his nose, Laswell had promised her best field agent to act as a point person for their mission in New Zealand. However, just the thought of some middle-aged retired veteran or worse yet, hot-shot rookie, made his headache pound even further. "She's a good one, Price," Laswell reassured, "skilled in practically every major language and the best marks in her physical fitness examination." "Yes Kate, I read her file, but it seems like you failed to include a photo-" He was interrupted by a sturdy knock at the door. "Looks like she's here."

As you cracked the door open, you practically dropped the files that sat in your arms. "What are you doing here?" Price asked jovially and you could feel the breath release from your sternum, "didn't expect an on-base visit like this." As the pieces began to fit together, you realized he didn't know what you were actually there for. "John, Kate sent me here," you whispered as you shut the door gently, "heard you're going to New Zealand." As the realization hit him like an oncoming train, you braced for impact. "You-you work for the CIA?" he asked almost foolishly and you nodded in response. "I did say I worked in Virginia," you corrected, "and you had to know my surprise visit yesterday wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment thing." Price could feel his headache reach a fever pitch as he reviewed your file again. "Then what's with the name?" he asked, "you lie about that too." You let out a laugh as you explained, "People have nicknames and mother's maiden names, John." As you sat back in your chair and crossed your legs, Price wondered what he had done for the universe to gift him you.

soap

Despite your initial reservations, Johnny was quite good at keeping your occupation vague and nonchalant in conversation. You were honest about your work in central intelligence and he took that secret to the grave. Your long-distance relationship was written off as you working in some company in DC and no one batted an eye at your occasional inference at military strategy or surveillance techniques. When you returned home, you would always be sure to show him extra appreciation for his covertness. "Tryna make me patriotic?" he would joke before you would kiss him and stifle his laughs.

However, he loved testing your skill set and seeing if you were as trained of an operative as your file read. "Let's see what they teach you over there, Bonnie," he joked as he lined up his sights at the air gun range. You refrained from kicking him as you stood back to watch him. You almost let out a laugh when you saw his small pellet ricochet just slightly off target. "Hmm and that's why Ghost is your long-range weapons specialist," you teased as he got up and switched positions. You breathed in as you looked down your sights and positioned your rifle towards the farthest target on the range. "You Americans, always so fucking cocky," he muttered under his breath before you quickly shut him up with a quick shot directly into the center of the target. The metal hen spun around widely at your expert marksmanship and you exhaled your held breath. You stood up and tried to size up your tall boyfriend. "Best 2/3?" you offered and you smiled as he kissed your forehead before ushering you out of the way to try again. "Fucking CIA training," he whispered as he got into position again. "You say something, you glorified sergeant?"

gaz

It was 4 am when you arose from the bed and leaned into Kyle, taking in his warmth and seeking refuge from the cold London air. You could always rely on your boyfriend to be your human-sized space heater. As you laid your head across his chest, you could feel him stir lightly. "Time to go already, love?" he asked with his eyes still closed and you muttered in confirmation. You always knew what challenges came with living so far away from the States but you had someone who made it all worth it. He kissed your forehead lightly as you rolled off the bed. You tried to quietly make your way to the bathroom to let him get some more hours of precious sleep but upon your return, it was clear Kyle was more awake than before.

"You sure you don't need me to drive you to the airport?" he offered yet again as you dressed quickly in dress slacks and a blouse. "MI6 is sending a car," you explained as you collected your overnight bag, "just try to get some sleep, my love. I'll text you when I land in Langley." Despite your soft kiss on the cheek, Kyle still pouted as you pulled away. "Don't understand why you can't be a liaison officer for us," he mumbled but you ruffled his hair slightly. "When the position becomes available, I'll be the first application on there," you smiled, doing a final check of your things, "just tell Price to write me a hell of a recommendation letter." With that, you shared another long kiss as you slightly cringed at his morning breath. "I'll be sure to say hi to the cybercrime analysis team for you, hopefully, they'll actually take my advice this time," you laughed before exiting out of your apartment and embracing the cold English air you had grown to love.

ghost

When the question arose of your occupation, you would always smile and defer to being just an "American government worker." However, you always knew Simon had more than just an inkling as to your occupation. When you spoke about military strategy, and combat techniques, or even had various conversations in different languages over the phone, it was clear to him that you were more than just a civilian. The shock didn't even resonate with him when you uttered the words, "Paramilitary Operations Officer," it all seemed to fall into place. He wouldn't bat an eye when it came to long stretches of days that you were in minimal contact with him. "I'll be back," you would reassure as you pulled on a dark hoodie and headed out the door with a bag. Simon would always be there to clean your wounds and ice your bruises.

It was a shock when Simon hadn't heard from you in a month. You had left in the middle of the day in a black Mercedes that disappeared off the English skyline. It was the unfortunate timing that he had been on leave when you left and there had been no word from Price regarding a new mission. Every morning, he would turn over in your king-sized bed expecting to see you smiling back at him. However, the days dragged on without any information meeting his ears. You could practically still picture his terrified face when you turned the key into the door and slammed your bag down. Simon paused upon seeing your blackened eye and wrapped knuckles. The eye bags on your delicate face further added worry to the situation. "Don't ask," you whispered as you fell into his chest, "intel was shit." That was all Simon needed to lift you gently and place you back on the couch. As he held you in his arms with an ice pack to your eye, you slightly pulled away from his touch. "I promised I would come back, didn't I?"

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #izzie is writing

[the-californicationist]

he lets you watch

When you overhear Captain Price watching porn in his office, you decide to turn his fantasies into a reality.

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

TW: femdom, gagging, one slap

You were working late. Again. It was the most frustrating part of any operation: recon review. All the footage collected from all the soldiers’ body cams had to be reviewed and documented. Any dialogue? Syntactically tagged. Any shots fired? Counted. Any kills? Confirmed. You were glad to help the team, but this stage of discovery was dreadfully boring. 

Even worse, your new-found crush on your captain was driving you insane. To be honest, you’d had your eye on him for a while. There was something about a man in charge, but it was when this last set of footage came through that you really went off the deep end. 

Price had gone with Gaz into a warehouse that was suspected of housing enemy munitions, and the captain had uncovered crates and crates of target-marking spray paint. Huge canisters that attached to the bottoms of planes were all stuck in little rows, lined up and ready to use. 

Unfortunately for the captain, one of the canisters was propped open on the top of its box, and when he lifted the lid, he got covered in red dye. You watched it explode, covering the camera, and then when it reconnected, there he was. Shirtless. Down to his boxer briefs. Wiping red dye off of himself with his clothes. Gaz had brought a full kit, so Price was changing out, hoping to stay covert and camouflaged in the clean gear. Couldn’t well be a glowing red dot while trying to escape enemy territory. 

His chest was broad and full of dense, dark hair, laying flat like soft fur, untrimmed and natural. His beard was streaked red, and half his face was painted, making him look like an ancient Celt, ready for brutal highland battles and bedding willing lassies. He was frustrated by his accident, so all of his movements were sharp and aggressive, his muscles raging and wrestling against his skin. Then, he moved closer to the camera, and the bulge in his underwear became glaringly apparent. 

Hung. Thick. Not so long that it was out of place, but heavy. His cock was imposing, and when he readjusted himself, you could see how dense the muscle really was. You couldn’t help but pause the film, staring, in glorious 4k. You nearly had to wipe the drool from your mouth. 

Price looked so confident here. He was always self-assured, but sometimes, when you spoke with him, there was something that he was holding back. Some shyness perhaps, maybe just a reserved nature, but not here. Not in his livid rage, he was like a wounded beast - angry and virile. Full of righteous energy. It made you imagine making him come undone in other ways, in the ways a woman was meant to make a beast like that come apart at the seams. Ripping the constricting threads and freeing the hulking creature looming within. 

Now, he was sitting in his office, right next to yours, and he’d started watching footage of his own. Or, at least, you thought that he was watching the cams…until you heard a woman’s salacious moan penetrate the thin wall between you. 

Your eyes grew wide, and your breath caught in your chest. You sat in the silence of your office, hearing your heart pound in your ears. You waited to hear it again, just to be sure.

Then, a very quiet, 

“You wanna come?”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. It wooshed from you like a wave crashing against miles and miles of sand. 

Something snapped, some darkness possessed you. You found yourself standing, walking toward the door to his office. It was so late, everyone else had turned in. Just you and him in the west hall of the base awake. He never slept, it seemed. A night owl like you. 

You opened his door without knocking. You’d never done that before, and objectively, it was a truly insane choice. 

In your mind, his hand had lingered when he took his cup of coffee from your hands. In your imagination, he’d cocked a sly smile when you made a joke, just between you and him. You thought you’d seen him checking out your ass in the gym. But, you didn’t have any real proof. 

Popping open his door was the equivalent of pulling the trigger on a bazooka. 

He stood, caught like a fox in a snare, his chair clattering as you came into the room and shut the door behind you quickly. 

“Sergeant, uh,” he recovered, “What happened?”

“Captain.” 

It was a full sentence. And, it was all you had. You were finished. 

The video was still playing. The lurid slapping of skin on skin. Her over-acted moans, his ritual panting. Every few seconds, you counted three, there was another soft,

“You like that, daddy?”

You smiled. He turned red, just like he’d been painted again. 

“Sergeant, I was just…”

He paused the movie. Then, with his body, with the hand roughly rubbing down his face, with the palm tightly covering his mouth, he said a million other words. He was still pink with shame, and then he laughed,

“Yeah, no. I was ‘bout to have a wank. Not sure why I was trying to make you believe otherwise, love. Sorry. It’s too loud?”

You smiled wider. His genuine honesty was so smooth and effortless. A thief caught with his hands in the cookie jar, begging you to punish him for it. 

“No,” you shook your head, “Just wanted to see what you were watching.”

He didn’t register what you said at first, still staring down at his boots. Then, realization washed over him and he looked up at you, eyes shining, brows arched.

“Oh? That so?”

You nodded,

“Let me see what’s got you up so late.”

The captain rubbed a big, calloused hand across his mouth, smoothing his beard, a bit nervous. Then, he pulled a chair around and motioned for you to sit beside him. You sat. He sat. He hit play. 

A woman was straddling a man, both of them hairless and slick like brand new Barbie dolls, spray-tan orange and bleach-blond hair. Americans. She was riding his larger than average dick slowly, deliberately slow, edging him with her pussy. She had a hand around his throat, grasping his jaw tightly, pushing his head back. He was tied to the chair, straining against it, clearly desperate as he writhed beneath her, fighting his restraints. 

“Please, baby. Please, let me come?” He begged. 

“You wanna come, daddy?” She teased. 

“Yeah, can I come?” He begged. 

“Ah-ah! I don’t think so…” She teased. 

Begging. Teasing. Begging. Teasing. A vicious, uncontrollable cycle of cruelty on her part, always pulling the proverbial carrot farther and farther from his snapping jaws. 

You turned to Price who was watching, rapt. He noticed you staring at him. Before he turned to face you, he smiled, sighing,

“Sometimes, when you’re the one barking orders all day, it’d be nice to turn your head off and follow someone else’s for a change.”

“You could follow my orders,” some psychotic part of you spoke. 

He gripped the side of the chair, his once-relaxed hands now making the cheap aluminum frame creak and pop. 

“What’d you say, Sergeant?”

“You heard me, Captain,” you didn’t know if you should call an exorcist or what. Who was this version of yourself and how quickly was she going to get you court martialed?

“You think you can order me around?”

You leaned in, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath, Cuban cigars leaving earthy notes of vanilla and licorice behind. You whispered,

“I know I can.”

He breathed out, his exhale caressing your lips, threatening to kiss you. 

You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You locked eyes with him, 

“Sit on your hands, Captain.”

“Sergeant,” he tried to kiss you, but you pulled away quickly. 

Part of your body screamed at you, wondering why you’d avoid his advances, but your mind knew what he wanted. He needed to lose control. For a man like Price to lose it, it must be taken from him. Forcibly. 

“I said sit... on... them,” you sneered, making yourself larger by standing over him, placing your hands on his thighs to press into his skin. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, patronizing and light-hearted. It made you want to break him of that habit. Of thinking you were just his sergeant. Just the girl who brought him coffee. Just his gym buddy. 

He still hadn’t complied, chuckling to himself. Out of no where, you straight up fucking slapped him. Hard. Right across the jaw. Grabbing him by the collar,

“Sit on your fucking hands, soldier. That’s an order,” you barked. 

He sat on his hands, staring at you like you had doused yourself in gasoline and caught yourself on fire, in awe.

You pushed his chair back until you had room to move in front of him, and you began peeling off your clothes, one by one. Your shirt, your cargos, your bra, your panties; they all ended up on the floor, leaving you naked and touching yourself lazily, letting your hands wander. 

He moved to lift his hands off his seat, wanting to touch, so you backed away from him. It was a warning: move and this ends. Follow my orders, and I’ll stay. He settled back down. 

“You know, I should punish you for slapping me, Sergeant. That’s insubordination,” he chided, trying to regain control of the situation. 

You took your panties off the ground and found the wet stain he’d caused, showing it to him coyly, like you’d picked up a pretty shell from the beach. It gleamed in the light of his desk lamp. Then, you walked over to him, swaying your hips, and bent down as if to kiss him. 

As he opened his mouth to kiss you back, you pushed your panties into it, past his teeth, clutching at his jaw with the other hand as roughly as you could, knowing you couldn’t hurt him. You shushed his surprised noises, putting a finger to his lip,

“Shh, Captain. That’s enough. You’re not in charge anymore, are you?”

He furrowed his brow as if he would fight back, as if he would remove his hands and teach you a lesson. Then, as he tasted you on his tongue, he realized that you were offering prizes for obedience. He would reap the rewards, if he was willing to play along. His face softened, and he shook his head no. 

“Good boy,” you whispered. 

You kissed his mouth, awkwardly, since it was full of your wet panties, there was little he could do except experience your kisses. He reacted as if he wanted to kiss you back, and as you moved to kiss his jawline, he moaned. 

Price’s moans were rumbling and deep, long and low like a bull elephant’s roar. You wanted to drag that noise out of him again. Your hand found his belt buckle, and you rugged at it, willing it to loosen. As you kissed his neck, you drug down his zipper and freed his cock from the fabric. 

The captain was not soft. If anything, he was harder than he should’ve been for a little teasing and some neck kisses. You decided to use that to his disadvantage,

“My, my, my. Someone’s eager…”

You tugged up and down with length in a long, languid massage, feeling how his foreskin slipped over the head and down the shaft, smooth and supple. He was hairy around the root of his cock, just as you’d hoped, and after seeing the video of him covered in paint, you wished you could strip him down and run your fingernails through his chest hair, delicately scratching his skin and peaked nipples. 

For now, you spit on his cockhead, using it as lube as you rubbed him. He threw his head back in ecstasy. You removed your hand. He snapped back to attention, staring at you a bit desperate for relief. 

You giggled, 

“Is this for me, or for her?”

Pointing over your shoulder, you motioned to the paused video. You took your hand away, feigning hurt feelings.

His body arched toward you, missing your touch, and he shook his head, trying to say something. 

“For her? How disappointing,” you pouted, playing with the head of his cock with one finger, drawing circles around the edge. 

Price was saying something muffled through the fabric of your panties, shaking his head, scooting his chair closer with a quick thrust of his hips, making his cock flag from the jolting movement. 

“You know,” you whispered, drawing him in with your quiet tone, “if this was for me, I’d really be looking forward to feeling it inside of me.”

“Mmm. Mm, mm!” He tried to correct you, his shoulders straining as he pulled them forward, struggling against his self-imposed restraint. 

“Oh?” You caressed his face, rubbing your hand through his soft beard, feeling the stubble on his chin, “It is for me after all?”

“Mm hm,” he nodded, leaning his cheek into your palm, eyes hooded with relief. 

You could tell he was enjoying the game. You were enjoying it, too. You could feel how wet you were, watching him gaze at your shining folds hungry. Impatient. 

“In that case…” you straddled him, planting your knees on either side of his hips, trapping his cock between you both. His body felt warm, and his breathing was labored. 

You rubbed your wetness up and down his shaft, spreading yourself along his length, making wet little sounds as you smeared him until he was slippery. 

Carefully, you moved his head into your eager pussy, your walls pounding for him like a heartbeat. Then, you held his throat with your hand, forcing him to look at you. 

“You don’t get to come until I tell you to. Do you understand, soldier?”

“Mm, hm,” he nodded, rolling in the ecstasy of your tight cunt. 

“Good, boy.”

#captain john price #captain price #john price #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod

[just-jordie-things]

Hiiiii I love all your writing sooo much !!!!!!!!! Pls can you do No.26 with Yuta I am so obsessed with him rn..... the brainrot is too much

i'm obsessed w/ jealous kisses in party settings 26: Jealous Kiss **aged up characters!!** **cw: yuuta calls you a slut but it's in a hot way. also it's not full smut but this is smutty asf. i got quite carried away. this shit is delicious. ___

yuuta is so friendly. it was something that had attracted you to him when you first met, the way he'd gotten you both lost in conversation like you'd been old friends, how polite he was, you were drawn to him right away.

but you're realizing now that you were not the only recipient of this kindness.

"you're gonna break that cup"

you jolt from your frozen stupor, turning to look at yuuji, before looking down at the red plastic cup in your hands. it crinkled in your grip, parts of it jutting out at sharp angles that could snap the plastic if you kept it in the vice of your hand.

"oh" you mumble to yourself, relaxing your grip, before throwing back the drink and swallowing the bitter alcohol hard.

yuuji's eyes widened in astonishment at your bold displeasure. he'd come over to you because you were hanging out by yourself, and this was a party, so he thought he'd come keep you company. but as soon as he was within a few feet of you, he could practically feel rage emanating off of you in thick waves.

"you uh... you okay?" he asked as your jaw locked up, your teeth gritting together roughly.

you turned towards the pink haired boy again, your features brightening as you gave him a pleasant smile along with your attention. but the smile didn't reach your eyes. they remained hard, an anger buried in them that yuuji didn't understand but was frightened by.

