#someone needs to keep him in check otherwise he’s just gonna end up getting himself killed

[bisexualiteaa]

Getting interrupted 🤭

CW: smutty 18+! Suggestive themes, light mentions of/implied smut, getting caught, possible errors and possible OOC scenarios. Otherwise, enjoy! 🥰

John "Soap" MacTavish

- he was a sucker for someone in uniform, so it was no surprise that he would come and constantly visit you down at medical where you worked. It's how you both met and got together after all, so despite the pain and occasionally bad memories that came with it, it still held a place in his heart because you were there.

- he'd never admit it, but sometimes he would get himself hurt on purpose just to visit you, he always loved to see the smile on your face as you would shake your head and rest your hands on your hips before fixing him up perfectly, always having the cure to his every injury or ailment.

- sometimes these were the only moments where he'd get a chance alone with you, enjoying the way you'd always make a little time for him to talk and enjoy each others company for a little while afterwards.

- no one knew you guys were together, everyone knew he had a crush on you because, quite frankly, he wasn't very good at hiding it, but he didn't really want to either. But for the sake of your job, he didn't want to reveal anything should it get you in trouble.

- "you never stay out of trouble, do you?" You asked with a playful grin as you'd just finished stitching up a small gash on his arm. "If I stayed out a trouble, I'd never get the luxury t' see you" he replied with a flirty tone, making you chuckle. "Just be more careful please, I need you in one piece" you replied, kissing his cheek as you sat next to him, having just patched up his arm. "I will, don't worry your pretty head lass, I'll always come back t' you" he assured, making you smile and hum in appeasement before you leaned in, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss. His hand came to cup your cheek as you held his other one in your own, fingers intertwined as you shared in your moment together. When you two were alone together, the world finally felt at peace, no wars to think about, no stress weighing down on you, all you needed to think about was your Johnny.

- So it was no shock that your kiss took a turn to something a little deeper, a sigh leaving you as your free hand rested on his collarbone. "Careful bonnie, go on like tha' and I'll be walkin' outta here with a whole different problem" he said, making you giggle. "Wouldn't half mind fixing that either, too bad you don't know how to keep quiet" you quipped with a grin, making him laugh at your remark. "Cheeky bugger" he replied with a matching grin before pulling you in again, kissing you as if tomorrow you'd be gone.

- But sadly, even the best moments must come to an end, neither of you were expecting the way it had however.

- "Sorry to bother doc, got room to squeeze in a- woah!" Spoke Gaz as he pulled back the curtain, seeing your form loomed over the side of the exam bed, kissing his comrade. You gave a short gasp as you both jumped apart, blushing wildly after being caught red handed. "Shit, I'm SO so sorry!" You spoke, bumping into your cart in your panicked frenzy as you tried to back away and button your uniform back up as to not look suspicious, but it was already too late.

- "Sorry Gaz, appointment got prolonged. Doctors, am I right? Gotta poke around an' check everywhere for some reason" Johnny spoke, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with a slight blush but trying to joke his way out of things, as per usual. Gaz gave a chuckle. "Explains why you come down here so often. Here I thought you were just trying to get a good record built up for disability, didn't know you had a Dr. Feel Good situation goin' on" he teased with a grin. "I'm gonna get in so much trouble.." You muttered, holding your face in your hands out of embarrassment. "Relax doc, your secret's safe with me. I promise. It's about time you finally went for" Gaz assured you before offering a genuinely happy smile to Johnny. "I know all to well of the draw of the uniform myself" he added, looking towards one of the other doctors, her offering a giggle and flirty wave his way. "Well I'll be damned" Johnny spoke with a chuckle. "And looks like she's got an opening, so you two just earned yourself some more alone time" Gaz said, making you and Johnny both chuckle. "I owe ya one" Johnny spoke before Gaz walked away, turning back to you as you closed the curtain again, alotting you both some privacy for just a little bit longer.

König

- You were in his room, laying in bed together, enjoying the time alone after months of him being away.

- It started out innocent enough, just enjoying a movie together, but one innocent kiss turned to two, and when wandering hands found their way down your sides to your ass, playful giggles soon turned to quiet moans and it wasn't long before things turned just a little more heated.

- You were on top of him, straddling his lap as his kisses began littering down your neck, his large, rough hands at your hips moving you back and forth against him. A quiet moan and sigh fell from you, both of you doing your best to keep quiet as not to raise suspicions.

- "How I missed you, schatz" he told you, making you smile with drunken love in your eyes. "Missed you too, Kö" you replied sweetly, your lips now trailing down his neck to his bare chest in a way that he swore injected fire straight into his veins.

- You were topless as you sat there straddling him, indulging in one of those moments of kissing one another deeply, only stopping at the feel of each other smiling before resuming. Light, breathy giggles and quiet sighs of pleasure leaving you as you both were caught up in the heat of the moment.

- That was when you both heard the knock at the door, making you both jump. "Shit" you said quietly but in a panic. "Hide" he replied, getting up to put on a pair of pants, allowing you some time to scramble to grab your shirt and any trace you were here and hide in his bathroom, staying dead silent as you did.

- You heard the sound of him talking to Captain Price as you were hidden, relief washing over you once the door had finally closed and he walked away. You peaked back out from the bathroom, seeing König look at you as the look of panic finally fell from his face. "Close call" you spoke with a grin. "Way too close" he replied as you came back to him. "Ya know, if you just came over to my place, we wouldn't have to sneak around and worry about getting caught" you mused, making him chuckle as he leaned down. "Maybe I like the thrill a little bit" he admitted, making you giggle lightly before kissing him once more, your arms draped over his shoulders as you did.