"course i am," you say, your tone as chipper as your fraudulent smile. "it's a party"

you take another swig of your drink, yuuji's eyes following the jerky movement with concern.

"you just seem, uh, a little upset," he says, raising a hand to the back of his neck nervously. "did something hap-"

"you wanna dance with me?" you ask him suddenly, before he can finish his question.

he blinks, eyes wide in surprise, but yuuji's a good friend, and he supposes his intentions when he came over to you had been to make sure you were having a good time, so he nods back at you with a smile.

not needing more confirmation than that, you grab him by the hand and drag him into the living room where the music is the loudest.

coincidentally, you strut right past yuuta and whoever the chick was that he was talking to. you don't pay him any attention as you brush right past him, towing yuuji behind you, right on display.

you do, however, feel his eyes follow you as you walk off. they burn into the back of your head, but the sensation fades away quickly. you assume the glare is being targeted at your new dance partner, now.

yuuji's fun to dance with. you're kind of surprised when it turns out he actually has a sense of rhythym, and he also seems to know all the songs blasting through the speakers, singing along with glee while he twirls you under his arm and spins you around.

you've never really let loose like this, but your jealousy had mixed beautifully with the alcohol in your system and dancing seemed to be just what your body needed.

your hands run up your body, into your hair, throwing it to the top of your head before letting it fall as the beat you're feeling yourself to drops, and you even find yourself singing along with yuuji.

and poor yuuji, he thinks he's doing you a service with his company. he'd just thought you were bored at a party, and as a good friend was happy to dance with you if that's how you wanted to enjoy your time. he has no idea that when you press the front of your body into his and throw your arms around his neck that you're pretty much putting a mark on him. he thinks you're enjoying yourself! he thinks you're feeling the wonderful music of shakira as you grin up at him and roll your hips from side to side.

sure maybe he should have found the sensual move a little out of character for you, but it's shakira! and he can't argue that hips don't lie is a beat you just have to roll your body in tune with. so sure, he's matching your movements with his hands on your waist.

but his intentions are nothing but respectful! and honestly, yuuji's having genuine fun with you. he's never seen you so carefree before, you were always the reserved upperclassman he'd honestly been a little afraid of when he first met you. like maki, there was a confidence about you that told him you could be a force to be reckoned with. so to him, he was happy to get to know you better.

unbeknownst to him, yuuta was across the room with something buzzing through his bloodstream that he could only describe as violent. he didn't know yuuji all that well yet, but he didn't feel like he needed to know more than what he was seeing right now.

and right now, his girl was grinding her hips against yuuji's, while her hands carded through his undercut and then into the longer strands of pink hair.

when this little performance first began, yuuta tried to pay it no mind, and continue the conversation he'd been having with a girl from the kyoto school, but eventually his attention just couldn't be torn away from you, and he had to apologize to her before she walked off to the kitchen for another drink.

he'd remained glued to his spot at the wall with the other non-dancers and people trying to mingle, watching your every move as you danced with yuuji like you thought that was okay.

yuuta's not a possessive person- of course not! you weren't exactly his, perse, but he knew you had to admit that the lingering touches and longing eye contact had meant something. he knew that you knew there was something more than friendship between you- and now here you were twirling yourself under yuuji's arm, and pressing your back to his chest.

his last straw should've snapped long before now, but the slow drag of your hips, and ass, against yuuji was just far too much, and yuuta's moving before he can think through what he's even going to do when he gets to you both.

you turn again, throwing your head back as you belt out your favorite line of the song, and you miss the way yuuji's face is flushed from just how loose you'd let yourself become, because over his shoulder you see the holder of the attention you really craved coming towards you in fast strides.

your eyes meet over yuuji's shoulder, and you slither your hand across the back of yuuji's shoulder blades just because yuuta's clearly watching you now, before you turn your focus back to your dance partner.

you give him a wide grin, taking note of his pink cheeks and nervous smile.

"thanks for dancing with me," you say, still rolling your hips to the beat. "but i'm parched, so i'm gonna go"

yuuji nods back at you, and you stand on the tips of your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek before heading off through the crowd. your eyes lock on yuuta's from across the room before you're heading for the stairs. he picks up his pace to follow you before you can escape from his sights.

the boy you left is standing still on the dance floor, completely lost by what had just happened, but hey, he wasn't complaining.

"you know you're gonna die, right?"

he jolts as he turns around, seeing maki behind him, nobara giggling under her arm.

"w-what?"

"yuuta's going to kiiil youuu~" nobara drunkenly sing-songs, sending maki into a fit of giggles too.

meanwhile, once you're upstairs, you're pushing into the first open door you can, finding yourself in the bathroom. you barely had time to catch your breath from your eager dancing before the door is swinging open again. not to your surprise, yuuta's entering the bathroom, too.

"yuuta!" you gasp in a mock-scolding tone, although a smirk of intrigue curls on your lips. "i could have been peeing!"

the door's shutting behind him with a swift kick of his foot and the loud slam make you jump a bit. however the slam of the door is nothing compared to your surprise when yuuta's towering over you, grabbing you by the waist in a fast, rough movement. your breath hitches in your throat, which is what makes you squeak when he's pressing you back against the sink's counter.

"what the hell was that?" he mutters in your face, and he's practically glowering down at you, but it's making you weak in the knees.

he's so close to you that your senses are flooded by him, the smell of his cologne and the rum on his breath wafting in your nose, and you have to fight to keep your eyes focused on his.

"what was what?" your voice lilts as you tease, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

it's safe to say he doesn't find it cute, or maybe he does. either way, he's lifting you by your hips and planting you on the counter, only to pull you close to it's edge. and either way, he's man handling you, and you're falling for it.

moving like it's second nature, you rest your arms around his shoulders. you want to run your hands in his hair, you want to grab him by his neck and kiss him fucking senseless, but you don't. you're too curious to see just how riled up you'd gotten him by dancing with yuuji, and so far you quite like where it's going.

"you know exactly what i'm fucking talking about" yuuta snaps back at you, his hands grabbing you by the thighs, tugging you again until you're chest to chest, your legs hooked at his hips.

you want to catch your breath, but you'd have to take in heavier breaths, and you don't want to give him the satisfaction of making you pant so easily.

"i don't think i do, yuu," you feign confusion as you peer up at him from under your lashes. "but you must've followed me for a reason"

you tilt your chin up at him as you present him with a sweet smile that he wants to wipe off your smug face.

his hands grip tight at your thighs in an attempt to channel his anger, but as he leans into you, only to stop before giving you what you wanted, he can't help but run them up your legs and back to your hips.

a small whimper dies in your throat as you try to tilt forward enough to kiss him, but one of his hands snatches you by the nape of your neck, drawing you back before you could be successful.

your brows furrow as you pout.

"you grind on yuuji and expect me to kiss you?"

you smirk up at him with pride.

"so you are jealous," you muse. "i wasn't so sure,"

yuuta's fingers twitch and flex against your waist.

"yuuta, i would've happily danced with you," you tell him, fluttering your lashes again, just to be a tease, just to remind him again of why he was really here. "but you were so busy with that girl, and yuuji was there, and, well, he was more than happy to keep me company-"

"if you don't stop fucking talking about itadori i swear to god (y/n) i'll-"

"you'll what?" you ask breathlessly, your eyes glittering with excitement, and mischief. your pupils are blown wide as you stare up at him, and goddamnit you're so pretty when you're acting so needy for him.

yuuta hates this game, he really, really does, but if he gave in to you this easily, how would you learn your lesson?

"so what, i talked to one person and you think it's okay to be act like a slut with the underclassmen?"

"you were being a slut first" you mumble back pathetically.

"well for the record, that girl was asking for maki's number. she's gay," yuuta tells you, and now your face feels hotter than before, because that little piece of information made this whole thing a little embarassing. maybe more than a little. "and while we're on that record, you're not allowed to dance like that with anyone. ever"

he mutters it into your ear, warm breath fanning over your neck in such a blissful sensation that you're shutting your eyes and rolling your head back lazily.

"okay" you breathe out, compliant to any instruction he had for you.

"and after this, you're not going to talk to itadori for the rest of the night" yuuta says, ghosting his lips over the side of your neck.

despite trying to keep some of your resolve, you can't keep your hands from grabbing his shoulders, gripping onto them for dear life.

"okay" you repeat, your chest rising and falling as you try desperately to catch your breath that you hadn't had control of since you'd gotten to this bathroom.

"you're going to stay right with me for the rest of the night, since clearly you need someone to keep an eye on you"

he punctuates his last rule by pressing his open mouth against the side of your throat, kissing and sucking at your skin slowly. you hum through a soft moan, feeling your heart beat in your ears at the new sensation.

when yuuta deems the mark on your neck warning enough to itadori and the rest of the party-goers that had watched your little display of a dance, he pulled away.

your hooded eyes meet his for only a moment before he's slamming his lips into yours. you both moan at the sudden impact, and your hands finally grab at his neck, pulling him further, further against you until your legs are crossed at the ankles around his hips, and he's making you lean back with how his tall stature towers over you.

between heated kiss you're panting for breath, moaning in pleasure as the tension that had been growing between you finally, finally snapped. one of his hands is tangled in your hair, keeping your lips firmly on his, not that you'd ever pull away from his intoxicating mouth, and the other is pushing up the hem of your shirt so that he can grip the bare skin of your hip.

he bites experimentally at your bottom lip, smiling to himself with satisfaction as you moan into his mouth, your hips stuttering up against his. he rolls his tongue over the now sensitive plump of your lip before he's pulling your hips into his again, grinding into you shamelessly.

"yuuta~" his name rolls off your tongue in a moan so pretty you have him whimpering into your mouth, before he's reaching to tilt your head back so he can deepen your kiss further.

yuuta licks his way into your mouth with abandon, dominating over yours before you could even try to return the favor. he maps out your mouth like he's a lost man, and when he pulls away, there's a lewd string of saliva connecting your mouths.

he takes a proper look at you now, at your rocking hips, your heaving chest, disheveled hair, swollen lips, and finally, when you open your eyes, he thinks your blown pupils and heavy eyelids have him at another loss of air.

you give him a lazy, drunken smile, before you're fisting the material of his shirt to pull him in close again. you prod your nose against his before giving him a long, slow kiss. your hands relax against his chest, before smoothing down his abdomen. you just barely ghost over the bulge in his pants before he's pulling out of your kiss and tugging you against him before your hands can wander further.

you pout up at him prettily, and he can't believe what he's about to say.

"not here," he mumbles into your mouth, before stealing a kiss. "later"

you whine into his mouth as you chase his lips before he could go too far. you're making it hard on him, that's for sure, but this whole thing started because you clearly get a kick out of making him suffer over you, so this shouldn't come as a surprise to him.

"we should go back," he sighs into your mouth, sloppy kissing you with his open mouth.

your hands are pulling at the hem of his shirt, before they explore the skin underneath. he's shuddering under your touch, and it takes a great effort to remind himself of why he can't hook up with you right here in this bathroom. who's house was his again?

your fingertips drag over every inch of his skin as you nibble playfully on his bottom lip. he hums in pleasure at the feeling, understanding now why you had seemed to like it so very much.

did he lock the door when he'd come in here?

"fuck- okay- we have to-" he tries to the best of his ability to pull his lips off of yours, but they're addicting. rum and cherry flavored, soft, hot. "baby- we have to go back"

you sigh in irritation, but ultimately give in as you lean back, your back hitting the mirror behind you. yuuta's also huffing as he begrudgingly pulls his hands off of your hips.

you look at each other for a minute, taking in the other's swollen mouth and blown pupils. you both know if you leave the bathroom like this, everyone will know exactly what happened.

(you forget that the love bite he'd left on your neck is damning evidence enough)

your legs are shaky when you finally slide off the counter, but yuuta's arm is a firm presence around your hips as he pulls you out of the bathroom, keeping you completely tucked against his side.

it seems all of your peers' eyes are on you as you both make your way down the stairs. the rest of the party is in full swing, but those who know the both of you follow your movements with wide eyes and open jaws.

you pay them no mind, whispering into yuuta's ear to let him know just how much you'd like to dance with him now. your lips brush his earlobe before you plant a kiss at the spot on his neck just underneath it. yuuta agrees to the offer instantaneously.

however unbeknownst to you, his eyes are focused on a certain pink haired boy that was staring right back at him.

yuuji swallowed nervously while yuuta let you press a sweet trail of kisses down his neck, blissfully unaware of yuuji's watchful eyes- you were blissfully unaware of anyone in the room. the younger boy could see the red and purple mark on your neck and he'd known exactly that it's purpose had been served as soon as he saw it.

he was quick to find megumi and leave the room to hang out in another part of the house. he was too afraid of the warning looks yuuta would send him while he danced with you.

but of course you were happily lost in the feeling yuuta's hands on your hips as he followed the push and flow of your body rocking to the beat.

and poor yuuji spent the rest of the night thinking he was hiding from yuuta, when in reality the two of you left that party after only one dance, feeling your tension would be better released in the privacy of your car. ____

a/n" y'all i got CARRRIED AWAYYY JESUSCHRIST also i can't write smut i'm too awkward at it but if anyone wants to make a smutty second part to this or their own smutty rendition of this PLS do and PLS tag me bc. like. i need it now. i had hips don't lie on repeat for so long while i wrote this bc it was just too good for the move and the tension.

xoxo ~ jordie

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #okkotsu x reader #yuuta brainrot #yuuta #okkotsu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #okkotsu yuuta x reader smut #okkotsu yuuta smut

[billskeis]

Hey so could you write a fluff type fox with either demon/ghost or vampire tom but like based off of In my room by ICP (insane clown posse)? Or other way around with reader being the ghost/demon/vampire creature.

Only if you’re comfy with it though!

(As always, ur one of my fav writers! Keep doing what you enjoy)💕💕💕

ᡣ𐭩 vampire bf tom

as you slipped yourself into your bed, you immediately got into the comfiest position that let’s you go to bed the quickest you can. drifting into sleep, you find yourself yet wide awake once more.

there’s tapping at the window, it’s him.

you’ve gotten yourself a visitor for the past few nights since you moved into your new apartment. living by yourself find you to be an easy target.

for someone who’s not human.

he introduced himself as tom kaulitz, and what’s totally weird about him was that he only ever came when it was dark.

you found it completely and utterly useless that he taps on your window because he just emerges from the dark corner where the moonlight was blocked out by your closet.

he was quite handsome you had to admit. black braids. a black bandana, black baggy clothes, the lip piercing that accompanies the side of his bottom lip was also black.

clearly there was a pattern here, but you didn’t mind. black was sexy.

the first night you met him you of course tried to knock him out assuming that he was an intruder and to your multiple failed events, heard him out.

he was a vampire, a lonely vampire who just sought out comfort in the night. he was talking about blood of course.

being that you kinda have a hero complex offered him to feed off you in order to make sure he doesn’t try to feed off other human beings and killing them.

he assures you though he would never go that far into feeding to kill someone, but you never know how true that is.

“hey doll, were you just heading to bed? i’m sorry,” he sounded genuinely apologetic, “no it’s fine.. just had a long day. work was rough.”

you got up from the bed and immediately brought him into your embrace, he hugs you back tight. letting go, he looks into your eyes and smile.

“you look awfully pretty tonight, such a shame you go to bed when you should be showing yourself off,” he caresses the side of your neck with his left hand, right on your waist.

his touch was cold, but in a way, comforting.

“you flatter me too much tom, hungry?” you ask as you lean your neck to the side a bit, giving him access to finally feed.

“m’ starving..”

the side of your neck throbbed, some part of it hurt, but it also felt good. you took pride in knowing that such a hot ass vampire would come to feed off of you and stay, listening to your promise of not feeding off others.

“you okay baby? i did take a bit more than i did last time..” you shook your head at him as you laid down in your bed looking at one another, “i’ve gone through worse,” “promise? “i promise tom.”

you took a braid into your hand and twirled it around your finger, you stared at the motion happening in your hands until you looked at tom who was attentively still staring at you, never breaking contact.

he reached out his arm to pull your body closer to his, the cool sensation of his skin is not akin to yours, but it just felt oh so right. the two of you basically hugged each other so closely, cuddling, limbs tangled together not wanting to be untwined.

you feel his breath onto your neck as his head rests in the crevice of it. he takes a sharp, deep inhale, clearly loving the scent you give off to him. you find it a little weird he does this but,

he’s a vampire after all.

“m’ gonna go to sleep tom, goodnight..” he kisses the side of your neck that he left a bite mark on, then caressing your back with the arm that held you together, “goodnight princess,” he said, his movements on your body allowing you to finally drift into sleep.

you wake up to the warm daylight of the morning with birds chirping, feeling around your bed you are met with emptiness. he’s gone, you don’t really mind it as the two of you solely know and are with one another because of a deal.

but another part of you wishes it could be something more, yearning for his presence once more.

you get up to do your morning routine and plan the day out in your head mentally, attempting to busy yourself as much as possible so night would come faster.

after the sun comes up, he makes his leave. it’s always been like this.. well, of course, sun is harmful to vampires and you weren’t able to prevent that from happening.

but if you had it your way, the fucking sun would be gone.

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel fluff #tokio hotel x you #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x reader #2000s #fyp

[justlillythinking]

hey! I love the na'vi x human!reader trope a lot so I want to request lo'ak smut where they.. try to make it fit? Only in case you are comfortable with it of course! thank you a lot! <3

lo’ak x human!reader smut

2.7k words

repost since the last one got marked

warnings- aged up lo'ak!!!! sex, underage drinking, fingering, size difference, making out, etc.