- "Just keep it down in there" Price's voice spoke from the other side of his door, making you panic once more. "König! This is why we should be at my house!" You said, face red as a beet from fluster, and König couldnt help but grin at your embarrassment. Price gave a laugh as he walked away.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

- Everyone knew you were his, he made it very clear that he would break the neck of anyone who would dare try to have a piece of you, or even look in your direction with malintent.

- He didn't need PDA to show it either, when you both were out with his comrades, or out in public, a protective arm laid around your waist yes, but even when it didn't, all it took was one look from Simon for someone to deeply reconsider their intentions with you.

- So one night, when you were both coming out to his truck for a smoke from a night out drinking with friends, the liquid courage seeping through your veins, you decided to push his buttons a little.

- There he stood, leaned against his truck, having just finished taking drags off of his cigarette before putting it out with his foot. His balaclava was still pulled up to rest on the bridge of his nose, showing off the lower half of his face, so you took the chance.

- You smiled as he grinned when your fingers slid along his jaw and up under the balaclava just a little, keeping it up so that you could kiss him. The taste of smoke, tobacco, and whiskey mixed together in a taste that was just so *him.* You couldn't help the surge of butterflies that came through you as his hands rested on your hips, the way he kissed you always left your mind reeling as they were always so intimate, so shameless.

- "Just couldn't wait, could ya?" He asked, making you chuckle as you bit your lip, your cheeks heating up from the drinks buzzing in you as well as the heat that always burned in you anytime he kissed you. "You know what bourbon does to me, and you know what *you* do to me" you replied with a playful grin, making him chuckle once more as you said it, poking his chest to prove your point before dragging your finger down some. "I'm very aware" he replied.

- Your finger looped into his belt, giving a strong tug to pull him closer to you, your lips just centimetres apart now before you closed the distance once more. "You're playing a dangerous game, lovie" he spoke in a low tone, making your grin only stretch wider. "That so? Gonna put me in my place then?" You challenged bravely, making his eyes hold a different intensity. Hunger, a predatory one at that. "Get your ass in the truck. Now" he ordered.

- Needless to say, it was no shock to him that you both managed to find your way in the back seat of his truck, music playing just loud enough in the background to add to the atmosphere as your panting from the deep kiss filled the air in the car.

- You grinned far too devilishly as you rolled your hips in time to the beat of the song, enjoying your moment of power over him. But he was there to remind you that even if you were on top and straddling him, that did not, by any stretch of the imagination, mean you were in control. His hand came to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugged it back, making your head dip back as he did. You gave a sinful moan as he did, roughly thrusting his hips up into you. "Your misbehavin' has gotten a bit out of hand, love. Someone oughtta teach you some fuckin' manners" he damn near *growled* in response, making you whimper as his hips stilled completely. "Gonna be good f' me? Stop bein' a fuckin' brat?" He asked, making you nod your head yes vigorously, earning another yank on your hair and a powerful thrust up into you. "Answer properly" he ordered. "Yes sir, gonna be good for you, I promise!" you let out, his hand leaving your hair as he started his pace up again. "Then be a doll and take it" he spoke, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continued his brutal pace.

- Anyone on the outside wouldn't have known, the music, not too loud to be suspicious, but perfectly loud enough to cover your joint symphony of moans, pants, and grunts, paired with the sounds of skin against skin. So Soap being none the wiser, thought it'd be safe to go to Ghost's truck to tease you both for being gone for so long.

- Then a hand came to the foggy window, smearing enough of the condensation away to reveal the both of you in the back seat. What he wasn't anticipating was the sight of you on top of him, fully clothed thankfully, but it was clear what was going on. "Shit!" You exclaimed when you saw Soap's eyes widen before he looked away, knowing he'd be in deep shit for catching you both. Simon's eyes followed yours to the window, catching sight of the reason why you were hiding your face in your hands. A devious grin came to his lips, deciding to roll the window down some, not too much to show too much, but enough to send you into a panic. "Si! What the hell are you doing??" You asked, making the scot give a chuckle. "Was comin' t' check an' see if you two were still alive, but clearly you're takin' more than a smoke break" he replied. "Started off as one anyway.." You spoke with a nervous look, making him chuckle once again before turning around and walking back. "Try not to kill 'er" Soap spoke before walking back inside.

- You certainly learned your lesson that night, hiding your face that burned bright red as you left the back seat, Simon of course delighted in your torture as you both went back inside to sit back at the table, getting to take in all the knowing grins from his friends as they all teased you for the rest of the night. To Simon's standards of course, he'd never let anyone take it too far. ❤️

#cod smut #cod imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap smut #könig imagine #könig smut #könig

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello all :) I wanted to post this yesterday but had some technical difficulties. Also thank you to all those that have liked, commented or reblogged my reviews. Very Encouraging so thank you. Glad to have you all along with me. As always will credit all gif usage at the end.

Onward we go to 1x03 'The Good the Bad and the Ugly.'

Tim is back on duty after his gun shot wound. He’s is not ready physically and most definitely not emotionally. Despite that all Lucy is glad to have him back riding with her. Tim replying like early S1 Tim would in regards to her being glad he's back. Reserved and Cocky.