GIF by helicarrier

i got so carried away.

in this fic, neteyam survives and quaritch dies. y/n and spider and the sully family return safely to the forrest. this event takes place several years after the battle where quaritch is killed, the clan being unbothered. also let’s pretend exopacks aren’t needed, reader can just breath the air bc of a tea that ronal made for humans to breath air or something idk.

laughter echos around the forrest as neteyam, lo’ak, some other teenagers from the village, spider, kiri, and i sit in front of fire, passing around a bottle and talking. this morning, me and lo’ak went to the abandoned military base and found some ‘alcohol’ from the old food crates. jake had told us about alcohol before, and we wanted to see what would happen since it wasn’t going to ever get used. it’s turns out it’s pretty good(but not good tasting), now that all of us are drinking and laughing.

kiri says we should play 7 minutes in heaven, a game that she read about in her mothers old diaries. apparently, you spin a bottle and whichever two players it lands on have to go into another room and sit together for 7 minutes, allowed to do anything. it seems like we all simultaneously agree, and i wink at lo’ak (one thing about this alcohol is that it makes me bold; letting me do all the things i’ve always wanted to do, but thought about twice or got too scared). he stares at me wide eyed before chuckling and winking, leaving my cheeks pink.

we put the bottle in the center, sitting on the ground around it. i sit next to kiri and her friend, both of them eyeing their target kisses. kiri stand up to explain the rules to the group.

“ok guys! the way that this game works is pretty simple, you spin the bottle twice and whoever the two people that the neck of the bottle points to have to go in that closet for 7 minutes. oh and to spice it up, if you stay in the closet for less than 7 minutes you have to take a shot.”

everyone nods and kiri sits back down. i make eye contact with lo’ak again, this time kiri’s friend alo’ya notices and gives me a playful shove and leans down in my ear, whispering, “i bet if it lands on you two, you’re totally going to fuck.”

i laugh, “no way, he doesn’t like me like that! i wish though.”

“fine,” she says, “if you’re so sure then if i’m right, you have to do my cleaning duties for a week. same goes for me if you’re right.”

“deal”, i snicker and shake her hand.

kiri leans into the middle, spinning the bottle. turns out bottles don’t spin well on grass, the glass barley moving. we laugh before neteyam gets up and grabs a flat stone to spin it on. he sets the bottle down and turns it before sitting down. when it stops turning, it lands on kiri and spider, who both blush before getting up and go into the closet. everyone goes quiet as we try to hear what they’re saying or doing, only hearing little laughs and small talk. i groan, wondering if they’re just going to talk the whole time.

it seems alo’ya is thinking the same thing; she gets up and bangs in the door, drunkly yelling, “if you two don’t hurry up and kiss, i think it’s majority time that you have to take a shot.”

i laugh and make small talk with her while the 7 minutes passes. when the timer goes off, spider comes out blushing and kiri wipes her lips off. people woop and make kissy noises, both of their cheeks getting red.

“ok let’s spin it again.”

this time spider spins it both times, landing on lo’ak and alo’ya. my heart sinks a little as they both stand up, but alo’ya pats my back and tells me not to worry. they both walk into the closet and it goes quiet again, everyone trying to listen. the room is completely silent and so is the closet.

i hear lo’ak clear his throat after about 15 seconds of silence.

“umm…” he starts.

“so umm…”

they sit in awkward silence for 10 more seconds before alo’ya says, “yeah i don’t think this is gonna work, shots?”

lo’ak lets out a relived sigh just as i do too, thankful for her playing my wingman.

“yeah, i could definitely use a shot”, he says, laughing.

the closet doors open, both of them standing as far a way from each other as possible. kiri pours both of them a shot, they gulp them before sitting down. i give alo’ya a thankful smile as she winks at me.

a couple more rounds are played before it lands on me and kiri. we both giggle and go into the closet, drunkenly joking. i whisper to her, “so how good was your kiss with spider?”

she giggles, “it was so good. he’s so cute and it was so sweet and i think i might be in love with him?? i don’t know though i’m so drunk and he’s literally like half my height but y/n it was so good.”

i laugh before responding, “ ok kiri come on be serious he’s only like”, i pause, holding a pinched finger in front of my face, “ he’s only like a foot and a half shorter that’s not that bad.”

she sits very seriously, contemplating what i said. i laugh at her sudden change in demeanor.

“yeah i guess you’re right.” she snickers and looks at me.

“i don’t know why i’m complaining, you’re actually half of lo’ak's height. i guess that’s good though, you wouldn’t even have to get in your knees-“

i gasp and slap her hands.

“kiri do not say that!! you’re so dirty minded! plus i’m not even that short and you know it.”

“i’m just saying!! like would it even fit-“

we both start laughing like hyenas and before we know it the timer goes off. kiri and i stumble back down still laughing, now because she is hiccuping since she’s so drunk. neteyam gives her a look before clearing his throat, “ kiri, i think it’s time you go home. you don’t need anymore to drink.”

she starts to complain before spider interjects, “you’re right neteyam, i’ll walk her back to her tent.”

i giggle and wiggle my eyebrows at her, alo’ya yelling, “go get some girl!” as they walk off.

once they’re gone i get up and spin the bottle, it landing on me the first spin. i spin it again and it lands on lo’ak. i giggle and grab his hand, pulling him into the closet with me. once i close the door, i turn around to see him staring at me with a smirk. god, seeing this man smirk does things to me.

“someone seems excited to be alone with me, huh?”

i blush and look down at my feet, losing all my new found confidence.

“well i mean it’s a fun game-“

“no, no,” he’s says, grabbing my chin and tilting it up to look at him, “don’t get all shy on me.”

i stare up at him and nod, trying to keep myself together as his huge hand lets go of my chin. i blush again and smile, looking him in the eyes before my gaze drops to his lips. he notices and laughs, licking his lips.

“lo’ak?”

“yeah y/n?”

i giggle again before whispering like i’m about to tell him a secret, “did i ever tell you that you’re like… really really pretty?”

he laughs shaking his head.

“well lo’ak, i think you’re really pretty and i love your eyes and you hair and i really like how tall are because sometimes i wish i was tall-“

he cuts off my drunken rambling, grabbing my waist. his touch sends butterflies into my stomach, sobering me up quickly. i look up and him and put my hands on his lean chest.

he leans down, warm breath fanning on my neck and sending shivers all down my back.

“can i kiss you y/n?”

i nod up at him before standing on my tip toes, pressing my warm lips against his. his hands tighten around my waist, lifting me up to wrap my legs around his torso. i feel my back hit the wall of the closet, grabbing his hair hard. he groans into my mouth, moving his hands to grab my ass. he breaks from the kiss, moving to kiss my neck. i quietly moan as he sucks hickies onto my neck, swiping his wet tongue over them when he finishes.

just as he goes to suck another hickey, the timer goes off. he laughs before setting me down, opening the door while holding my tiny hand in his huge one. when he opens the door we see alo’ya straddling neteyam as they make out. i tap the off button on the timer as lo’ak and i sneak out, leaving them to do eywa knows what.

i lead neteyam to my tent, laughing as we run. when we get there, i struggle trying to untie door fast enough, finally getting it done and shoving him inside. he laughs and falls onto my bed, sitting up. i tie the tent shut, happy that it’s not around anyone else’s. i walk over to him, standing between his huge legs.

he looks as me, they same height sitting as i am standing. his hands go to my waist, pulling me close to him. i put one of my small hands on his leg, the other on his chest. he rests his huge hand on top mine. i look at the size difference, my whole hand only the size of 3 of his fingers. he smirks at me before grabbing me by my waist again, pulling me onto his lap.

he pulls me closer, kissing me hard. i grip on his biceps, feeling the strong muscles. my hands follow up his arms to his hair, tugging him closer to me. his teeth tug on my lip, sharp bangs making me gasp. when my mouth opens his tongue enters and i tug on it, still wanting more. he groans, his huge hands gripping my thighs and pressing them down on his hard bulge.

i pull away from his lips, nails scratching his back, making him shudder. i go to kiss him again but he grabs me and flips me under him, making me whine. he hovers over me and before i can complain, his lips crash into mine. he moved down to my neck again, hands fiddling with my top as he kissed his way down to my breasts.

once he tugs my top of he, gropes my breasts, whispering, “you’re so perfect y/n. you’re so beautiful.”

i whine and put my hands on his back, trying to pull him closer, but he grabs both of my wrists with one hand, pining them above my head.

“lo’ak please,” i say, arching my back to try and wiggle out of his grip, “don’t tease me right now. i need you.”

“don’t be a brat y/n, hold on.”

“please lo’ak, i need you inside of me.”

“you’re going to have to patient, i have to prepare you first.”

i look at him confused before he moves down, taking off my bottoms. he rips them off, kissing my thighs before licking a stripe down my folds. i moan loudly at the unexpected contact, closing my legs. lo’ak pinches my inner thigh, making me writhe before using his huge arms to pin my legs open. he puts his tongue on my clit, lazily flicking it. i buck against his face, hands going into his hair.

“oh fuck”, i whimper loudly, feeling myself already starting to come undone.

“yeah, do you like that?” he says, pinching my clit.

i nod wildly, feeling the tip of his huge finger against my entrance. he spreads my wetness around before pushing in, tongue now returning to my clit. i moan loudly as he curls his finger in me, adding another one after. he lets me adjust, not moving in and out but still sucking on my sensitive bud. after a couple seconds, he slides both fingers all the way out before sliding them back in. he repeats this, getting faster every time. he starts going at light speed right as i reach my climax, moaning and pleading for him to let me cum. i feel the knot in my stomach untie, breathing heavily.

lo’ak laughs at the fucked out look written across my face, licking his fingers off. he leans down and kisses me, my sweet taste on his tongue. he grinds on me hard as we make out, my slick staining his loin cloth. i move my hands down, trying to tug it off. he stands up and pulls it down easily, his cock springing up and touching his toned stomach.

now i finally realize why he said he needed to prepare me; his dick is easily 11 inches long. he grins at my wide eyes, “expected less?” he asks. i just look at him dumbstruck before shaking my head no. i kneel on the bed, grabbing his thighs as my other hand trails up to his huge dick. i go to lick it before he stops me.

“not tonight, i need to be inside you now.”

i giggle and lay back, his huge hands spreading my legs. he gets on top of me, kissing me before grinding on top of my pelvis. i whine and grab back, trying to press his closer to me. he leans up, letting me look as he sizes me up, putting his dick on top of me for me to see how big it is compared to me. i open my mouth at the size difference before capturing his lips in a kiss. he rubs the tip on my entrance, teasing me as he kiss. he breaks apart from the kiss as he pushes it in, making me moan.

i’ve never felt this full before, and it’s only half way in. he slowly pushes the rest in, a bulge visible in my stomach. he presses his hand down on it, leaving me the whimper loudly. even though he ‘prepared’ me, nothing could have mentally prepared me for how good this felt.

as he starts moving in and out, i clench around him hard, making him groan loudly. he starts sliding in and out faster, finger circling my clit. i moan over and over again, barley able to catch my breath.

“oh fuck y/n, you’re so tight.”

i clench again at his words, already feeling myself getting close to another release. he grunts and pounds in and out of me, whispering how good i feel. he pushes my legs onto his shoulders, the new angle making my eye rolls into my head.

“look how big i am in you, i can see my cock in your fucking stomach”

my final straw his when he pushes onto my stomach, making me cry out every time he thrusts into me. i clench around him as i cum, shuttering and shaking as he continues to fuck me through my high.

after i calm down from my high he pulls out, jerking off before his warm cum lands my stomach. he lays down beside me, both of us panting and exhausted. i look over and him and smile.

we lay there for a couple minutes before he goes and gets a rag for my stomach, wiping it off. he goes and cleans himself off before laying down beside me again. i sigh and cuddle into his chest.

“i see you lo’ak.”

“i see you y/n.”

i smile up at him him before groaning and rubbing my eyes.

“what is it?” he asks, confused if he’s done something wrong.

“i have to do a week of alo’ya’s chores now.”

he laughs, and before we know it, we are asleep in each others arms.

#avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar x you #jake sully #jake sully imagine #jake sully smut #jake sully x neytiri #jake sully x oc #jake sully x you #jake sully x y/n #jake sully x reader #lo’ak x y/n #lo’ak fanart #lo’ak x reader #tsireya x lo’ak #lo’ak imagine #lo’ak #lo’ak sully #lo'ak x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x oc #na’vi oc #neteyam x you #neteyam imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n

[rorywritesjunk]

We'll cry later or cry now, but baby, Heartbreak feels so good

Buggy messes up, there's a fight, and he realizes how much you mean to him.

Rating: PG-13ish. Swearing. Warning: A couple fight, angry crying, damage to personal property (kind of not really unintentional). Is mentioning Shanks a warning? I'm gonna say it is. Buggy has Big Feelings and Regrets. A/N: Drama and some angst. Upset Buggy, upset reader. Everyone's upset. I needed to do some angst to balance out some of the other stuff. I have another story later to post as well. Also, at this point the reader in this fic is apparently just the same as the makeup stories and Pampering Buggy. Unintentional at first but it just... happened. Oops. Title comes from "Heartbreak Feels So Good" by Fall Out Boy.

Your screaming was heard throughout the entire Big Top. 

Buggy was convinced you were being murdered, so he stopped what he was doing and hurried to see what was going on. He could hear your screams coming from the kitchen and they weren’t letting up, so when he rushed in, he frantically looked to see what was causing you to make that much noise.

You were standing at the counter, gripping your hair as you stared down at it. He approached cautiously, hand moving ahead of him to touch your shoulder, letting you know he was there.

“Babe?”

You jumped and smacked his hand away, turning to glare at him; the intensity caused him to stop in his tracks. He finally saw what you were so focused on. Your good knives were laid out on the table, the blades bent with chips and cracks along them. One of them even had a broken handle. Next to the damaged knives was your favorite cutting board. He could see the knife marks in it, as though someone had used it as target practice.

Oh, shit.

“Who did this?!” You demanded as you pointed at your damaged tools. “Why?!”

“I can explain.” He held his hands up, hoping maybe you’d calm down, but instead it seemed to make you angrier. 

“Those were my things, Buggy!” You exclaimed, fists clenched as your eyes began to well up with tears. “Wh-Why does it look like someone used them for target practice?! They’re ruined!”

“Someone asked to use some knives for practice… and I said grab some from the kitchen.” Buggy said; your eyes went wide and it was dawning on him how stupid that suggestion now was. “Now, I didn’t specify which knives…”

“Clearly!” 

“But they’re just knives, babe.” He said with a shrug. “I mean, you can still use them, right?”

Your response to that was crying. The tears were coming now and you couldn’t help it. How could he be that stupid? Those were yours. You brought them onboard when you joined the crew. You even told the crew not to touch them, that they were yours for food prep and nothing else. They weren’t meant to be thrown around! 

Buggy didn’t really expect you to start crying. 

“Babe, babe, come on.” He took a step towards you, reaching out to pull you into a hug, but you pulled away, picking up the knife that had the worst damage to it: a broken tip, bent, chips in the blade. You pointed it at him.

“I can’t prepare meals with this, Buggy!” You wailed. “You wrecked my knives!”

He stared at you in shock. He didn’t like being accused like that. 

“I didn’t touch them!” He shot back. “How was I going to know they’d be used?! Maybe you should have hidden them better!” He crossed his arms and snorted. “They’re just knives. Stop crying over them, it’s not like you can’t use them. Stop being stupid!”

Oh, he regretted that when he saw the crushed look in your eyes, but was he going to say anything? Was he going to apologize? Of course not. 

“Fine.” You rubbed your nose and sniffled, taking a deep breath. “Fine! I hope you have an appetite for spiced boiled water, because without good knives, I can’t do much else!” 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Buggy rolled his eyes. You glared at him as you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Fresh tears started rolling down your cheeks instead as you shoved past him, leaving him alone in the kitchen. 

~

The two of you really didn’t fight that much. Arguments happened from time to time, disagreements, typical couple things, but this type of fight where one of the sides fucked up and wouldn’t admit it, well, it was ugly. The crew even noticed that you hadn’t spoken to Buggy for a few hours. He tried to get you to acknowledge him, asking you your thoughts on how the performers were doing, but you ignored him as you helped one of the performer’s with her costume, or made sure another’s hair was done right. 

Buggy tried to ask you how his makeup was looking, tried to see if you’d help him with it, but you turned your back on him and walked off. 

Dinner that night was boiled water with random spices thrown in and you served Buggy the ‘dinner’ in the largest bowl you had.

And you did return to your shared room with him but you wouldn’t talk to him. You bathed without inviting him in the tub, you dressed with your back to him, and you crawled into your side of the bed without giving him a goodnight kiss. When he got into bed and tried to roll over to cuddle with you, he pulled back once he felt how you stiffened at his touch and curled up away from him. He went back to his side and listened to your crying.

When he woke up the next morning, your side of the bed was empty, no warmth left behind. You must have been awake for hours at that point. He rubbed his face, wondering if maybe he needed to apologize. He really should have, it was his fault, but he couldn’t admit that. He was stupid, he knew that. He was still trying to figure out how to be in a relationship. With a sigh, he got out of bed and dressed before heading to the kitchen to look for you.

He was surprised to find an empty kitchen. He winced when he saw the damaged knives and cutting board still in the same place as yesterday, a reminder of how he fucked up. Why didn’t he just apologize instead of saying you were stupid and being dramatic? He picked up one of the knives, looking it over. It didn’t look like it could easily be repaired. Maybe he needed to get you a new set to make up for it.

“Captain?” 

He turned to see one of the performers standing in the doorway. He glared at him and they recoiled just a bit. “What?!”

“Uh, just… have you seen the cook? She was going to help me with my hair, and…”

“What?! What do you mean you haven’t seen her?!” He snapped. “Where the fuck did she go?”

“I-I don’t know, that’s… why I’m asking…” 

Buggy threw the knife in his direction; it almost hit him, instead hitting the frame of the door and clattering to the ground. The performer hurried off, not wanting to become Buggy’s own target, leaving his captain alone. You weren’t there. You had been gone for hours. They had been docked for two days at a port. 

He swallowed heavily as he considered that maybe, just maybe, you had enough and decided to leave.

No, no, no, it wasn’t that bad of a fight, right? You loved him. You told him all the time. You wouldn’t leave him over something silly like this, but he remembered how he reacted to your words, how instead of saying sorry he made it seem like it was your fault. He fucked up, not you. 

Could he blame you for leaving? You did so much for him and he was just there. You took care of him, you made sure he was fed, that his clothes were mended, that his makeup was how he wanted it. You did all of that for him, and all he could do was fuck up and blame you for his own stupidity.

He swore loudly as he stomped out of the kitchen to go start his day. Maybe stringing a freak up by their ankles would make him feel better.