They Get their first call of the day at a bank with a man trapped behind an ATM wall. Tim takes charge like he doesn't have a wound in his side. Keeps going till he's grimacing and in major pain.

Theme of Tim Bradford in the early days. Man doesn’t ask for help. Ever. So when he’s hacking at that wall he’s trying to prove to himself he’s fine. The gunshot wound doesn’t affect him. When his body is telling him otherwise. Instead of asking Lucy to help to him he barks at her asking why he’s doing this and not her. S1 Tim you’re so rough around the edges my love. Don’t you worry Lucy is gonna soften those edges slowly but surely Haha

After Lucy fails a mini Tim test (gif set I just could not seem to find) Of him stealing her duty belt because she didn't secure the bathroom properly. He receives a phone call about Isabel OD'ing. Another set I could not find is Isabel basically ripping into Tim. Telling him to leave her alone to ‘Save your tough love for someone else’ and boy does he ever.... Lucy gets quite the helping in this episode.

We know he is very much no where close to being 'Okay' After his convo with Isabel he is out of control angry. Doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. Too damn blinded by his hurt. It shows in their next call with the biker gang. By putting not only his healing self in danger but Lucy. He’s so desperate for help but refusing to ask again. So instead he implodes. Fights a biker gang prospect. Searching desperately for an outlet for his frustration/anger. Doing it in the worst way imaginable. He’s in so much pain he cannot see straight. Poor Lucy can only stand there and watch him self destruct. Luckily he wins the tussle but it comes at a cost.

In s5 Tim bringing up his past with Isabel to Lucy. This is what he's referring to. How it cost him nearly everything emotionally. Unless you watch s1 recently you forget how badly he was burned. How she utterly wrecked him. Watching her destroy him with a 2 min convo hurts to watch. He was adrift in his emotions and drowning at a fast pace. He needed a life line so badly. He had no idea that life line would show up in the form of Lucy Chen. The Ray of sunshine that challenges his ass and puts him in place like no one has before.

By the time they get back to station she's crawling out of her skin with worry for Tim. She has no idea what she should do if anything. He is her superior officer after all but he's also endangering them both. By the time she gets their "suspect" into booking Tim is still in a bad head space from his convo at the hospital. Checking out NARCAN clearly for Isabel. They pull up to Isabel's apt and Lucy is restless in the car when he tells her to stay put. She can't take it any longer and jumps out to confront him.

She takes a deep breath and starts her fight to save Tim's sanity. To keep him from going completely off the edge and taking her with him. That’s what makes what Lucy does in this scene so incredible. One she's barely 3 weeks at best into her working relationship with him and two It was like fighting the sun with Tim in s1. She not only stood up for herself she put him in his place. He had been encased in his emotions so long he lost clarity completely. He couldn’t see past his pain. So she took a stand and won.

The biggest part of this moment is he concedes, listens and lets her take control of the situation. Has her run the NARCAN up to Isabel. I can’t even begin with how massive this is. This obstinate, grumpy man who would scare most rookies into washing out didn’t stand a chance against Lucy Chen. Its one of the main reasons he falls in love with her. She challenges him and rights him when he’s on the worst path. That look of defeat and resignation on his face. He know's he in the wrong and can't fight her anymore on this. Eric once again crushing it. Killing me softly good sir. His face says it all.

This following scene back in the shop is underrated and beautiful. Something about Lucy draws out his vulnerable side whether he likes it or not. The crack she started in ep 2 continues its growth in this ep. Her standing up to him, laying down boundaries and bringing him back to earth earned her this moment with him. Tim opening up to her. Sharing what I'm sure no one else has heard.

The most beautiful part is she’s doing it for more than the fact he’s her T.O. She cares about him as a person. He's realizing this and its why he's opening up to her right now. He's baring his soul to her and there couldn't be a better person to accept it. Why she follows up the way she does. Lucy is very aware how precious the information that is being shared with her is.

Her telling him about her apt is her olive branch back. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things just looking at this conversation. Telling him this as her reply. But it means the world to him. She knows this which is why she lets him know her apt is decent. It’s what he needs to hear.

Listening to him let out the deep breathe and tell her ‘Thanks’ it’s a loaded thanks. It means so much more than that single word, but once again this is s1 Tim so the fact she’s getting this is big. Its what he needs to hear in order to to be able to drive away from her apt. She's given him peace of mind to be able to do so.

We barrel towards the end of the episode. Tim and Lucy chasing one of the two remaining suspects. They corner him and once again just like at the beginning of the ep Tim can’t ask for help. He physically can’t climb the top of that truck. Lucy knows this and helps him out. Saying it would be ‘good for her training’ for her to do it. Tim goes along with it because his pride can’t handle it otherwise. She conducts herself flawlessly of course.