~

You weren’t home by dinner and by then he knew you left for good. He overheard several performers mentioning how they saw you leave with a bag that morning, and that they missed their chance to talk to you. Buggy couldn’t believe you’d leave without saying goodbye to him, but he figured that’s what he deserved after how he treated you the night before. Hell, he never deserved you in the end. How did you put up with him for as long as you did when he was just a pain in your ass? You deserved so much better than him, someone who would treat you the way you deserved to be treated, with treasures, love, everything you wanted. 

Yea, he loved you, and he treasured you, but he knew he didn’t ever tell you enough, if at all.

He couldn’t help but imagine someone like Shanks meeting you and sweeping you off your feet. Of course it would be Shanks who you would meet by chance, fall in love immediately, and leave Buggy behind. The thought of it frustrated Buggy. He should have appreciated you more.

He returned to what was now his room, now that you were gone from his life. He went to your side of the bed and stared down at it, knowing that the last time you slept in his bed, you cried yourself to sleep because of him. He never wanted that, and he wished he apologized last night instead of being stubborn about it. He grabbed your pillow and laid down on the bed, hugging it close to his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. 

He wasn’t going to cry but he definitely wanted to. Instead he held your pillow over his face, taking a deep breath, hoping it still smelled like you. If he stayed like that, maybe he would never forget you. The feeling of your skin, your smell, the sound of your voice.

It was almost like you were still there when he thought he heard you say his name but he was imagining things. You left because he didn't treat you well or appreciate you enough. You were the one always making him feel better when he had a bad day, you always said I love you first, and if he ever did, it was always followed by some bawdy comment. You always initiated those little acts of love and he just… was there. 

You’d make his favorite meals for him and he’d offer to wash the dishes, but there were countless times he’d wake up for a midnight snack and find you in the kitchen, cleaning up after he forgot to do so.

You’d tell him how much you loved him, and he’d make a stupid joke before even saying it back, because he didn’t know how else to respond.

And he was pretty sure he was already going crazy without you there because he swore he heard you say his name again and something hit the pillow. He pulled it down off his face and sat up, eyes widening when he saw you standing at the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing to my pillow?” You asked. 

“You came back.” Was his response. 

“What?” You looked confused. “Yea? We’re at a port, we needed some kitchen supplies.” He winced slightly and you glared at him. “I took one of my knives to see if they could get fixed but as I suspected, they are beyond repair.”

"Babe-"

"I can't believe you let someone use my things like that, Buggy!" You exclaimed as you sat at the foot of the bed to remove your shoes. "I asked one thing when I came onboard and was for the crew to respect that the kitchen was my space, that if they needed something to ask me! And then you went and let someone go in there and use my things! Those were expensive knives, I paid good money for them, and I can't go and-"

"'Msorry." He spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

"Buy replace- what?" You turned to look at him. He wasn't looking at you, instead he was sitting up now on the bed, legs hanging over the side as he stared down at his feet. You got up from your seat and walked over to him, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. "Look at me, Buggy." He winced at your tone but did as you asked. "Repeat what you just said but I want you to look me in the eyes when you do."

He hesitated, it was difficult, but he did as you asked, slowly looking up at you, locking eyes with you, almost muttering again under your glare but he managed to get the words out.

"I'm sorry." He said, trying not to let his voice waver. "I'm sorry for ruining your… things. And for how I spoke to you. And for not apologizing." He looked back down at his feet and slumped forward, resting his head in his hands. "I just don't want you to leave me."

You inhaled sharply, did he really think you left him without telling him? This was starting to give you a headache.

"First off, thank you for apologizing." You said as you stepped closer to him, putting your hand on his head. He took that as an invite to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he pressed his face against your stomach. You sighed. "And second, Buggy, if I was ending things with you I would tell you. I was gone because like I said, we needed some supplies, and I needed a break from here for a while.”

"'msorry." His voice was muffled against your shirt as he tightened his hold on you. "I can't lose you to someone else."

"Buggy, you're not going to." You told him as you reached down to move his head away from you, just enough for you to cup his cheeks and you could look into his eyes. "But Buggy, all I want now is another apology for how you spoke to me, and I want a new, nicer set of knives and cutting board that is off limits to everyone, understand? Because if I catch anyone else so much as touching them then I'll cut their hands off with those nice sharp knives and use their blood to oil the board. Do you understand?"

Buggy could only nod, leaning into your touch as his hands came up to cover your own. "I'm sorry for… how I spoke to you, you're not stupid or dramatic… that's all me, I'm sorry. I'll get you new things, I promise."

"Thank you." You stroked his cheeks gently before pulling back. "Now, I am damn exhausted from all of this and am taking a bath." 

He pulled you back to him before you could get too far away from him. He wanted to be sure you were real, that this wasn’t his imagination, that you were really there. He wrapped his arms around your waist once more, resting his head against your stomach as you put your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them slowly, trying to get him to relax. You were still hurt from the night before, especially how he spoke to you, but it made you feel a little better to see how upset he was, that he did regret his actions. 

After a few minutes, you finally pulled away from him and went to get undressed. You heard Buggy get up behind you, and you wanted to tell him that you were taking a bath by yourself, but when you turned around you were surprised to see him getting the tub ready for you. 

“Thanks?” You were a little confused by the gesture, but you weren’t going to question it. 

“I… love you.” He said as he checked the temperature of the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot for you. “And thank you for everything you do for me.”

You smiled a bit and went over to him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Buggy.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy opla #buggy x you #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy #opla buggy the clown

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch16

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

some of this chapter is born out of me realizing, as i read The Red Dragon, that i essentially limited Alana’s presence in this fic to that one rather tumultuous interaction, instead of expanding on her potential as both a strong, intelligent side character and a friend to the reader. Hopefully this makes up for that a little bit. Alana’s pretty cool. I sort of lost sight of that.

warnings: negative self talk, suicidal ideation/thoughts, panic attack, hyperventilation, derealization, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore

The darkness swirling around you is relentless in its writhing, distorting and jerking you around in its shadowed grasp. For a while, you’re content to let the shadows take control. You float in an endless abyss. Memories flit before your eyes, just long enough for you to reach out to try to grab them. They never stay long enough, flickering and disintegrating before you get the chance to grasp them and dissect every miniscule detail. 

Stay awake, says a whisper itching at your skin. 

You take a deep breath. The next time you blink, you find yourself standing in a far too familiar place. Hannibal’s kitchen is quiet—eerily so, you think as your footsteps echo against the floors. There is hardly a sign of life on these countertops, hardly a stain or sprinkling of powder to assure you this place has ever been used. There is a single light boring down on the back of your head: a spotlight. You swallow hard and step to the side in an attempt to escape the light, only to find Hannibal’s rolodex sitting in the middle of the brightness. Your business card sits on top, displaying your name, phone number, email address, office location at headquarters, birthplace, height, weight, eye color, age, and any other demographic information you could possibly imagine. The font is tiny, yet you can read it with ease. Feeling a sudden urge to touch, you grab the business card and let it lie flat in your palm. There’s a tear in the corner, you realize. Frowning, you move to touch it, only for the tear to extend further down the flimsy material. Crimson dots appear on the white background, swirling and twisting until there’s blood collecting on your fingertips. You look down, only to realize that the dark red stains have permeated the fabric of your shirt. Puddles are gathering at your feet, marking your footsteps with every movement you make. The card melts into the blood gathered in your hands, and you’re left holding the tattered remains of your identity. 

Stay awake.  

You blink again. Abel Gideon is peering at you from behind the bars of his interrogation cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” Gideon remarks with a laugh. You huff a laugh under your breath. The thought amuses you, for reasons you cannot quite discern at the moment. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.”  Your hands tremble at your sides and you restlessly shift your balance from one foot to the other. Gideon’s gaze is knowing and it pins you to the ground. 

Stay alive.  

A blink. You’re standing in the doorway of your office at headquarters. Everything is as you left it, save for your chair, which has an inhabitant. Franklyn Froideveaux stares at you with empty eye sockets and a gaping maw.  Blood slips down his gaunt frame, leaving murky red-brown streaks down his cheeks and around the cavity of his chest. You blink and his skin turns a murky yellowish green from decay. 

“See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs croons from over your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face, feel his breath hitting your neck and provoking a deep nausea in your gut. 

Another blink. Blood slips hotly down your fingers as you stand in a dimly lit hallway. Your skin feels lit with flames and the knife in your hand gleams a sickening crimson. You want to release the weapon from your grip, but your fingers are locked around the blade with unshakeable force. The smell of death and decay wafting through the enclosed space makes your stomach turn. None of these sensations are powerful enough to rip your attention away from the corpse at your feet. 

“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal remarks with a hum, hands behind his back as he regards Abel Gideon’s form. There is a mildly intrigued expression on his face as he studies the body, before looking back to you with eerily crimson eyes. As he pivots, bloodstained antlers stretch from his perfectly coiffed hair. They disappear in a moment—a trick of the light. His voice is dark and airy all at once. “And are we not created in his image?” You swallow past the nausea building in your chest. Time stretches on with terrible slowness. His gaze is flaying you apart. “Don’t you want God To want you?” He asks softly.1 

“See?” Stay awake. Stay alive.  

Darkness, then light. “To the Ripper, understanding is love,” Hannibal says, a flicker of a smile settling on his lips. His hands are folded and he leans forward. Your chairs are close enough to force you to knock knees with him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “You are the first person to see through his façade, through the layers of his mask.” His skin looks strangely patterned, as if it's made of ceramic. You reach out to grasp his face, to yank off his mask, only for Hannibal to catch your wrist and hold it in a tight grip. Suddenly, your chair is tipping backwards precariously, lurching further into the abyss. You try to reach out and grab onto something, but Hannibal’s hold is the only thing that keeps you tethered. The void crawls up your skin mockingly, waiting to drag you into its umbra. Your momentum is slipping backwards and you’re filled with an unsettling anticipation. Contrary to your expectations, Hannibal’s grip remains strong. You look at him. The Ripper looks back, a bloodstained smile on his lips. You feel his fingers trace the edges of your skin with a mocking gentleness, before you’re falling backward into the darkness again.

You slip out of the darkness and bolt up, only to find yourself in a painfully bright room. You can’t quite stop the gasp that comes from your lips, nor can you suppress the urge to look around frantically, searching for the signs that this is a dream. The incessant pain in your abdomen is a harsh reality check. You look down at the area, only to find meticulously wrapped bandages covering your lower torso. Your upper forearm stings from the IV burrowing under your skin. 

“Hey,” a voice says. You squint in the bright light, waiting for the blurred figure in front of you to sharpen. It’s a nurse—the same one who helped you the last time you were wounded. She holds her hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were just dreaming.” Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern, a sentiment you feel you don’t deserve. 

You bite back your questions—knowing the answers are clinging to the blinding white walls around you. The nurse asks you several questions about your symptoms and your pain level, before departing with the promise that she will return soon. 

The events that transpired in Hannibal’s office cling to your skin with fervency. Your abdomen burns, especially when you remember that Hannibal inflicted the wound. You shouldn’t feel betrayed. You shouldn’t be afforded the privilege of being betrayed, not when you knew Hannibal Lecter’s nature since that night you sleepwalked out into the middle of the street. 

Even so… you enjoyed being in Hannibal’s presence. You enjoyed the song and dance you had gotten so accustomed to playing. You spent so long spectating the game that you forgot your role in it. You were a pawn, and nothing more. The thought displeases you. With each passing second, the ugly feeling in your chest grows and swells within the confines of your rib cage. It’s getting to be too much. 

There is no one to sit at your bedside this time. When she returns, the nurse pointedly does not mention your husband. You don’t have the heart to tell her that your “husband” was the same person who stabbed you, or that your husband was never really your husband in the first place. She seems to understand anyway. Pity is hidden beneath the kind smile on her face. You stop making eye contact with her. 

Lying in this hospital bed is a lonely existence, dominated by a constant state of pain (at worst) or mild discomfort (at best). The only interaction you get is from the nurse herself. You get the feeling she’d be a good listener, but your tongue feels ironed to the roof of mouth and your conversations quickly morph into anecdotes about her life. You’re grateful for the small kindness—for the prospect of being treated like a human being, despite it all.  These small moments of humanity push you to keep going, even amidst the several voices crooning in your ears about your cruelty.

You don’t expect any visitors. Indeed, your first visitor is entirely unexpected. When you’re first told that someone wishes to speak to you, you think of Beverly, Jack Crawford… hell, even Freddie Lounds. You certainly don’t foresee Alana Bloom walking through the door, a gentle, reserved expression on her face. Seeing her brightens your day, and her presence reminds you that you’re not entirely alone. You welcome the thought. 

“Alana,” you greet her, your voice rather raspy. You cough to clear your throat. “How are you?” You ask. 

“I should be asking you that,” she responds with a wry smile. She stands at the end of your bed, before walking to the side. Alana regards the lonely chair at your bedside, before placing her hands on the back. She looks well—albeit a little tired. “I’m good. And you?”

“I’ve been better,” you decide to respond honestly. There’s no point in lying to Alana—she used to be your psychiatrist, your girlfriend. She would be able to see through your dishonesty anyway. Sure enough, Alana seems to appreciate your honesty, because her eyes momentarily widen before she moves to sit down. Seeing her sit in that chair makes your stomach turn. When you blink, you see Hannibal sitting there—lithe frame effortlessly arranged, tupperware in hand. You rub your eyes roughly, dispelling the image to the recesses of your memory. Alana was courteous enough to visit you—the least you can do is acknowledge her presence, instead of imagining her as someone else. 

For a moment, you stare at Alana. A mundane sense of envy strikes you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t deserve to be envious of her good health and safe wellbeing. Your own hubris is the reason why you’re currently confined to this cot. You look at her for a moment longer, before letting your eyes rest on the plain walls around you. You can feel Alana staring at you with concern. Instead of acknowledging that sentiment, you let the first question on your mind pass through your lips. “Where’s Jack?”

Alana is silent for a few seconds. Is it a difficult question? You don’t think so, yet Alana almost seems to falter. Eventually, she must manage to find the words. “Busy, as I’m sure you can imagine,” she evidently settles for saying. Upon closer examination, her hands are clasped in her lap—whitened knuckles betraying her otherwise tranquil image. Alana’s next words are quiet yet firm. “He’s tracking Hannibal—the Chesapeake Ripper.”

You inhale slowly. Somehow, hearing her say that cements the reality of it all. Everyone knows Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. It’s not just you anymore. You bring up an arm slowly, before tilting your head down and pinching the bridge of your nose. Somehow, it is this statement that reminds you of the pounding sensation behind your eyes and the aching clustered around your temple.

“Are you alright?” Alana asks, lips twitching into a slight frown. 

“Yes,” you respond flatly. Your answer sounds devoid of emotion and purpose. 

“Are you sure?” Alana persists. You don’t have the heart to lie to her twice in a row. 

“...No.” You acquiesce. You rub a hand over your face, feeling rather small in this hospital bed. The sheets are slightly scratchy and the weight of them feels constricting, rather than comforting. You’ve never felt so small. 

“I’m sorry,” Alana sighs. She seems entirely sincere and it almost makes you want to scream. You don’t deserve her sympathy. “I know you two were close. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” That statement is incredibly reassuring, despite the frenzy you had worked yourself into surrounding Alana. When you reflect on the events of the past months, you realize that you have few allies and even fewer true friends. One of those true friends is sitting right next to you. 

“Thank you,” you nod. Guilt stirs in your chest as you stare at your old psychiatrist and ex-girlfriend. Every time you’ve seen her since she kissed you, you’ve purposefully cut conversation short. Somehow, the thought feels silly to you now. Perhaps almost dying a second time does that to a person. You stare at Alana for a moment. She looks well put together, as always. “Alana?”

“Yes?” She questions patiently. That’s another thing you envy about her—her unwavering compassion, her unflinching patience. You could stand to learn a few things from her, you think. 

“I’m sorry,” you remark. The sentiment has been dancing on the tip of your tongue for the past several weeks, yet you never got the chance to verbalize it. Life has been a whirlwind lately. You’ve been so caught up in everything swirling around in your mind that you never paused to think about those around you, or how they were affected by the recent turn of events. “For…” You break off, unable to articulate it. You settle for a vague hand gesture. Alana seems to understand anyways, as her eyes momentarily widen before comprehension passes over her face. 

“Don’t apologize,” Alana is quick to say, nothing but sincerity written in the lines of her shoulders. Her eyes look slightly glassy for the briefest of moments, before she shakes her head and looks at you once more. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for kissing you without warning.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silence descends upon the brisk air, leaving the two of you to your thoughts. You’re not content to let this overbearing tension rule over your conversation. You clench your fists slightly, filled with renewed resolve. You stare at Alana for a few seconds, until she notices your gaze and returns it. “Friends?” You ask, extending a hand towards her.

“Friends,” Alana responds with a smile, rising from her chair to meet your outstretched hand. Your handshake is short but reassuring. It’s enough to convince you that there are no hard feelings between the two of you. Alana fills you in on some of what’s happened since your admittance to the hospital; mostly, though, the two of you talk about the small things. You know Alana is trying to give you some semblance of normalcy. You appreciate the effort, you really do… but you’re not sure you’re capable of pretending everything’s okay. Furthermore, the small things seem inconsequential—now that you’re entrenched in the middle of everything. Even so, you make sure to thank her before she leaves. You don’t know how you would have coped without seeing a familiar face. Alana smiles and promises to be back soon. 

As you expect, Alana doesn’t turn up the next day. You certainly don’t expect her to stop by, since you know she’s always rather busy.  Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that you want nothing more than to be out of this hospital. Even worse… apparently, the stunt you pulled with Beverly during your past hospital visit did not go over well. You’re firmly reminded to avoid any attempts at an early release. You’re too tired and embarrassed to argue. You don’t have anything better to do than rot in this hospital room, anyway. Besides, you’re certain you’ll be met with some unpleasant reminders of Hannibal as you get home. You think you have a few cardigans in your closet that you meant to give back to him. The thought sends a bolt of nervous excitement through you, and you have to actively talk yourself down that precarious ledge. 

Alana does visit the day after. Beverly turns up the day after that and gives you several hugs. After that, at least one of your friends—Alana or Beverly— visits every day, which you’re extremely grateful for. You’re certain you’d go absolutely stir crazy in this hospital bed if you didn’t have anyone for company. Your conversations are typically fun and refreshing, like light breezes of summer air. Sometimes, though, you’re bogged down by your memories. Sometimes, you’re forced to remember the corpses you left in your wake. 

Even with Alana and Beverly visiting, you’re given more than enough alone time to contemplate everything. You have ample time to pick apart Hannibal’s actions and discern his true motivations. So, when Jack Crawford finally visits, his shoulders drawn tight with stress, you’re prepared to recount that night to him. Jack is insistent on the fact that you don’t have to speak about anything you don’t want to, but you know the offer is more for pretense than anything else. He needs this information, needs to understand the Ripper’s past actions and how they govern his future.  With that in mind, you wave off his concern and tell him about your late night meeting with Hannibal.

Jack is silent throughout, never once interrupting you or reacting in a manner other than an affirmative nod. It’s very characteristic of your boss; you think that you would have been unsettled if he responded with heightened or dramatic emotions. Jack’s cool composure is an anchor that you quickly latch on to. 

“He wanted you alive,” Jack states, once you’re finished explaining everything. He says this with frightening assuredness. His utter conviction surprises you, prompting you to ask how he knows that. 

Of course, you certainly considered that same possibility yourself, but it feels more real when you hear it from Jack. “The stab wound wasn’t fatal,” he points out. His gaze falls to the edge of your abdomen. The bandages feel extremely constricting. You wonder if they need to be changed soon. “It easily could’ve been. The Ripper is a skilled killer—he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to.” You take a shuddering breath in. 

“He’s toying with us,” you manage to agree. Your hands fidget restlessly along the rough blanket thrown over your form. You feel restless once more. 

“He’s toying with you,” Jack supplies. There is no room for argument in his voice. He doesn’t look restless, afraid, or frustrated. Not for the first time, you wish you had Jack’s control and constitution. However, you know Jack well enough to see the signs of tension in his clenched fist and drawn lips. “Taunting you, and the rest of us, by proxy.” That statement in particular sets everything in stone. Your theories are no longer just theories—they are unobjectionable facts. 

“Jack.” you remark, trying to push the words past the dread settling on your tongue. 

“Yes?” Jack asks, patient and restless all at once. You’re choking on the words. It’s such a simple sentence, yet so dangerous of an admission. If you told the truth—confided in Jack about how you suspected Hannibal the moment you met him, and grew to realize that he is the Ripper—you would certainly lose your job, not to mention all of Jack’s trust. 

Selfish, your victims croon. Your psyche nods in agreement. It’s truly selfish of you not to provide Jack with your utmost honesty. You’re doing a disservice to every person Hannibal has ever killed, every waking moment the team spent hunting for the Chesapeake Ripper. You wasted so much time, so much space. 

“I-” You try to continue. I knew. I knew and I did nothing. I am complicit in his crimes. Tears are slipping down your cheeks. You’re a rotten excuse for a human being. You don’t deserve to be alive. Why hadn’t Hannibal just finished the job? It’s cruel, almost. He allowed his other victims the mercy of death, yet he left you alive. You will forever be scarred—both by Hannibal’s knife and by the bone-deep knowledge that your silence made you an accomplice to his crimes. 

Breathing is suddenly a far more arduous task. Your lungs burn and your throat feels as if it’s closing in on you. Your vision is extremely sharp and your shaking hands are drawn with harsh lines and even harsher edges. The world around you is suddenly rendered immensely inconsequential. The beeping of the machines at your bedside, Jack’s steady breaths, the traces of conversation slipping in from the hallway… It all fails in comparison to the chimes of the grandfather clock in your mind. You dig your fingernails into your skin, desperate for unspoken confirmation that you aren’t dreaming.

At this point, you’re panting. Drool falls from the sides of your mouth and hits the scratchy blanket. Every nerve in your body feels as if it’s on fire. You’re a puppet cut loose from the puppeteer’s careful hand, yet you’re still strung together with wooden bones and durable string. You bring your hand to your chest and try to breathe, but the more you try, the harsher and more rushed your attempts become.  

“Agent.” There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s enough pressure to make you feel as if you’re melding with the thin mattress below you, sinking into the floor and the shadows. For a moment, you can see Hannibal looking down at you in your mind’s eye, a contentious expression on his face as he lets you fall to the darkness below.  “Breathe.” Jack grabs your hand and brings it to the inside of his wrist. His pulse beats steadily beneath your fingertips and you latch onto the rhythm.  Jack begins counting, prompting you to breathe in time with him. You’re not sure how long it takes you to clear your airways—you just know that, at some point, Jack migrated from where he stood at the end of your bed to the side of the bed. 

“Jack,” you try again. Your lips part but nothing slips out. It’s such a simple confession—a mere few words, yet you can’t utter them. 

“Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can choke on the words you don’t want to say. His expression has returned to a combination of rigidity and anticipation. You know what Jack will say before he says it. “Can I trust you to handle this case? Do I need to remove you from this case? ” He doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it anyway. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face. Your eyes burn from all the tears you shed. 

“I can handle it,” you assure him. 

“You’re close to all this,” Jack remarks. He gets up from where he had been sitting and walks back to stand behind the edge of the bed. His gaze meets yours, but you know he isn’t really looking at you. That expression on his face means Jack is looking through his options, puzzling out the future in his head. You wait for him to refocus. “You know I don’t typically assign agents with personal investments in cases… But, you’ve been on this case for a long time. You know the Ripper better than anyone else does, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You stare at Jack silently, daring him to take you off the case. You know that your words will fail you here, so you hope your conviction shows through in your eyes. Jack stares back and, for a long moment, you’re both trapped in silence. Eventually, Jack seems to ascertain that you think yourself capable. He takes a deep breath. 

“In terms of the Ripper, we currently have a unit determining his whereabouts,” Jack begins. “The Ripper—Lecter—covered his tracks very well. The last time he was seen was…”

“When he stabbed me,” you say for him. 

“Yes,” Jack confirms. “As you know, Lecter is proficient at leaving behind very little—if any—evidence.” You nod, thinking back to all the crime scenes he created. There was hardly any evidence left behind. Hannibal was always meticulous and careful in his crimes. 

“He only leaves clues when he wants to,” you continue. “He is not so kind hearted as to leave us clues for the hell of it, or because he slipped up. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“We found very little in his office,” Jack concedes with a sharp nod. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Stress seems to tighten the line of his shoulders. “We did manage to find several concealed weapons, upon closer examination.”

“He stabbed me with a knife that was disguised as an antler on a deer sculpture,” you recall flatly. The thought makes your side flare up with pain again. “I shouldn’t have gone to his office. I should’ve come to you first. I knew, and yet…”

“Frankly, Agent, that is not my concern,” Jack states matter of factly. “The past is the past. If I were to dissect every minute mistake we’ve made along the course of this investigation, we’d never be able to proceed.”

“True,” you answer. You still don’t think Jack has truly comprehended the implications of what you just said. You knew Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper long before that night. After all, you didn’t explicitly state when you first discovered the identity of the Ripper. Of course, you suppose it is also likely that Jack was able to intuit that from your response. If that were the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t kicked you off this case or fired you. 

You know it’s best for you to drop this particular line of questioning, so you do. For the duration of Jack’s visit, he debriefs you on what the team has deduced so far—both in terms of his current location and where he’ll go next. After an hour passes, however, your luck runs out. Your nurse enters the room and promptly shoos Jack out, claiming that you need time to rest. She is entirely impervious to his objections, even when he tries to pull rank on her. You’re rather impressed. Jack manages to get a last remark in, before the nurse can guide him out of the room. 

“Lecter will turn up soon enough,” your boss states. With that, Jack departs. His cryptic remark leaves you with a lot to think about. You spend the rest of your hospital stay grappling with the implications of that statement, with the implications of Hannibal deciding not to kill you. You’re released from the hospital a week later with a troubled conscience and another scar to add to your collection. 

Somehow, news of your battle with Hannibal has reached the press, Jack tells you as he drives you home in the dead of night. Ultimately, Jack decided it would be best to get you home during a time when most people are sleeping. You’re grateful for his foresight, because when you return home, there are no flashing cameras or microphones shoved in your face. You thank Jack for the ride and he nods, sending you one final unreadable look before driving away. 

When you unlock your front door and swing the door open, you’re surprised to find that your house appears the same as when you left it. You close the door behind you and take in everything before you. Dust is beginning to collect on the shelves and surfaces—the space desperately needs a dedicated cleaning, but you know you don’t have the energy just yet. Right now, you’re content to cautiously walk to your closet and grab clothes. Despite the fact that Jack brought you a pair of old trainee clothes to change into when he arrived, you know you need a good shower to feel clean. The lukewarm water sliding down your skin is rejuvenating, but it doesn’t wipe away the dirt of your sins. You step out of the shower with clean skin and a muddy conscience. Drying off and putting on your clothes is an annoying affair, but you manage. 

After your shower, it’s safe to say that you’re entirely lost. You don’t know what to do next. You need to eat, you remember. Unfortunately, your fridge is pretty much empty. You sigh and survey the space that you call home. It doesn’t feel familiar, despite the knowledge that it’s been yours for several years. These are all your belongings, yet it feels as if you’re standing in a stranger’s shoes. You look around the room, pausing when your eye catches on a scrap of newspaper. The TattleCrime article from before rests innocuously on the kitchen counter. You walk towards it immediately, as if possessed. 

Criminally Insane. You stare at the photos featured in the article. The second photo—the one of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane—led you to realize that Frederick Chilton had been kidnapped. The first picture… It unsettles you. There are hints of the dark circles under your eyes that you now possess, but there’s also an unspoken confidence in your posture in the photo. You choke on a laugh, running your fingers along the rough newspaper. 

It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Well, it certainly feels that way… but you know your survival can’t be put down to mere fate. Inexplicably, Hannibal did not aim to kill you. You contemplate what would’ve happened if he had aimed that way. You would have died in that office, certainly. Would you be free of this terrifying helplessness, this aching despair?

You manage to tear your eyes away from the article. After a moment of thought, you stuff it in a drawer—hoping you will never need to look at it again. Unsurprisingly, you still feel incredibly restless. You begin pacing slowly around the room, desperate for something to do. Perhaps this urge to do something is indicative of a deeper sentiment. 

The cicadas buzz from the trees outside. You’re suddenly struck with a perplexing urge to step outside. You follow that urge and walk mechanically to your front door. Maybe someone is on your porch. You peek through the peephole, unsurprised to find no one there. After a second’s contemplation, you step out onto your porch, letting your arms rest against the railing.  

The brisk night air doesn’t help your worsening mental state. You still feel numb, empty. Nothing feels real anymore. As you look out at your driveway, at the other houses lining your street, you’re hit with an immense sonder.2 How did you end up in this situation? How did you end up here, staring out at the suburbia around you and wishing you could take on the life of another person—someone who isn’t desensitized to blood, gore, violence, and murder?

You don’t know where to go from here. Your feelings are a dizzying combination of remorse, regret, and contempt—combined with an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking. You raise your arms and put your head in your hands for a moment. Succumbing to darkness has never felt so comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Lecter will return soon enough.” Jack had said. There was a certainty in his voice in that moment—a sincerity that was surely unfounded. He was making a prediction and nothing more. Yet… the conviction in his tone made it seem as if he knew the Ripper’s next move. Surely, Hannibal hasn’t grown so predictable. Surely, he will continue to elude capture for as long as he wishes. 

A car’s headlights reach your vision, and you watch as it slowly cruises down your street. There is a certain nonchalance to the way it slowly rises on the horizon. You frown, wondering what this person is doing driving down your street at such a late hour. Perhaps it’s a neighbor. You continue to watch warily. For a moment, you swear it seems as if the car’s slowing as it approaches. Surely that can’t be the case. It’s too dark to make out the details of the car—let alone the driver. You settle for staring in silence as it moves along. Within the blink of an eye, the vehicle moves past your driveway and into the dark expanse enveloping the space past your street. You exhale in relief, just realizing that your breath had hitched during the car’s brief stint in front of your house. 

Why were you nervous? What were you expecting? You don’t want to acknowledge the answers to those questions—those solutions will only bring more problems. You shake your head. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and everyone knows. There should be nothing to be afraid of, except for a single thought that never seems to leave you. He will return for you, a voice whispers against the wind. He wants to finish the job.  

You’ve never gotten so close to a case before. You almost wish you could travel back in time, to the first time you locked eyes with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. In that moment, you hadn’t been able to rationalize the intense foreboding and trepidation that seemed to crawl up your skin as he stared back at you. You had no true grasp of the danger you would soon experience, the lives you would soon take. When did you stop trusting your instincts? Your intuition is part of the reason why you’re such a successful criminal profiler, yet you were more than willing to entirely ignore it. 

A chill hits your skin, but it’s not from the brisk breeze of night air that gently rustles your clothes. The unsettling feeling comes from the car in your driveway, the bright headlights illuminating the woody forest behind your house. Were you so lost in thought that you neglected to notice someone approaching your driveway? You squint and take a step closer to the driveway, wavering on the edge of your porch. The car looks familiar, and that realization nearly pitches you off the porch and careening to the ground below. The driver turns the car off and swings the door open with taunting slowness. A roaring sound fills your ears. 

“Hannibal,” you remark. The driver closes the door and takes a step forward, close enough to the porch that the light hits their face and reveals familiar angled features. His lip is bleeding and there are droplets of blood scattered about his face. His clothing is ever so slightly rumpled. Other than that, Hannibal appears at ease. The Ripper looks at you, and utters your name in response. 

You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your hands clutch the railing in front of you with enough force to send bolts of pain through your fingers. It feels as if your heart is racing faster than humanly possible. You’re reminded of the pain in your abdomen, the scar slicing dangerously close to your eye. You clench a fist at your side and walk down the steps of your porch, before turning and moving to stand at a strategic distance from Hannibal: close enough to see his face, far enough to have an illusion of control and safety. 

The night is still. If it weren’t for your unexpected visitor, you might take solace in the tranquility of the midnight sky. Now, the stars seem to wink at you in warning. When Hannibal speaks, you nearly convince yourself that you imagine it. “I have evaded capture for long enough.” An ugly, foolish sort of hope settles in your chest. You try to push it away.

“You’re… surrendering,” you remark cautiously, waiting for him to dispel that notion. The Ripper does nothing of the sort. Instead, Hannibal stares at you, making strangely heated eye contact with you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The moonlight briefly hits the metal, causing it to glimmer mockingly. Your stomach turns. The moon’s warm glow reveals more than just a shimmer—there are murky brown stains on the blade. You recognize the splatters as dried blood and your skin crawls. Hannibal is holding the very same knife he stabbed you with. He maneuvers it expertly, holding the blade and extending the handle towards you. Everything about this moment feels like a trap, but you willingly reach out and take the proffered knife, fastening it at your belt.

After a stretch of time in which neither of you elect to say anything, you decide that Hannibal must be telling the truth. Eyes locked on the man, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone and pull it out, dialing the only number you have memorized. Your intended recipient answers before two seconds pass. “Jack,” you say, your gaze still firmly fixed on the Ripper. 

“Agent,” Jack responds. Hannibal is staring at you with intense scrutiny, evidently attempting to decipher what Jack is saying to you. That recognition causes you to pause for a moment. At your hesitation, Jack’s voice takes on a concerned yet impatient tone. “What is it?”

“I have him,” you say, vaguely satisfied that your voice sounds clear and composed despite the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been subjected to. “The Ripper. He’s in my driveway.”

Jack’s end of the line is quiet. You know it must be nearly impossible to believe. You look at Hannibal and then look back at the phone, realizing what you need to do. Taking a deep breath, you bring a shaky hand up and press the speaker button. Despite every instinct in your body screaming at you, you take a small step forward—and another—until Hannibal is close enough to the phone. For a moment, he stares down at the device pensively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer—evidently to get to the phone. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal remarks, voice laced with amusement as he grasps your hand— the phone, you tell yourself—with unshakeable strength.  Despite the severity of the situation, you can’t do anything but roll your eyes at his chosen greeting. It seems Hannibal’s dramatics know no bounds. Even when his very freedom is threatened, he will continue to wear his carved mask of politeness and elegance. You try to listen for Jack’s response. There’s still silence on the other end—Jack is probably dispatching a unit as you speak. You’re sure Jack himself will be on his way before long. 

Indeed, Jack confirms that a team is on the way. He hangs up and your phone screen fades to black. Despite the call’s termination, Hannibal is still holding your wrist. “Can I have my hand back?” You ask wryly. You try to shake his grip off and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart is racing as you try to find an escape. Hannibal doesn’t seem keen to let go, instead looking at you with mild amusement written all over his face. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an idea. You attempt to shake off his grip once more, knowing it will not work. The moment you try to pull your wrist back, you take advantage of the momentum and aim a harsh kick just above his knee. Per your expectations, he doesn’t anticipate the attack and is forced to fall down to a kneeling position to avoid falling over. You lock eyes with him and tear his grip off.

Hannibal looks up at you on bended knee, entirely silent. You begin to realize just what you’ve done—you just disrespected him. You were the epitome of the rudeness Hannibal abhors. You swallow. If you weren’t dead before, you’re certainly dead now. The Ripper is still silent, before tilting his head down to hide his face. Fuck, you’ve really done it this time. You feel yourself taking an instinctual half step backwards, and you’re moments away from turning on your heel and running when you hear an odd sound. 

Hannibal is laughing, you realize. It’s a far cry from the typical gesture of joy you’d associate with laughter, but his amusement is still evident. He brings his head up once more and regards you with interest. “You never fail to surprise me,” he remarks amiably, getting to his feet and pushing the dust from his pant leg with a quick swiping motion. Hannibal doesn’t give your threat any consideration, instead simply regarding you with that same eerie look you’ve grown to associate with his full attention. 