She’s so proud of herself and he can’t allow her to see he is too. He’s already been too ‘soft’ today for her. He always defaults back to being the hard ass whenever he opens up in the very beginning with her because S1 Tim be S1 Tim.

~~~~

Side Notes non Chenford.

I love Grey taking Tim out for a drink. Poor man needed it so much.

Talia being soft for the train burglar and his son.

Not much side stuff to mention this was a pretty heavy Chenford building ep and I’m happy with that.

Please like/comment if you can I love it when people do either hehe

Gif Credit To

Chenfordsbee

Chenfordsource

Chenfordgifs

#Caitlin rewatches the Rookie #chenford #chenford hiatus #the rookie #Tim Bradford #Lucy chen #1x03 The good the bad the ugly #s1 #tim x lucy #Eric winter #melissa o'neil #summer rewatch #otp: doing my job #chenford nation #tim bradford x lucy chen

[wastemanjohn]

use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick scene/hc for it

well, this turned into a monster.

johndeanna, sam pov; 6k words, mature; cw discussions of character death, incest. unedited.

Sam has to keep himself busy, otherwise he’s gonna lose his mind.

Not that he isn’t already. Not that he’s even pushing any pretence of keeping it together, what with that last fight with Dad playing a constant live loop in his head, that code alarm ringing in his ears like tinnitus, phantom smells from the burning pyre lingering constantly under his nose. And that's to say nothing of Deanna, stone-faced and vacant, unreachable under the hood of the Impala. Yeah - that alone, Deanna's distance, her denial, is enough to make Sam feel certifiable.

So Sam keeps himself occupied, because there's really nothing else he can do right now. And besides - someone has to start the process of going through Dad's stuff.

Dad's truck's been sitting at the far end of the salvage yard for a couple of weeks, untouched and unspoken of since Bobby sent someone out to collect it from Nebraska. Tucked away where no one can see it; but Sam can’t forget that it’s there. Can feel its presence like Dad’s ghost, which is unsettling a thought as anything else. 

Someone really, really needs to deal with this, alright.

The trees around the yard rustle in the wind, and Sam can feel the budding Autumn chill on the back of his neck. Bobby will probably scrap the truck once Sam's done with it, which is just fine with him. He and Deanna have no use for it, and the idea of selling it on, of someone else driving it, making it their own, feels kind of unbearable.

So Sam ignores that chill, and gets to work.

There's a lot of crap inside. A lot. Sam picks out all the fast food wrappers, a grimace fixed on his mouth; keeps stumbling across empty pill bottles with stolen names on the labels. He’d noticed them before, among Dad’s things, but he hadn’t wanted to give it too much thought - kinda hard not to now - and there are unwashed clothes balled up in the footwells that seem to have been festering for months.

Yeah, definitely hard, not to think about the way Dad was living. How old and exhausted he'd looked, how startling that was when Sam first laid eyes on him back in Chicago; how bad things seemed to have gotten, in the four years he’d been in California. Pretty rough, having those as his last, most live memories of Dad. Almost as rough as finding him motionless on the floor, listening to a strange, unreal voice calling time of death; nothing compared to how cold Dad’s skin felt when Sam and Deanna had laid down next to him for the last time, kissed him goodbye. Sam just can't stop remembering.

He clears out all the trash. Feels a little robotic about it, a little numb. He keeps going until the inside is dealt with; then, Sam moves to the trunk. He opens it up with a wrench, and a deep, deep breath.

Dad's duffel bag is inside. Sam stares at it for a moment or two; it's worn and stained, and there's a hole fraying around where the zip rests. It’s the same one Dad has had for years and years, all packed up and ready to return to, like Dad was just on another job or something. Like a part of him believed that would be the case; that for all the noises he made about being willing to die in the fight with the demon, Dad never truly meant it.

Sam blinks at the tears forming in his eyes. Takes another deep, deep breath. Holds it in his body as he takes the duffel out of the trunk, sets it down gently on the floor, He can't bear to go through it just yet. That's definitely a job for another day. Or maybe never.

Sam lifts up the floor of the trunk to reveal the hidden compartment underneath, just to check there's nothing else left behind. Nothing personal, at least; because for all the inside of Dad's truck was a mess, his assortment of weapons are clean, maintained and perfectly organized. Military precision, Sam thinks, with a smile that's only half-bitter. He'll need Bobby to help him get all this stuff out; it's stuff they're gonna need, after all. Something tells him it's a bad idea to ask Deanna.

His eyes idly roam glinting silver pistols, jagged blades; they could definitely use all of this. As Sam scans the little shelves tucked under the weapons tray, something else catches his attention. Something he’s never seen before; looks like a flat wooden box.

He frowns; it looks a little out of place. He reaches in to pull it out.

There's a layer of dust over the top. Sam blows on it until most of it has gone, then brushes the rest away with his hand. It feels quite light, almost like it's empty. There's nothing but a padlock holding it shut.

Sloppy, Dad, Sam thinks, with a little more scorn than he can forgive himself for. Really sloppy.

It doesn't take him long to locate a box of paperclips amongst Dad's shit. The only lock picking tool you'll ever need, he used to say, if you know how to use it right - and Sam's learned well. He gets the padlock off in less than a second. He opens the box.

Inside are three different white envelopes. Unsealed. Sam frowns again. He has no idea what these could be.

He closes the trunk, and sits down on top of it so he can take a closer look.

He pulls the first envelope out, prises it open with his thumbs. Inside is a stack of Polaroids, held together with a paperclip. Oh.

Sam holds them up. The picture on top is old, pretty faded. It's of a blonde woman in sunglasses and bright orange flared pants, perched on a low fence with fields rolling out behind her. She's looking off to the side. Between the sunglasses hiding her face and the degraded quality of the image, it takes Sam a moment to realize he's looking at a picture of his mother.

His eyes start to smart again. Alone, here, with this photo, with Dad's memories, he lets them. 

Sam notices the text on the strip of white at the bottom; June 1975, in Dad's handwriting - everything labelled and organized, always. Sam smiles, despite everything. His mother was truly beautiful; Dad always said it, said it all the time.

Do you think I look like her, Sammy? Deanna used to ask, when they were younger. She’d ask it while standing in front of full length mirrors on wardrobe doors, lifting up her hair, turning side to side.

Sam, usually rattling with resentment and injustice at that time, rarely felt generous enough to agree; usually he'd just snort and go back to his book. He regrets that now, at the memory. He regrets a lot of things lately, a lot of the shitty ways he behaved.

Sam takes off the paperclip, and starts to look through the rest of the Polaroids. The first few are of Mom by herself. Mom sitting in a field in those flare pants, smiling with a single daisy in her hands; June 1975 again, maybe taken on the same day as the first one. Mom dancing at a bar with a woman Sam doesn’t recognize, September 1976. Mom with her head turned away from the camera, side profile grinning, holding up her middle finger; April 1977. 

Sam finds himself a little surprised by that picture. The way Dad talked about Mom, it'd be kind of hard to imagine her ever flipping Dad the bird. Doesn’t really feel like the kind of thing wide-eyed, respectable housewives do. But then again, Sam has wondered on more than one occasion if he knows that much about his mother at all, really. Who she really was.

Mom is pregnant in the next picture. Dad is standing next to her, arm around her. Mom has her hands on her swollen stomach, and she's smiling. Dad - Dad is smiling even wider. 

They're next to a crib. Sam recognizes the layout of Deanna's old bedroom from the other photos he's seen. There's a lot of pink. December 1978.

Sam feels that like a slap in the face. Sudden, stinging. A wave of grief for a woman, a life, he never knew. The smiling, carefree father he never really met.

Sam has never seen any of these photos before. He feels like he's looking through something intensely private. Something Dad wanted to keep close, keep just for himself. He draws another deep, deep breath; puts the paperclip back on the Polaroids, places them gently back in the envelope like they're made of glass. He's keen to see what's in the other ones.

The second envelope is unlabelled too. Inside is another set of Polaroids, clipped together; but there’s something else too. A beaded bracelet. Sam frowns, and pulls that out first.

He turns it over in his hand. It takes him a moment to realize he's holding the first gift he made for Dad in arts and crafts, back when he was in kindergarten. He remembers it so clearly because Deanna had laughed when he brought it home - men don't wear bracelets, Sammy - and when Sam had given it to Dad, he'd laughed too. But not with Deanna’s scorn.

Sam’s throat burns. It’s hard to believe, now, that there was a time when Dad still used to laugh, despite the fire, despite everything, but there was - and Dad had put that bracelet on, all gentle about it, like he was scared of breaking it. He'd ruffled Sam's hair and said, thank you, Sammy. I love it.

And Dad kept it. To this day, Dad held onto it. He never threw it out.

Sam has to stop for a second then; press the back of his hand to his mouth, like he's going to puke, because it feels kind of like that, even though nothing comes. In the safety of the quiet salvage yard, he lets out a rough sob. Dad - despite everything that happened between them, Dad still held onto a piece of crap Sam made for him when he was five. Carried it around with him in his truck, like a part of him. Wanted to keep the memory. 

Sam doesn't know what to do with that. It feels so big. He rolls the bracelet onto his wrist before he can feel stupid about it, and reaches into the envelope for the Polaroids.

Like the ones of Mom, they're clipped together. January 1991 is written on the strip on the bottom of the first photo. Sam recognizes his own seven-year-old face, his gap-toothed smile, the Goodwill clothes sitting far too big on his little body. He's sitting on a swing. There are chunks of snow like clumps of cotton wool on the concrete below, a woolly hat on his tiny head.

A wet smile grows on Sam's face as he looks through the rest of the pictures. There's one of him in some kind of diner, August 1987, the background dark but for a neon sign, smiling wide with some kind of food all around his mouth. He winces - embarrassing - and moves on. There are a few photos dated around this time. One of him coloring at a motel room desk, tongue stuck out in focus. Another of him holding a book upside down and grinning. 

Then - September 1983. His infant face blinks up at him. He’s all fat little limbs and confusion. Deanna’s in this picture too, crouched on the floor next to Sam’s carrier with a big toothy grin on her face. Her hair is in pigtails, and she's wearing a blue cotton dress. This picture would mortify her, Sam thinks, with a soft laugh. He doesn't have a single live memory of his sister wearing a dress.

Deanna's in a few more of the photos, Sam notices, as he rifles through. One in particular catches his eye. They’re at a fairground, by the looks of it; there’s a ferris wheel and a cotton candy stall in the background. May 1994 - and already, Sam’s taller than Deanna in this photo, but she's got an arm around his shoulder anyway, asserting her eldest sibling status. They're both squinting in the sun, smiling wide; and Sam finds himself looking at that photo for a while, because something is out of place. He notes with a frown that Deanna is wearing lipstick. Red lipstick.

Dad never let Deanna wear make up of any kind. He can’t have taken this picture; must have lost his shit when he saw it for the first time, too. He didn’t even like her wearing tinted lip balm. Deanna still doesn’t wear make up to this day.