Your hand twitches to grab the bloodstained knife at your side. You imagine yourself plunging the blade into Hannibal’s side, watching his smirk falter and his victorious expression crumple. The vindictive thought thrills you for a second, before you come back to yourself and feel immense revulsion and disgust. Hannibal almost seems to sense the mental gymnastics you're going through, as an intrigued expression flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash. 

Truthfully, you don’t know how long you stand there—across from Hannibal, staring him down as he stares you down, prey regarding predator—until Jack arrives. It feels like an eternity. Time seems to entirely stop during those moments. Somehow, the quiet is more informative than a conversation ever could be. You don’t need words—not when you can see the tight line drawn across Hannibal’s shoulders, the persistence in his gaze. 

Even eternity must come to an end, though. Police sirens blink in the distance, drawing you away from your thoughts. You watch as several police cars find their way to your driveway. Jack sits in the passenger seat of the car at the front, and he’s quick to step out of the car. S.W.A.T. officers swarm out of the cars, weapons pointed at Hannibal. There is a horrible tension settling in the air, thick enough to make your breaths occur just a little faster.

Despite the exorbitant amount of fully-armed S.W.A.T officers, you’re still afraid. Hannibal is closest to you. If he wanted to, he could kill you—even with so many people present. You don’t doubt his strength or agility. These recognitions leave your heart drumming in your chest at an incessantly quick rhythm. You glance over at Jack and he nods, holding a hand up to the officers and walking towards you. 

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack remarks. Even now, he is incredibly composed. You latch onto his composure and try to emulate it,  though you know it won’t look convincing enough. The headlights from the cars are blinding and you turn your head, giving your burning eyes a brief reprieve. 

“Jack,” Hannibal responds, his hands raised in the air in surrender. The Ripper is indeed powerless, yet the gesture looks mocking. A few officers step closer and surround Hannibal, who kneels down with his arms still raised high. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.” His hands move to rest behind his head. 

Jack stares at the killer with an indecipherable expression. “You surrendered.”

“I want you to know exactly where I am,” Hannibal responds to Jack. After that remark, his head turns and dread rises in your chest as you realize he’s looking towards you. His eyes are glittering in the moonlight. “And where you can always find me.” You’re frozen, limbs locked as his crimson eyes pierce through you. 

Vaguely, you hear Jack order for Hannibal to be placed in his car. The officers pull Hannibal up from his knees and escort him to the police car. The Ripper’s gaze is locked on you until he enters the vehicle. Jack remains where he stands, sending you a look. You incline your head slightly, to wordlessly encourage him to leave you. Jack seems hesitant to do so, but his sense of responsibility must win out, because he walks back towards the car. You still feel as if you’re being watched, and you get the feeling Hannibal is staring at you from behind the dark tinted glass. The police car slowly reverses out of your driveway, before heading down your street and eventually out of sight. 

You purse your lips, before walking back up the steps to your porch. Everything seemed to have happened far too fast. In the blink of an eye, you’re left to stand alone, with nothing but your conflicting feelings of grief, anger, and remorse for company.  Memories burrow their way under your skin. Each breath is a testament to your own cruelty. 

Inexplicably, you reach up to touch the jagged scar cutting down your face. Your fingertips brush against the marred skin and you jolt. Your abdomen burns in remembrance. Hannibal Lecter has given you the quiet evenings, the comfortable silence settling in the air, and the thrill of an attentive, burning gaze that sends warm embers dancing up your skin.

But he has taken so much more from you in return.

Gone is the gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the comfort of having unquestionable support. Gone is the hard-won feeling of being truly seen for who you are. Gone is the excitement, the anticipation of knowing that your companion can never truly be predicted. All of it is gone. 

You look up at the moon glimmering in the dark night sky. You idly wonder if Hannibal sees it too. It’s a foolish thought. His cell likely won’t have windows. He has probably been confined to four walls of cement, a metal toilet, and a thin, dingy mattress on a cold metal frame. There is no hope for someone like Hannibal—he will earn several life sentences and spend his entire life in that cage. You have to wonder: why? Why would he surrender?

It was a tactical surrender—that much you know for certain. Hannibal could easily have spent the rest of his life moving from place to place, taking on new identity after new identity. He could have spent however long he wanted, camouflaged but free. 

Freedom. Maybe that’s the answer. After all, that kind of aggressive mimicry is not necessarily freedom. Hannibal Lecter values being an enigma. The mystery that surrounds him, in part, relies on his reputation. Life spent in hiding isn’t really life at all. Even someone like Hannibal—someone with arguably everything to lose—would understand that sentiment. 

You exhale slowly, watching as your puff of breath fades into the air. You suppose Hannibal’s statement may have carried some truth. You will always know where to find him; you won’t be able to bury the memory of him next to the other skeletons in your closet and leave him to rot. Whenever your psyche falters, Hannibal will be there—imprisoned within your mind palace, gathering strength and lying in wait. 

Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out, momentarily surprised by the time displayed. It’s getting late. You hadn’t realized how long you spent lost in thought. When you answer, your voice sounds unfamiliar to your ears. 

“Crawford,” Jack clarifies, cutting right to the chase, “We got him.” There is no further explanation needed. 

“We got him, Jack,” you echo. The recognition sounds hollow, empty. Your gaze is pulled towards your driveway once more. Jack’s voice reaches your ears, but you can’t discern what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears. 

Hannibal Lecter is behind bars now, yet you’re the one who feels trapped. You’re a prisoner—trapped in a cage of your own broken design.

1. Dracula by Bram Stoker

2. Sonder refers to the feeling of realization that everyone, including strangers and passersby, have lives just as complex and vivid as your own.

Sorry if the intro parts were confusing. I wanted to *try* to write it in a way that showed how weird and unusual dreams can really be, especially after traumatic events.The mind is infinitely powerful, able to conjure up a new reality at a moment’s notice. I liked the idea of the reader drowning in a whirlpool of their own mind’s creation—as they fight to get back to reality. (also, I found the word “umbra,” which is apparently used to describe the shadow created by an eclipse. I think that’s cool as hell, so I included it.) Dream logic never quite makes sense and can be extremely convoluted, which is why the intro is a messy assortment of memories with no clear beginning or end.

Y’all seemed to like my rationalization for the previous chapter, so I’ll include some similar notes for this chapter if you’re interested:

Hannibal’s surrender in this chapter is very much calculated. He realizes that he’s no longer free—since the FBI are onto him. There is a sort of cruelty in the life he would have to lead, as his “freedom” would include lots of mental effort, relocating, and subterfuge. Hannibal likely weighs his options, and decides between a life of constant stealth and relocation, and a life behind bars. It’s reasonable to assume that he also would have realized that his status as the Chesapeake Ripper would grant him special privileges as a prisoner—he’s aware of how much the Ripper has dominated the cultural zeitgeist and knows he will be able to use that notoriety to his advantage in captivity.

Of course, Hannibal also knows how to best dominate your thoughts: by remaining in one place. As he mentions, you will always know where he is and where to find him. You will not have to track him down by following the calculated clues he leaves behind—rather, you will constantly have to live with the underlying knowledge that Hannibal is accessible at any and every moment. In this case, Hannibal’s surrender is quite a tactical and manipulative move. He truly chooses to go to prison. It would be unsettling to know that the Ripper was on the loose, yes. But, the Ripper has been on the loose and free for several years already. On the other hand, it would be downright disturbing to know that Hannibal’s presence in prison is a willful choice—one that can be taken back at any moment. That can easily manifest a constant lingering fear in the back of the reader’s mind, in addition to an eternal desire to pin down exactly why Hannibal is remaining captive, chained. The chessmaster is willingly surrendering, but the game is far from over.

And now… Act 1 of this story is complete! 

Never fear, Hannibal will return in Act 2! As for the other characters… Well, you’ll have to wait and see. ;) I will say that Act Two embraces some elements of The Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs. Don’t worry, though—you don’t need to have read either of them. :3

Here’s a scrap for your efforts! (*throws you this unused dialogue like a scruffy middle-aged man with grey hair and a scratchy quarter-zip throws a piece of raw beef to the wolves outside his cabin*) This was one of the MANY options I had considered (but never used) for the big reveal:

“How long have you known?” Hannibal asks. “From the moment you invited me into your home,” you answer. There’s silence for a dreadful moment. “And you stayed.” “I did.” “Why?” “I like talking to you, I enjoy your company.… Does one really need a reason to keep the company of another?” You finish. A beat of quiet. “... I suppose not,” Hannibal acquiesces.

Act 2 will be posted as the second part of this series. Here's the link to the AO3 series: these jagged scars. I'll also post it over here on Tumblr. :)

Thank you so so so much for all the support! Your likes, comments, and reblogs keep me going! <33333

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#male reader #x male reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #Hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #yall get the idea #transmasc reader #I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS FIC #LITERALLY ALMOST CRIED HAPPY ACCOMPLISHED TEARS LAST NIGHT

[sesamenom]

Ringlord High King of Everything Elrond, inspired here

(@the-writing-goblin)

I imagine in this situation elrond would have been partially tempted by boromir's declaration, but instead of trying to fight sauron with it (because even in the weirdest crack au i can think of elrond is still too genre-aware to try that) he tried to use it to supercharge his use of vilya and protect everyone.

basically Ringlord!Elrond turned the entirety of Eriador into a mega-gondolin situation: massive walls (courtesy of numenorean/eregion tech) around the regions bordering the north or Mordor, fortresses along the mountain range and several layers of gates along every road in or out. Everybody goes in; nobody goes out; everyone is safe.

and he ended up claiming the kingship to give him more authority in the process - he's High King of the Noldor and Sindar and King of the Edain (given that there are like three half-vanyar in middle-earth, he's more or less king of all children of iluvatar) and so he can have command over the entirety of the West.

and with the help of the Ring, this actually works! but the corruption starts to show eventually

he uses his kinship to Gondor to forcefully drag them into his neo-gondolin-empire-creation so he can ensure none of his great-nephews will ever have to face sauron. he extends the walls to encompass Mirkwood, because he's the high king of the sindar and has a duty to protect thranduil's realm, and unleashes the full might of his melian-lite powers to purge Sauron's Shadow and the spawn of Ungoliant from the now-Greenwood.

Galadriel and Glorfindel very much see where this is going and are very very worried. galadriel won't let him build walls around lothlorien (because she lives next door to a balrog and knows exactly what happened to gondolin) but celeborn thinks it's a good idea, since after all Doriath wouldn't have fallen if Melian's girdle had still been up. glorfindel tries to talk him out of it but the ring has taken hold

the Ring's power also enhances all his natural weirdness and powers - he has his wings and maia markings permanently activated now, with or without finwean anger. he can fully shapeshift, and he goes from raising waves in the bruinen to raising tsunamis in the great sea.

except the finwean anger seems to be permanently activated now, too, and anyone who harms someone he's deemed under his protection finds themselves the target of a rather ironic vengeance quest. the shapeshifting is looking weird now - his teeth are always sharp now, and his eyes have gone fully inhuman. sometimes he has claws and his wings look more like bats than eagles. and his water powers are more like osse's- he can't calm the waters now (goldberry is the first to notice something's up) and can only stir them into massive ship-sinking storms and tsunamis.

this progresses until he's basically Evil Luthien ruling over a continent-wide Mega-Gondolin, slaughtering orc-hordes before they even reach the white walls and sinking any naval fleet Sauron tries to send around the coast. Everybody is brought in; nobody leaves; everyone is safe...?

he figures out that the dwarven legend of "Durin's Bane" has to be one of the few first age balrogs thats still unaccounted for. and well, it's living right on his border, and he can't risk another fall of gondolin, right? so he leads a small force in there to clear moria, and they shove the balrog off the edge, but it takes one of his captains (except glorfindel) with it (maybe erestor?) and he uses the ring and saves erestor, (and maybe floods the balrog for good measure), and glorfindel is sure he saw elrond's eyes go yellow for a moment.

and even fully corrupted, he knows he can't take the ring directly into mordor. but he can wipe out sauron's armies outside the walls, to protect his kingdom - because turgon's mistake was thinking he was safe even when there were balrogs and dragons and orcs outside, right?

somewhere along the way, arwen realizes what's happening and goes to live with galadriel. one of the twins goes with her; the other stays out of loyalty but eventually follows.

elrond's kingdom has become a cross between doriath and gondolin now, with all the surrounding lands warped by ring-magic to hide it, and layers of stone walls and iron gates preventing anyone from leaving. because everyone is here; nobody leaves; everyone is... safe?

#silm #silmarillion #lotr #elrond #lord of the rings #i hc goldberry is uinen and osses daughter #i feel like the ring works differently for everyone #hobbits are naturally sneaky and long-lived so hobbits get ring-invisibility and ring-immortality #while dwarves would be basically physically invincible and elves would get feanor-style super-fea #and peredhel get maiarin powers #honestly ringlord elrond is kind of terrifying #like ringlord galadriel or ringlord maglor would be pretty straightforward about conquering the world #like galadriels whole 'all shall love me and despair' #or maglor would be like 'yep conquering the world for the oath now hand over your land' #but elrond is more of the manipulative dark lord type #like the 'im doing this for you/i just want to protect you' villain #and hes already most of middle earths collective dad #they all trust him

[pervysenpaix]

Tomura Shigaraki loves corrupting sweet little girls with a pudgy tummies and fat asses. Allow me to elaborate.

18+MDNI| tw! butt stuff 🥰 , fisting, gaping , pussy slaps, plus size reader, dumbification, Shiggy cums his pants ❤️

Regardless of his recent glow up, Shiggy has always been on the slim side. Skin and bones. Bones and skin. There wasn’t anything soft about the hardened villain, thus establishing an appetite for girls on the chubbier side. It’s just something so delicate about the soft fat of your belly under his deadly fingertips while he places kisses on your juicy thighs. The villain leaves deep bruises on your flesh from the pressure of his digits and his mouth. It turns him on to see a sweet girl like you all marked up like a whore. It’s borderline embarrassing the way he has you displayed—your legs are spread wide and pressed against your chest. Pretty little pussy just glistening with slick and fluttering pathetically due to neglect. It’s an alluring sight but Tomura would much rather focus on the puckered ring of muscle between your billowy cheeks. White strands of hair tickle your skin as the flat of his tongue swipes over your rear entrance. Slow swipes turn into open mouth kisses, sloppily sucking at your hole. “Tomu— no~” you whine, cheeks ablaze as you fight to move away from his lascivious licks but he fixes you with a slap to the clit and a stern glare. Like the well trained girl you are, you mumble a sweet “m’sorry daddy” and you’re rewarded with the rough pad of his ungloved thumb circling your clit just as his slippery tongue breached your rim. A lewd groan rumbles from the white haired man’s chest at the feeling of you pulsating around him. Slick from your sloppy cunt is pouring down your thighs and aiding in lubrication. His tongue dips in and out of your hole, only pulling away to murmur sweet praise. “s’fuckin’ delicious, angel. can tongue fuck this little asshole all day”. It’s so fucking dirty the way he sucks on it. Even worse when he pulls back to drop a glob spit on his target. Your body jolts when you feel the slick leather of his index and pointer finger bullying inside. “Shh— relax , baby. Wanna be good right ?” God you wanted to be good. So good for him. He slowly fucks his spit into you, twisting and spreading his digits in your walls. It’s a tight fit but it hurts so good. A delicious stretch that has you cross eyed and babbling declarations of love. Tomura knows that you love him. Who else could fuck you this good? He leans forward to kiss your soft belly as his fingers fuck into you faster. You’re practically wailing now , begging him to let you cum but he won’t let you. Not yet. He needs to see that pretty little hole gape first. So he tucks in another finger. Then two. And doesn’t stop until he has his entire fist in your asshole twisting at the wrist. Words are impossible at this point. You can’t even think. All you can do is feel. And it feels so damn good. Shiggy is enamored by the sight of you—he’s never witnessed such beauty. His vermillion orbs keep darting from your fucked out expression to where you’re clenching his wrist. Slowly, he retracts his hand and the sight is enough to make him cum in his pants. A massive gape. It was rated porn. More than satisfied—he rolls his tongue against your abused walls while pulling at your sticky clit. The intensity of your orgasm has you seeing white. It burns your skin as it crashes and settles, leaving you breathless and floating. This is probably his favorite part—how soft and pliant and dumb you are after. His cock is already hard again ready to stuff your sweet cunt until you’re too dumb to remember your own name ❤️

I think you might be interested … @xogabbiexo , @yo-nn , @pixiafterdark , @mhathotfic , @endeavours-jockstrap , @simpliheavenli , @trashybandit , @erenyeagerswhore , @unsatisfiedanddisappointed , @nasty-quillz , @namjoonswifeyy , @plussizeficchick , @blkchxrryblyss , @bookwormsenpai , @tenyaiidasslut , @m00nchildthings

#oh my god #this was filthy #shame #god i need it #i need him #daddy sorry daddy sorry daddy sorry #big daddy shiggy #butt stuff 🥰 #mha smut #tomura shigaraki #shiggy x reader #Shiggy x black reader #mha x black!reader #Shiggy x chubby reader #tomura x y/n #tomura smut #Shiggy smut #tomura x black reader #mha x chubby reader

[helloescapist]

The Hashiras During the Holidays

Word Count: 7191

Setting: [insert]hashiras x gn!reader, established relationships

Content Warning(s): slightly suggestive, mentions of Christmas

Summary: just Christmas/holiday headcanons with the Hashiras.

The Water Hashira

One would assume that Giyuu would grapple with Christmas, and to an extent, you would be right. For the most part, Giyuu will approach the holiday with extreme trepidation.

Every holiday invitation will have him stagnant, struggling with the internal screaming as he confronts invitation after invitation. A business Christmas party amongst the Hashiras? Shinobu’s verbal jabs have left the searing mark, and despite how desperately you have tried to invite him, he has neither confirmed whether he will or will not attend. It would be rude to outright reject the invitation, but what if it was required—a social implication, and really… no one wants him to attend? Surely not.

But he’s passed the appropriate deadline to refuse.

Actually, it’s fairly easy to rope the Water Hashira into a number of activities. His inability to function or perform the mental acrobats to comprehend that he has been committed to a function before it is too late, and he has no choice but to accept.