Sam keeps looking at the photo; he remembers now. It was his eleventh birthday; Bobby had been the one orchestrating the fairground trip. And Sam remembers, also, that Dad didn't call that day. Dad was never home for his birthday by that point; but it was the first year of many that he’d forgotten to even call.

God, Sam had been so angry about that once, the way he'd been angry about most everything that Dad did. His distance, his absence. His presence, too; Sam couldn't tolerate that either, for how suffocating it was. 

Sam feels very far removed from that now. All that resentment, that rage. He feels like he could forgive Dad all of it, immediately. Forget it, too; if he could just see Dad one last time.

Sam gets to the final photograph. February 2001. Seventeen; he’s sprawled across a motel bed, all gangly, awkward limbs, hair so long it’s almost brushing his chest. He’s staring down at an open book. Well. Sam doesn't remember that photo being taken at all.

He sure remembers 2001, though. That was when things went from pretty bad to unbearable. 

That’s when they started having to quietly flee motels hours before check out to avoid covering the damage for broken appliances, holes and dents punched, kicked into walls. When Dad really started screaming at him, and Sam started screaming right back, Deanna pacing up and down with her hands over her ears until they wore themselves out. And then - Deanna lecturing Sam as she patched up his busted knuckles. Deanna, always, always siding with Dad. 

It was Dad she’d go after whenever he stormed out; Dad whose point of view she always supported. Always. No matter what.

February 2001; Sam stares at that picture for a while, lost in it. He can smell greasy rental kitchens, Dad’s dirty ashtrays, the vanilla body spray Deanna wore constantly at the time. The memories hit him all at once, bringing their residual anger with them. Because for all he and Dad fought, he and Deanna fought too, by then. They fought about Dad. About how Deanna never had Sam's back.

You could be going to school, Sam remembers saying to her. Well, yelling, really. You could be making something of yourself. But instead you're here. Following his orders. Cleaning up his messes. When are you gonna wake up, Dee?

Deanna's arms were folded, in a display of that Disappointed Mother Mode she'd adopted recently, but Sam could see that he was getting to her from the quiver in her shoulders. Dad needs me, she said, short, curt. And I am something. I'm a hunter.

Sam had laughed. It was cruel - god, he was so cruel back then - And you know what? You could be literally anything else you wanted to be. But you won't do a damn thing unless he tells you to do it.

That quiver flashed through Deanna’s eyes. She took a step towards him, folded hands in fists. You're talking about shit you don't understand, she'd said, tightly, the way she often did. Dad wants justice for Mom. So do I. And the quicker you get off that sky high horse of yours and start doing as he says, maybe we'll actually get somewhere.

You're brainwashed, Sam had told her. It's pathetic.

His fit of frustration blinded him to the not-small flash of hurt in her eyes; but still, Sam walked out after that, because even he knew he wasn't allowed to press the Mom issue. Mom was an automatic out, an automatic shutdown of any meaningful conversation that Sam would try to have. Because that was always shit he didn't understand; not worth getting into, unless he wanted Deanna to end up punching him, anyway. He knew from experience that Deanna had a better set of fists on her than most hunters twice her age and size. He was smarter than to fuck with that.

And, Mom; something that connected Dad and Deanna in a way that Sam could never touch. He doesn't remember what Mom's cookies smelled like, how her laugh sounded, how her hugs felt. Wasn't sentient enough yet on the night of the fire to be particularly bothered about witnessing a house, a life, burn to the ground. Sam remembers always feeling like an outsider in something he was apparently a huge part of. It just made him angrier.

February 2001; yeah. Not a whole stretch of time back from August 2001. No photos from around that time - and, around that time, the night Sam left forever. Not that Sam needs photos; he'll be able to hear Dad's roar of you walk out that door, you never fucking come back, clear as a bell, for the rest of his life. He's never wished he could erase it more.

He doesn't realize he's still crying until a tear lands on the Polaroid in his hand.

Dad had cried that night as well, that night Sam walked out. Then again, Dad cried a lot as time went on, all the time, really; rarely in front of Sam, but Sam would hear him anyway. It would usually happen when Sam was meant to be sleeping - not that he really could, over the sound of those breathless, drunken sobs. Over Deanna's soothing murmurs of it's gonna be okay, Daddy, because whenever Dad got home at stupid o'clock in the morning, stinking like sweat and whisky, she’d always rush out of bed. Straight to his side like a nursemaid never off the clock. Pathetic, Sam would think, every time, even if he did only say it the once. Just felt, all too often, like Deanna couldn’t stop proving his point.

Those old memories usher in another; something Sam hasn't thought about in a very, very long time, as he gently clips the Polaroids back together like he hadn't disturbed them, slots them back into the envelope. Probably 2001 as well; some nondescript night where Sam had woken up to the sound of a decaying front door rattling on its hinges; followed up by a loud, hissed curse. Deanna, as always, sitting up dutifully in their shared bed, without so much as a sigh of complaint.

Sam listened to Deanna in the dark, going down rickety stairs, her footsteps sounding dainty in this out of place way. Heard her going to the kitchen, the hiss of the faucet as she got Dad a glass of water and three ibuprofen. The sound of her bare feet on the wood floors as she went back to him, got Dad cozy on the couch. Started the process of calming him down.