The list of tasks he has completed for others is endless.

Dangled from a ladder to hang lights for Mitsuri, served soup at a local shelter, got bit in the bottom trying to walk a stray dog for Rengoku, manipulated into picking up last minute gifts for Kocho. Endless.

No, wait, he’s well passed the socially accepted time frame to accept. His attendance at this point would be a huge inconvenience to the host, and extremely rude.

Giyuu will engage in a number of internal grapples with his inner dialogue from workplace parties to family parties—if you suggested he joins your family for the holiday, I promise you he froze. Died inside. Screaming, internally rocking back and forth. As Sanemi has expressed time, and time again… there is something just so… punchable about his face. What if they hate him?

Cue the spiral of self-deprivation.

Ironically, it’s due to the numerous panic attacks that he has endured, the Water Hashira will be quick to finish his holiday shopping fairly early. Which may be part of the reason sudden invites horrify him and knock him off balance.

Juggling the demanding schedules of the holidays is surprisingly a strong suit of his. Perhaps because he has always been overconsiderate of those around him.

There is a certain air of nostalgia that the holiday season brings that warms Tomioka’s spirits—more so than you may expect. Though you wouldn’t know looking at him, he has a genuine air of disposition. So much so that you may have the impression that Giyuu may not even be aware that the holiday is upon you.

But it hasn’t escaped his sights.

Giyuu delights in the small moments, the little things that offer him ambience. Little snippets of his childhood. The fresh fall snow, and how delighted he was as a child to greet the snowflakes, a faded memory brought only to life at your outstretched hands. The delighted giggle as your fingers catch individual snowflake.

Rolling snowballs into your hands, targeting him. The shock of chill impacted upon his porcelain frame. The wide of his eyes, trembled by the cold, the ends of snow that clings to his raven hair as the waves crash down upon him. Your laughter, ringing in his ears. Faded memories that bear weight and significance before you know it, he has formed a near perfect sphere returned in friendly fire, a small smile that pulls upon the corner of his lips.

Smell and delicate as the snow between your fingers.

Easily melted should you draw attention to it.

No, it’s likely that you will not notice how naturally he gravitates to the holiday sway. The spirit tucked behind his indifferent façade,  brought to light only by aspects of the season that often go unnoticed.

The bulk of your gifts already wrapped, meticulously folded corners, and adorned in dressing of bows and tinsel. The accumulation of the holiday decorations pulled from storage, ready for attention should you be the sort to adore decorating, ready by the first of December, or sooner if you have begun to drop hints. If you are the type to despise the bulls and trimming of the trees, then rest assured, by the time you return from work, he will have all of the decorations hung with care.

He’s tuned to your traditions, having retained information throughout your time together to remember the little things you delighted in in your own youth, such as the addition of cinnamon to your hot chocolate, an ingredient you will find sprinkled in your mug.

As a partner, Tomioka places a high importance on stability and practicality, so you can expect the mass majority of his gifts to be fairly mundane, but well thought out. Small things like mittens if you are prone to cold fingers, a new rice cooker if your has recently broken. Your favorite chocolates, or small nostalgic delights that will warm your heart. For the most part, they’ll be fairly… reliable gifts, and to some extent may leave you feeling a little underwhelmed. However, all of his gifts are selected with extreme care, and consideration. Placing your year round needs as well as desires into selecting the present—no, a rice cooker is not sexy, but he knows that you enjoy rice with every meal. How could he let you go without? It’s true, these mittens are not the cutest ones they had in stock, but this pair allows you to scroll through the social media masses tumblr while remaining cozy.

Is absolutely the type to indulge in cozy, thick blankets.

Shyly bought a couples mug set to share together the morning of, but chickened out of using them, only discovered in the cabinet upon your digging through the mugs. The small squeal you realized, and the embarrassment that meets his cheeks as you excitedly pour cocoa into them, gushing about their adorableness.

Truthfully, all Giyuu wants for the holiday is to bask in your company if you’re okay with it. For him, to be curled up into your warmth is more than enough for him to enjoy the holidays. Tomioka does not desire, nor request more from you. Jut to enjoy the small quiet of the morning before the holiday madness begins, to fill your hair between his fingers, and witness the small dips of your breath as you slumber.

This is actually his favorite time of year.

The Insect Hashira

Full disclosure, it’s ridiculous.

Kocho has never truly grasped the concept of the holiday season, or the depths in which some people captivate it with such care. Not in the sense that she does not grasp the spiritual significance to observers, but more that, such depths should not be limited to a singular season. Rather, she views any believers as lacking in their own faiths—the joy and giving nature of the season should exist outside of December.

So, for the most part, Shinobu tends to view the entirety of the season with delicate hypocrisy. Expects that Ebenezer Scrooge’s generosity will run out by December 31st, the film will have lifted from his eyes, and he will once again line his pockets with the coin of the less fortunate. The temporary display merely cheapens the sentiment.

Though for the few who endorse kindness throughout the year, such as Kanroji and Rengoku, she is content to humor their Christmas spirit. She will endure their off key caroling and send their blighted singing to Tomioka’s door. Shinobu will jostle with the best of them, sample the various peculiar holiday dishes.

 The Insect Pillar is adventurous enough to taste test foreign seasonal delicacies such as snails and julbord, but be warned her consideration is limited to this year. If she in fact found the dishes unappetizing, she will dodge you with the swiftest rejection adorned with a smile. Never again.

For her partner, she is more than willing to endure traditions with a pressed smile. Shinobu is not know for being, well, peopley, but for you, she will undergo whatever festivities your family has to throw at her with as much social skills as she can muster. Biting back all comments on commercialization.  

She’ll swallow all internal commentary on gift. But really why has she found Mitsuri mid emotional break down over the perfect present when GIFT CARDS are an option? Yet, for all of her comprehension, there is one thing she understands more than anything. You want a heartfelt gift.

And so here she is, suffering through the corporate retail beast.

To get you the gift of your dreams.

If this old lady elbows her one more time.

It’s not all swallowing internal monologue for Shinobu. There is something magical about the season regardless of the price tags attached. The frost that lines the windows as the day slips away. The puff of warm breath against the glass, the tip of her finger dipped and drawn out adorable little bunnies and tipped in delight. The small giggle, knowing that as the weather hits its peak once again, you will be greeted by her silly doodles.

Small moments to soak in the season, the soft atmosphere to enjoy the still of the early night’s greeting. Soak in the painting of the night, dipped in violets and shy blues before the luminesces glow of the stars above rise to the hour.

Still.

Calm.

Shinobu’s holiday spirit is dependent on those around her, and when given her room to breath in the cinnamon, the distant glow of decorations, and you snuggled beneath her chin as her eyes flitter to the window, you’ll find that she has more holiday joy than you may expect.

The Flame Hashira

In over his head.

I mean. He has over committed himself.

Rengoku’s to-do list began back November 1st, literally the minute Halloween was over despite Shinazugawa’s raging that he is skipping over Thanksgiving. The reality is  that there is just so, so much for him to complete by the holiday season, that he has to get an early jump.

His commitments area mile long, and easily prone to overwhelming him. Not that he will ever admit it. Rather, the Flame Pillar will sooner subject himself to burning the candle at both ends to accomplish everything on his to do list. From his usual community service to additional holiday demands such as filtering through the toy section for donation ideas, to writing his own list and checking it twice.

Naughty, or nice, gift giving is in Kyojuro’s nature, and he is eager to ensure that everyone, no literally everyone in his life has the. Perfect. Present. From him. Shinobu’s mentioning gift vouchers was confusing for him. No, no.

Rengoku is a traditional shopper. Dedicated hours hoping from store to store, searching for the perfect gift from family members like his father, Senjuro, his twice removed distant cousin, the Butterfly Estate trio, the other Pillars, Kamado siblings, neighbors, the mailman, the old lady who he helped cross the street last week. Absolutely everyone he comes into contact with has made it on his list.

No social masses, natural disaster, or impending storms will ever prevent him from traveling to the ends of the earth to find each person the perfect gift.

Are you really surprised he will not settle until he has found IT.

The holiday is practically buzzing with Kyojuro’s love and adoration, but to be fair, it’s not the profit of boxes and boxes, bows and trimmings, nor is it the delectable dinner to come, it’s not the lights, or the decorations, the twinkling of stars. For the Flame Hashira, it’s the company that greets him at the door.

He has always been a family oriented individual and jumps at any opportunity to bring forth his loved ones together. Even the Scrooges of the world. His heart is ablaze with the thought of everyone he loves gathered in one place, sharing cookies and cheer.

The swordsman is willing to endure any potential burnout, suffer through all stress and burdens of the holiday to ensure that it is the perfect holiday for those around him. Store bought cookies will not cut it, he will dedicate himself to a recipe, accept all flunked attempts with grace to just have one absolutely perfect dozen cookies to serve.

He will do his best not to allow you to see him crack, and will assure you that everything is fine. It’s not, he burned the roast, the decorations are taped to the walls, he is pretty sure that the pig he found for Inosuke has helped himself to the garden. Help help help. It’s fine. Really.

The small press of your hand on his shoulder, met with the warmth of his smile, gently applying pressure in a way that reassures him of your presence, but that you will not leave him to these tasks alone is more than enough of a gift for him.

You will find that the one annoying thing about Rengoku during the holidays, is that no matter how you may approach the season. Whether with trepidation, or down right hatred, you will find the spirit of the season seeping into your pores. Spreading to your heart. Warmed to your cheeks, and averted your eyes. Struggling to maintain any disposition you have reserved, knowing all too well, this bastard is infectious.

He just loves this time of year.

But more than anything, he loves the sireneity. The sound of carols, of laughter told over stores amongst the Hashiras. Spread sentiments over the Kamado siblings, Zenitus’s screaming, the shy way his little brother dodges eye contact with the young girls of the Butterfly Estate. Basking in the glow of the fire, the warmth of his family and friends, loved ones all gathered under one roof. Tucked against the door frame, observing the joy with a small smile. Satisfied, and grateful to be alive, highlighted only at the way you snuggle into him. A coy grin of your own, cheeky and pressed into him. Daring advances, and the playful way your finger guides his eyes to the mistletoe above.

The Sound Hashira

Tradition has no place here.

You can leave all expectations at the door, and know that while he may be willing to entertain the idea for a moment, it will be over in the blink of the eye. Tengen is not lean upon family traditions—to be fair, he likely has no such memories to dredge up. The distinct onslaught of oppressive air that threatens to smother him at the mere mention of conventional sentiments—no, he would much rather spend his holiday in new, exciting ways with his wives and you.

It’s not that he does not observe the holiday itself. He is no stranger to the mundane Christmas parties that Rengoku throw; the former shinobi has enjoyed a number of Mitsuri’s cookies although may have misunderstood the initial offer.

The Sound Pillar has been known to frequent shops himself. However, unlike Rengoku, he does not need to stray from window to window like a small child. Rather, he is dutiful to his mission. He knows exactly what it is he wishes to purchase for the four of you. Each gift unique, and individual as the one to receive it. Intentional and purposeful, gift giving has always come naturally to him.

His natural ability to pick up on the underlining desires of those around him has always served him well in selecting the perfect present. As such, he has never been one to worry over whether or not you will like the gift he has picked. Of course you will, it’s from the Sound God himself.

Truthfully, you may find yourself knocked off center by his gift. While yes, it will be exactly what you’ve desired whether a bougie perfume, name brand clothing, a limited edition cookware, whatever it may be, you can expect that the price tag is far more than your $30 limit. He’s not sorry. That you’re likely to free fall into a panic over finances, ponder if what you brought him in return will… well, be enough to satisfy his extravagant tastes. Rest assured, any gift from you is flashy!

No, he’s well acquainted as anyone else with the more, expected traditions of the season. It’s that his approach is a tad unconventional. Uzui is not one to shy away from a bill, and his holidays are bound to be dripping in extravagance. He likes for things to be fun, and enjoyable. Life should be so, one never knows when they will die in his line of work, and because of this, he does not waste time considering how he should spend his time.

He knows how he will spend his holiday.

In the flashiest of ways.

Bar crawls, an onslaught of holidays parties across the winter spectrum. Participate in parades, jive in dances, tinsel with the best of them before spiriting away his family off to a ski resort. The opportunity to shred on slopes with Makio. The added strive of competition a light in their relationship. Sparked amongst playful. Delighted in the way Suma struggles to keep up, the way Hinatsuru’s eyes follow his silhouette. The warm cup of cocoa you have waiting for him at the end of the course.

The Sound Pillar will delight in warming his body in the hot springs, shameless in the way he drags you along. Warms your back, scrubbed and savoring the fill of your skin beneath his fingers.

No, unlike a majority of us that will prioritize the other people in our lives during the holidays, even at the risk of our own mental health, Uzui is not among us. Rather, he has no qualms of wishing them well, and placing your needs, and those of his wives first and foremost. He is not spending his holiday listening to aunties bitch that he has too many wives.

For all the adventures that you will likely face each holiday, you will find that it is the end of the day that Tengen lives for, and one that Hinatsuru ensures will always happen. A traditional moment, one curled up against a fire. The flicker in the depth of the night. Makio and Suma delighted in small bicker, back and forth, playful in nature as they roll across your knees. Scooped up in a blanket at Uzui’s side, Hinatsuru’s smile pressed to the corner of her lips. Content, and grateful.

To be alive.

To know this warmth, and this richness.

The Love Hashira

Is down the tinsel rabbit hole.

Was Rengoku’s tsugoko for a reason. She has an ample surplus of holiday spirit to last her for the year to come. She’s practically drowning in it. As all the idealistic nature of the season takes over her thoughts and spirits.

As soon as the first leaf hit the ground, she has begun to hum the holiday tunes beneath her breath. To everyone’s dismay. The Love Hashira did her best, she really did to deny her natural instinct. She understands that a majority of people are not.. exactly thrilled to see Christmas decorations in September, and she tried, she really did. But before she knows what has happened, the inflatables are up, the lights are twinkling, and the garland has been hung with care and adoration.

This time of year is easily amongst her favorite time of the year, and she is determined to share her love from corner to corner. Does not hesitate to greet those she knows, and strangers on the street. Uttering happy holidays to anyone who will listen. Cheerfully pulling a holiday goodie, or a candy cane from her pocket.

Giggling, and engaging little ones in discussion of what is to come.

Her eyes sparkle at the window displays, delighted by the arrange of lights, and the decorations.

Oh the decorations.

Do your best to have the utmost patience with your lover, because she will, I mean she WILL try every holiday DIY that crosses her Pinterest board. Some will end well enough, and others will be absolute disasters. She’s embarrassed at her failure, but even more devastated you caught her crying over the ornament glob.  

Gift giving is, abstract with Mitsuri. She gives it her all, but ultimately, her choices will be a little abstract, and typically food based. She noticed you eat ohagi one time, you can expect that she has provided you with a year supply of the snack with the biggest smile and lack of understanding that you will not be able to eat all of this before it expires.

The Love Hashira is at her core, enamored with those around her. Thrilled, and determined to ensure that the holiday is as good as she possibly can make it. She is taped together with Christmas cheer and glitter, and is determined to do everything she can to make the holiday shine.

Cries at every Hallmark video.

Is overly forgiving of anyone who is not in the spirit, even going so far as to accept the obvious slights against her, rather taking it with a smile rather than discomfort. She’ll think of them over the holiday, wishing for their happiness, and that whatever it is that has upset their heart will be resolved.

Assuming she has not involved herself in their affairs. Is absolutely the type to stalk a grumpy neighbor to get to the root of their holiday dissatisfaction in the hopes of spreading cheer. As her partner, it is your duty to not only keep her on a leash and out of jail, but to also reassure her when her heart shatters with the reality that she will not be able to change everyone’s holiday.

Hold her together when the realization hits her.

And know that the days to come will be froth in an arrange of responsibilities. Kanroji’s dedication knows no limitations, and so, she must set herself to the task. To give the perfect Christmas. If you have shared any holiday traditions with her, know that she will do everything, I mean everything to ensure that the sentiment is held to the nines in perfection. Really, I think this is the only area that Mitsuri could be frightening during this spirit.

She is a stickler for following tradition in part because she believes that it is the ability to perform such consistent rituals that bring the joy to her family and loved ones. So much so that any disturbance in the pattern may land a little harder than you may expect--- it’s not a big deal to you, but it is for her.

Hold her. Remind her to dance to the Christmas music as she bakes. Hold her waste between her arms, whisper the sweet compliments of how delicious her cookies smell. Dare to lick the batter from the spoon. Pull her back to the small joys of the season. Reassure her that her presence is more far more valuable than anything that may await under the tree, nor the wreaths that have adorned every nook and cranny.  Tease her neck as she rolls out the dough, breath in the scent of vanilla that has painted her pores, and when the cookies have finished from the oven, peel her away from the kitchen, and the duties she has assigned to herself.

Wrap her in a thick, snuggly blanket. Press her to your chest, sip on eggnog, and snack on popcorn as the cheesiest of Hallmark movies plays. Allow her to fall for characters, choke down every absolutely unlikely story line, and savor the way her lights light up. The sparkle they adorn, the hush of her breath, and gasps at kisses, and just enjoy that this individual, this same creature who cries at movies, and feels devastated when she has to choose in a love triangle is the very same who has little cuts littered across her finger tips earned by threading cranberries because she once again chose, to love you far more than you will ever know.

The Stone Hashira

The holiday can go either way for the Stone Pillar.

On one hand, there is an old comfort of the holiday season that warms his bones, reminds him of his little ones, and on the other hand, leaves him weary and tired from the expectations of those around him.

The push and pull, commercialism, the demands of gifting, and the duties of the season are all heavy burdens for Gyomei. The Stone Hashira is a peaceful individual, one who is deeply affected by his environment, and as an individual who seeks the depths of the season, to bear witness to the bastardized holidays that have overtaken traditions is likely to hit him a little harder than it will others.

Not in a sense that he hates the holidays all together. Himejima is the sort to be swept by childhood nostalgia. Warmed by a familiar scent of cookies, the same the monks may have brought to the temple in his youth. To hear the distant tunes, hummed in the middle of the night in a solemn bow. To witness the warmth of the season expressed through good deeds, and intentions is how he wishes to spend the holiday.