Sam wasn't sure what compelled him to get up that night too. To take himself to the top of the stairs like a kid eavesdropping on fighting parents. But from his vantage point, if he craned his neck just right, he could see into the mildewy living room. He could see Deanna kneeling before Dad on the couch, undoing his shoelaces with one hand. The other was holding Dad's. Fingers interlaced. Dad’s grip looked tight, his fingers tiny in hers; but she didn't seem bothered.

Dad was looking at Deanna. Staring at her, really, with his mouth quivering, tears spilling indulgently down his cheeks. There was blood on his shirt, Sam noticed; there often was. Dad had been getting into a lot of fights.

Sam watched Dad cup Deanna’s face, Her hand stilled on his laces; she let Dad tilt up her head. My beautiful little girl, Sam had heard him murmur. What would I do without you, huh?

Those quivery lips moved into something that resembled a smile, and Sam didn't need to see Deanna's face to know that hers were doing the same. For a moment, nothing happened; Dad didn't seem to blink. And maybe Sam left before he could see Dad kiss Deanna on the mouth, or maybe he completely imagined it; it's still not entirely clear in his mind. Still doesn't quite make sense, that that's what he saw; or what he thought he saw, anyway. Or even why his mind would even concoct something like that. He was half-asleep, he guesses.

And besides, he told himself afterwards, Dad was pretty damn wasted. It's not beyond the realm of possibility to think that he'd been in enough of a state to mistake Deanna for Mom. Deanna would have known that, Sam is sure; and Sam is sure, certain, that Deanna would have taken it in stride. She would have reassured Dad quietly, and gently pushed him away. Confident that he wouldn’t even remember in the morning.

Do I look like Mom, Sammy?

Sam breathes in the burnt Autumn air; it's getting a little dark. Bobby will be calling him for dinner soon. Dinner is usually prepackaged chilli, canned Ravioli, shit like that; Sam's stomach is beginning to churn for even the thought of it. He’s not seen a vegetable in weeks. 

Anyway - Sam shoves that old memory (dream? imagination?) back into some dark eave of of his mind where it belongs. He touches the bracelet on his wrist - thanks, Sammy, I love it - and thinks about the way Dad had ruffled for his hair, the way he smiled in that photo in Deanna's nursery, the Dad he could have been, kind of sort of was for a while, when Sam was very small, until years and years of the life slowly took him apart. The Dad Sam always knew was still in there; the Dad that was good.

Yeah - Sam takes that version of Dad with him, as he moves onto the final envelope. Wonders if, maybe, he'll find that version of Dad inside. More pictures of him looking young. Happy. Not the broken, exhausted old man Sam can’t help but keep on seeing every time he closes his eyes.

This envelope is a little heavier than the others. Sam presses it open with his thumbs. Makes sense, if it's the heaviest; this must be Deanna's envelope. Dad was closer with Deanna than he was with anybody, and he knew her a hell of a lot longer than he knew Mom.

Sam pushes around inside. He was correct; there are more Polaroids here than in the other envelopes. Lots more. But unlike the others, they're not clipped together. They’re just laying haphazardly inside. There's also another envelope stuffed in this one. Folded up small to fit.

Sam sees the glint of a silver chain peeking out from the bottom. The necklace is a little tangled up when he pulls it out; it has a little pendant shaped like a rose, with some kind of fake red gem in the middle.

Sam remembers this necklace, he realizes, as he studies it. Deanna had picked it up at some dollar store or other; thought it looked cool. And she'd been pissed as hell when she lost it. She'd looked for it everywhere. Made Sam look everywhere too. That had sure been a long night.

Sam gets this feeling he can't describe, as it crosses his mind that the necklace may have been in Dad's possession this whole time. But why - why would he do that? Had he picked it up by accident? Decided to hold onto it, forgot to mention it? Was he entirely unaware that it was even lost in the first place?

Or - well. Sam has no fitting explanation for the or. 

He pockets the necklace, not really thinking too much for now about whether it'll be a good idea to return it to Deanna or not. That weird feeling spreads through his gut.

It gets worse still when Sam's reaches into the envelope again; when his fingers brush something else. The small lock of hair is held together by a rubber band. Hair. Blonde hair.

It could, Sam thinks, as that feeling climbs his spine, be Mom's - some couples keep each other’s hair, right? That's a thing, right? - but Sam somehow knows that it isn’t. That this lock of hair belongs - or belonged - to Deanna.

He drops it straight back into the envelope.

There's a part of Sam that wants to put the damn thing away now. Put everything he’s seen so far up to more shit you don't understand, to another thing he couldn't possibly have really seen. Because this - none of this - there’s no explanation Sam can live with that makes sense. And with that in mind - he should stop digging around in Dad’s shit right now.

But there's a bigger part of Sam that feels differently. And that part takes over before he can think too much about what he's doing.

Sam's fingers are shaking a little as he takes out the Polaroids. He pushes them together like a deck of cards, and starts to look through.

He half-expects to see pictures of Deanna as a kid, like with his envelope; pictures of her on swings, at diners, with her arms around Sam. But there aren't any; most of them seem to be of her as an adult, or at least as an older teenager. Sam can't pinpoint it exactly, because the photos aren't dated like the others - and unlike the others, in most of them, Deanna isn't smiling or posing. There's one of her working on the Impala at the side of a dirt road, bent over the hood in those tiny denim shorts she only dons in 100 degree weather, the look of focus on her face suggesting she didn't know the photo was being taken. There's one of her at night in a parking lot of some kind, a hand in her shirt pocket, her irises red in the flash, a confused look on her face. Another of her from the back; standing up a bar, her hair glowing under the low lights, flanked by two men on stools. They’re both looking at her, Sam notices. Then again, Deanna can't go anywhere without men looking at her.