At the same time, the rush of the holiday season is quick to leave him melancholy. As though he has imposter syndrome, struggling to understand those around him who have overly committed themselves to every event like Kanroji or Rengoku, or those who will happily dip into funds like Uzui, Gyomei is likely to struggle to find a happy place amongst the bustle of shoppers, and the overbearing holiday music.

Ghosts of holiday past will likely bear on his soul, the nostalgia on one hand can be a gift that delight him with memories, but on the other can haunt his waking hours. Worried over whether he has done enough this year to make it special, craved to spend just one more holiday with his lost adopted children.

He will see them in everything around this time, and the passing of little ones on the streets can bring as much joy as they can harm.

It is a burden Gyomei does not dare place on anyone, nor does he blame anyone for the weight that he bears. It is a shackle to a pass, to a future of what-ifs, and because of this, he is at arisk of drowning in a depression, suffered to the voices within his mind, and as such, you may find him quieter at this time of year.

His touch a little more distant than the usual way it meets your own.

Distracted.

As such, you will find that for the Stone Hashira, it’s the moments of solace that you will witness his breath. The small pull of his breath, his chest reignited and sparked back to life as the crowds thinned out. The last remainders of demands slowly, but surely dissipate like smoke to the air. Just the quite drift of snow, small children delighting in a snowball fight.

Sparked wars of frost, laughter, childhood joy.

The way the holiday should have always been before consumerism flooded the intentions of the holidays. Siblings normally torn into disputes, rather shared small treasures with one another, a chocolate from the mailman split between the two with genuine consideration. Unbothered who it is that may witness such displays of good behavior.

To be allowed to spend the still ness of the night before the holiday after having endured the onslaught of family, visitors, and wrappings, content to have your head in his lap. The thread of his fingers through your hair. Hummed small music that he cannot remember the name of, or to perform such a ballad on his flute as children are tucked not their beds. The gentle glow of the lights to warm his skin, and your presence to touch his soul. Peace, and quite, and a quite joy that elicits a smile between the press of his lips as he continues to blow.

To Himejima, the holiday has little ties to the gifts beneath trees, or the financial deviations. It’s the time to spend together, to enjoy each other’s company. To laugh over memories, to greet the year to come side by side. A kiss at midnight, crafting the finishing touches for the early morning. To know the delight of the children to come.

To dedicate the night before the holiday, to hearing you read a novel aloud. The hitch of your chest at stunned moments. The warmth of the blankets bundled together is a sense of peace that no other moments could compare.

Except for the day you greet your child’s first holiday.

A gift from the Stone Hashira would be one that encourages self care, little lotions, aromatherapy, even a bath bomb set. Something that will assist you with unwinding in whatever way that comes naturally to you.

The Mist Hashira

Melancholy is a common emotion throughout the holiday season for the Mist Pillar. The distant memories, bittersweet as chocolate beneath his teeth. Recollections of pillaging through the snow with his brother, hanging adornments with his mother, fetching firewood with his father.

For Muichiro, the holiday bears a significant weight upon his heart, and at times, can result in his melancholy morphing into downright cynicism. A damning down ward spiral that will very likely result in his absolute apathetic approach to life. The outward way in which he ignores the delight of those around him, or worse, the way his biting words may land on those who dare to wish him a happy holiday, the jabs while childish insults are still scathing none the less. They will leave scars, as Kanroji is no stranger to being on the receiving end.

It’s a burden far heavier than one his age should endure, nor carry alone. Yet, he does not dare to approach others with the struggle. Content to hoard himself off from those around him during the holiday season.

Asking for assistance does not come naturally to him, and to admit that he needs the aide is an internal grapple that he must face. As such, the demands of the holiday, such as forcing niceties that he does not mean, and dodging the abundance of cheer can wear on his mental state, and lead to a quicker burn out than one would expect of a preteen.

Because of this, it will be the moment in which you delight in the joy of the season. The natural way that children should. Rolled snowmen, laughing amongst the snowflakes despite the obvious threatened frost bite that threatens your fingertips, your dashing through the snow burning your lungs and rosing your cheeks. Innocent, and lost to child delight and expeditions.

An ambush of snow, threatened and playful, or the way you drag him to the ice rink. Invite him to see your touch, to lean the palm of his hands into your own as he presses forward on wobbly legs, years since he has dared to ice skate. The last time with his own brother.

Playful, and light.

The laughter as you slip and slide, the jovial atmosphere. Innocent and warm.

Slide one into another. A half hazard dance that knows no steps, nor sense of rhythm. Just the natural way that you fall into one another.

It’s what he needs to embrace the holiday season. To turn a blind eye to the heavier demands of the season, and to just enjoy the holiday for what it is. The ambience of decorations. The warm glows of Christmas lights sipped between cocoa, as you wander street to street gasping at the displays.  The aesthetic of your wandering into the night beneath the stars, illuminated only by the lights of strangers’ homes.

Muichiro is the sort to enjoy the decorations most of all.

And not even the extraordinary displays that department stores will set up, or competitive neighbors. The Mist Pillar would delight in even the simplest decors. Small lights strung by elders who are no longer able to heave themselves up ladders, but still wished to participate in disappearing traditions.

A warm Muichiro is quick to offer heaving the lights upon the roof himself.

The truth is, Tokito enjoys the holiday season. Just as much as those around him, perhaps even more so, but he struggles to admit this. Has to swallow the bitter pill to allow himself to enjoy the time of year as he used to, to welcome the deep meaning of the season. To savor the  company of those around him.

To know that they mean something to him.

To accept that he means something to them.

Truthfully, his ideal date would be simply wandering from decoration to decoration, sipping on hot cocoa. Laughing at what it is you see, loosing himself in the glow of the night.

A gift from the Mist Hashira is likely to be abstract. One with deeper meaning than you may expect, so much so that upon opening the gift, you’re likely to wonder what it is you are looking at regardless of how pretty it is. Confused at the tilt of your head as you search his own gaze, one that is proud.

In the same sentiment, Muichiro is rather accepting of any gift. He’ll happily accept even the cutesy mittens you have knitted for them, wearing them every opportunity that arrives.

The Snake Hashira

Online shopping KING.

Is smarter than everyone, and has discovered online shopping. As such, he has already received every single gift, in perfect condition far before any of us have dared to brave the stores.

It’s his natural disposition to avoid other people that has him confident in his shopping skills, so much so that if Iguro has forgotten someone, he is secure enough to conclude that they were not worth purchasing a gift for in the first place.

His gifts are wrapped shortly after their arrival, and awaiting your attention beneath the tree.

Despite how it may appear, and I completely understand if this catches you by surprise, Obanai delights in the holidays, but he would never openly display such joys. He’s not like Kanroji in openly greeting others. His well wishes are small.

Opening doors for someone struggling with packages.

Leaving a small gift at door steps to be discovered.

The Snake pillar hides his holiday cheer well, and it is met with the utmost sincerity in maintaining holiday traditions. Much like a checklist that has necessary tasks, no one is more skilled at meeting the challenges of the holiday as Obanai is, nor as calmly as he accomplishes them.

Obanai needs no directions in what needs to be done, and if you are the sort to put things off, you may find him accomplishing your tasks for you. Whether you like it or not—it’s not meant to be rude, rather than he has taken the task up on your behalf to free up more of your schedule. Especially in the event you are a social butterfly.

But he is skipping out on parties.

In truth, it’s one of the few things that Obanai cares about in regard to the holidays. He has no extreme expectations for gifts, though he will not reject your gift should you offer him one. He will openly refute a gift from Tomioka, and other people he does not favor. He is not one for caroling, nor is he drawn to the thrill of bar hoping, vacations, or parties, and so at an initial glance, you may think that the Snake Pillar has no interest in the holiday season.

The truth is, is that he places more significance on the traditions over all else. He savors the familiar feeling of traditions, the comfort and nostalgia of routine habits. Time spent together, is always his favorite.

Because of this, you can trust Iguro to complete all of the tasks necessary to ensure that you can focus on your holiday traditions, whether brought on from your own family, or ones that you have created together.

He is content to decorate the home in advance, to wrap all your gifts along with his, to pour himself into making the perfect cocoa, or picking up eggnog. He’ll ensure that you have your ugly sweater for the holiday office party.

Or prepare meals in advance for the holiday nights to come.

He’ll even bake cookeis for neighbors, or your friends so long as you do not expect him to hand them out in your place.

Due to his natural deviation from strong scents, I also imagine that the holiday season can often lead to him feeling touched out a lot sooner than he normally may, and as such, you may witness him recoil from socializing a lot sooner, and so much more intolerant. It’s likely the strong scent of cinnamon that has shooed him from your side.

All for the sake of ensuring that your traditions together will receive the adequate attention. Time decorating cookies together. Engaging in a silly play back and forth, licking the icing from his cheek.  Hanging the tree star, his hands at your waste as he supports your weight, leaned in and delighted at the lights that glow. Lighting the fireplace, building a snowman, or crafting an entire gingerbread village. Snuggling into matching pajamas, and curled up with the same rerun of Home Alone, or Elf as you do every year.

It’s your time together that Obanai will pour of all himself into tasks to complete to ensure that he will be able to snag your attention at all costs. Warm into one another, silly as it may sound. Tried and true, but it’s the comfort that warms his soul.

Reciting poems against the fire would be his dream come true.

Allows him to berath, to trace circles upon your hand as you laugh at the same scene you have seen a million times, and will see a million times more.

But, he can never bring himself to admit how dearly he treasures this moment. How desperately he worked for it, to just bask in your company, to snack on cookies and do, absolutely nothing together.

Gifts from Iguro have always been well thought out, and executed, but always received nearly indirectly. His shyness is likely to get the better of him, and because of this, you may believe that you have received nothing at all.

A written poem, just for you left upon your pillow.

The Wind Hashira

Has Christmas spirit

But will never fucking admit it.

Shinazugawa is a traditionalist at heart, he will pour himself into the holiday in many ways, all while doing his best to appear as uninterested as he claims to be. Struggles to admit, and conform to this image he has boasted of himself. The smallest pout from a little child will fold his “I don’t give a damn” faster than you can whisper ho, ho, ho.

As the older brother, and often times provider for his family, the Wind Hashira naturally wanders to positions that expose him to the needs of others, but being who he is, he cannot admit that he is aware of struggles.

Because of this, there is a lump in his throat when he considers the thoughts of the holiday expenses. Money is always on his mind, how to ensure that he has enough, to ensure the comfort of your life style as well as that for his little brother.

A neighbor lamenting about not being able to find their daughter’s must have wish list, oh the Wind Pillar will hiss his insults. Curse the annoyance, and utter how fucking pointless a toy is when she will have moved on to the next must have in  no time.

Just to fucking travel to every damn store in the surrounding areas in search of this stupid doll because at the end of the day—the little girl has always been very sweet, and asks for nothing.

He’ll find the damn doll if it kills him.

Due to his temperament, Shinazugawa has a tendency to pour himself into more than he lets on. His refusal to turn a blind eye will often result in him being lead into a number of commitments all without realizing how he has implicated himself.

He cannot ignore the little old man struggling to carry a tree into his home.

Shinazugawa will curse and utter every fowl word in a glower at the old man for how stupid he is to think one of his age should be doing such labor, all while dragging the tree into his home. Decorating it, and sighing at his annoyances.

The Wind Pillar will do the same when it comes to gifts, he savors the opportunity to just bask in loved ones opening presents he has selected for them. To bear witness to the joy that claims their features. Warmed, and tempted at the way their squeal meets his ears.

It makes him miss his siblings.

It’s this excitement that drives him. Pushes him through store to store, fumbling through shelves determined to find the gift that will draw a smile to your face. One that will remind Genya that he is a child. Impart his consideration of the other Hashiras, but he at the same time, you can expect that depending on who the gift is intended for, and where they are at in their relationship—they’re not going to know that the gift is from him.

Or that he is watching from the bushes.

To the same extent, you will find that the holiday season can weigh on Shinazugawa more than you may expect—he has always accepted so many responsibilities that to deny them as they come up would be like plucking a fish from water.

He cannot explain how it is he became the sole person in charge of preparing the holiday dinner.

It’s because Kyojuro’s straying from a traditional recipe resulted in Shinazugawa banning everyone from the kitchens.

The same traditional values that shooed Rengoku from the kitchens is the very one that will also have him fussing over things that aren’t as prone to mattering. The exact placement of decorations, the gifts to consider parting. He will abide by all holidays rules as though they are a faithful code of conduct, rather than a suggestion.

Yet, he will accept it without a second thought, but he’s going to bitch about it. All while hiding a shy smile behind his hand as he averts his eyes, expressing that it is down to the fact that he needs to get started. Really, he’s embarrassed and overjoyed to hear the sincere compliments that flows from everyone.

The red that meets the tip of his ears as the sweet sentiments fall upon his ears.

He’ll scream shut up already and eat, but oh, he has memorized every compliment to memory.

Struggle to swallow the knot in his throat, stuttering and fumbling at your unabashed praise of his efforts.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #mitsuri kanroji x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #obanai iguro x reader #sanemi x reader

[sokkalore]

I've read a lot of fics but I just find them by futzing around on a03 so I have no idea if the ones I've read are popular in the fandom.

Just like if you have a few favorites ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ or wanna shout out a mutual or fandom friend writer

ok here are some of my top fave fics :)

do you take this jerk (to be your one and only) by @jatersade

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @goldrushzukka

feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe

wooing the water tribe by @dameferre

right on target, wide of the mark by @backhurtyy

victory lap by @dickpuncher420

now that i see you by @bisexuallsokka

that midnight sky by @zukkababey

purrfect for each other (series) by @bisexuallsokka

isn’t this the vision that you wanted by @goldrushzukka

‘til the gravity’s too much by @crosspin / @engagedzukka

and obviously i have to hype up my own fics 😀

unconditionally and irrevocably

breakable heaven

i assume if u follow me you’ve read them but Zndnd just in case 🩷😁

#enjoy these r all grand fics written by lovely people #zukka

[mylarena]

i dont see enough soulmate aus so. inspired by this post by @hyperfixationwizard, soulmate au where drawings and ink on skin show up on ur soulmates skin (not scars bc there would be so fucking much going on with that and im not gonna write abt itdgthfgh)

anyways. soap has always love doodling- with anything. pencil, pen, crayon, marker, whatever he could get his hands on. he’d doodle on anything and everything. the walls (when he was a kid, mainly), paper, cardboard, desks in school, napkins... but by far, his favorite was to draw on his own skin. the thought of his work showing up on someone else, someone he was practically made for and they for him- something that they could share, something that they could keep secret and hold close to their chests- it was enough to make him giddy.

so, he doodled. a pretty flower he saw on his walk to school, curling around his wrist. a bird perched on the bench across from him at the park, taking flight on the back of his hand. the stray cat that hung out on his porch, draped across his thigh. sometimes if he didnt have a notebook with him, messy schematics and notes for devices- no, ma, thats not an explosive, he swears- scrawled on his forearm.

he never sees anything from his soulmate- he checks every single day for any new marks, any words, but he never finds any. still, he keeps drawing. it doesnt usually get to him, the fact that his soulmate doesnt give him responses, but sometimes he cant help but think too much. he wonders if his soulmate likes the drawings, which leads to the thought of them not liking them, or finding them annoying, or if they think theyre bad.

one day, he caves under his thoughts and writes his first question to his soulmate, right under a bundle of primroses- “do you want me to stop?”

he waits anxiously for hours, not knowing if he’ll be able to feel the reply, or if he has to look for it, or if there even will be one-

then he feels it- a sort of pins-and-needles sensation on his left arm. he frantically rolls up his sleeve and his eyes are immediately drawn to the letters that appear on his skin. once the writing stops, he stares with wide eyes at the single word left behind- shaky, smudged, and a bit runny in some spots-

“no.”

and so he doesnt stop.

he keeps drawing, slowly moving from small little doodles of primroses on his arms and songbirds on his hands to sprawling meadows that wrap around his forearms and ravens spreading their wings across his thighs. sometimes he adds words- always short encouragements, positive quotes, or funny thoughts he has. he never gets responses, but he knows that his soulmate is still around by the occasional ink smudge that appears. anytime one appears, he incorporates them into a drawing. sometimes its a silly little doodle, and other times he spends hours creating beautiful, complex landscapes centered around them.

for years, his soulmate holds their silence. soap doesnt mind. he knows that they appreciate his art and words. at least, thats the thought he holds onto. he never holds it against his soulmate- the whole not-responding thing. hes well aware that he can be a lot to handle; hes heard it constantly from the majority of the people in his life. he just hopes that maybe his soulmate can tolerate him more than most.

he was 14 when things changed.

he had gotten home from school, completely ignoring his parents in the kitchen and opting to power walk to his room. it had been a shitty day; he had overslept and missed the bus, causing him to be late to class, and then some dickwads from the year above him decided that he was a good target to snag lunch money from, (really? stealing a kids lunch money? why would they pick something so fucking cliche? god, get some fresh material,) and to top it all off he got a shit grade on his book report.

as usual, his solution to a bad mood is to draw, get his emotions out on a page instead of letting them linger in his mind. unlike usual, though, he decides to bypass his notebook and instead grabs a pen, chooses a clear spot on his arm.

it took a while, but he finally ran out of steam to continue- it had been nearly two hours since he began. he was about to walk over to his bed and flop face down into his pillow when he felt it- the pins-and-needles of words being written that he had only felt once before. his eyes zeroed in on his arm, right under the drawing he had finished.

“two goldfish are in a tank. one turns to the other and asks, ‘do you know how to drive this thing?’”

soap snorts, more due to the situation than the shitty joke itself- and rushes to grab his pen again. no chance he was letting this opportunity slip by.

“why was the strawberry crying?”

“why?”

“because he was in a jam.”

and so the night continued like that- they exchanged shitty jokes back and forth for hours that night, up until soap was called for dinner.

#myposting #soaptag #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghost/soap #soap/ghost #ghoap #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ive been writing this all day and its not actually finished but!!! #mydrabbles