It brings another memory back to Sam, as he stares dumbly at that photo. They'd just finished up a job, a black dog maybe, somewhere in Arizona; and Dad had taken them out to a bar kinda like the one in the picture, dank and yeasty, the kind of bars they only ever went to, really. Sam was bored and miserable, twirling the straw around in the diet coke he’d been nursing since they got there, while Dad and Deanna proceeded to get wicked, wicked drunk. 

They told Sam - but mostly each other - the story of how they wasted the thing, because Sam, as usual, wasn’t allowed to join for the actual hunt part. The details kept getting more and more elaborate, Deanna’s voice rising with excitement; that manic hint to her laugh growing, the more wasted she got. And Dad's smile was warming up and up, his eyes lingering on her for longer and longer periods, shining with the pride he rarely offered verbally. A part of Sam hoped Deanna saw that, at least.

When Deanna went up to the bar to get in the fifth or sixth round - Sam would lose count as quickly as they would - Dad's eyes followed her. His apparent good mood saw an interruption, as he shook his head. 

See that bartender? he’d said, without looking at Sam. Gives me the creeps, the way these horndogs look at your sister. Who the fuck does that guy think he is.

Dad often complained about the way men acted around Deanna. Sam just shrugged. I’m sure she can handle herself, Dad.

Not the point, Dad muttered. Locking eyes with him, finally. Hey Sammy, listen. When I'm not around, you need to start lookin' out for your sister. If you see what I mean.

Sam didn't see what he meant. Dad had this way of speaking in riddles, or at least they were riddles to Sam. He shrugged again, didn't say anything. Giving Dad a cue to fucking elaborate.

Dad huffed. Problem is, Dee's a looker. A real looker, just like her mother. 

Sam stayed quiet. Wasn’t sure what he was meant to say to that.

Dad narrowed his eyes. You ever see anyone gettin' too close to her, you come and tell me right away, alright?

Sam nodded. Felt easier. Wasn’t too sure what else to do.

And Dad had pressed his beer to his lips and kept on watching Deanna up at the bar. Didn't seem to blink as he gulped his drink down, placed the bottle back on the table. And Sam watched Dad watching Deanna, saw the line of his gaze moving up and down her body, from her big boots all the way up to the neckline of her crop top; and Sam thought to himself, at that, that the way Dad looked at Deanna wasn’t all that different than any other guy did. The horndogs. It wasn't a welcome thought; but it sure as hell crossed Sam's mind anyway.

And Sam dismissed it just as quickly as it had come. It wasn't a thought he could keep around, not beyond that mere split second. Not when he had to be wrong.

Sam stares into the envelope. He decides, with his pulse in his ears, that he doesn't want to see any more of these weird Polaroids. Any more erratic angles; any more of Deanna apparently not even knowing she’s having her picture taken.

He puts them back in the envelope. And now, it’s really about time that Sam left it there; about time he accepted, willingly, that whatever Dad and Deanna had going on, he is, was and always will be, outside of it. That it's not at all - nowhere in the ball park of - what it looks like. 

What it sometimes kind of felt like. What it kind of feels like now. 

Sure, Dad was never winning any parenting awards; on a good day, or maybe a bad one depending on how you looked at it, he'd admit it himself. But - this...

Yeah, Sam could really leave it there. Put the envelope back in the box, salvage the nice photos, and burn everything else. But there’s still that other envelope. The smaller one.

His fingers close around it. He watches his hand take it out. Watches, watches himself.

Sam can see why it’s folded now. It’s perfectly Polaroid shaped. 

On the front, Dad’s handwriting: Summer 2002. The year after Sam left, he registers, somewhere in the back of his mind.

He starts unfolding. Watching, watching himself.

The first Polaroid is on another dirt road. Deanna’s sitting on the hood of the Impala, sunglasses balanced on her head. The wind is blowing her hair around. She’s holding a bottle of Jack in one hand, and there’s a cigarette dangling between her fingers on the other. Sam has never seen Deanna smoke.

The next photo, she’s still on the hood. She’s got a leg cocked up beneath her, a hand tangled up in her hair. Bottle of Jack posed between her legs. She’s pouting. She looks kind of ridiculous; and something in her expression belies that she knows it.

In the next photo, Deanna’s sitting upright on the hood again, laughing hysterically. It’s funny, how Sam can hear Dad laughing too, laughing from behind that damn camera. Laughing like he never did, not since all those years ago. Laughing at his daughter - sitting, posing like that.

Sam keeps going. Keeps looking.

Deanna and Dad are both in the next photo. Sam can see the length of Deanna’s arm; she’s angling the camera down at their faces. Dad’s got his eyes closed tight, his lips pressed against her cheek. There’s the biggest grin on Deanna’s flushed face.

Sam’s gut feels weightier, weightier.

In the next picture, Dad’s mouth is on Deanna’s neck. 

Deanna’s grin is gone; her mouth’s drooping open a little. Sam can see the whites of her closed eyes.

Weightier. Weightier.

He keeps looking.

The next Polaroid seems to have been taken in a motel room. Kinda nicer than their usual fare; Sam can tell that by the velvet headboard topping the bed, the matching gray curtains behind Deanna where she stands. She’s holding a rifle, a big one; it’s covering half of her face. 

It’s not covering it enough for Sam to miss the way her eyes smoulder at the camera this time, in this way that looks practised, intentional. She’s not joking this time. Not laughing at herself anymore.

She’s wearing a t-shirt that just skims the midst of her hips. Sam can see the strip of pale pink panties underneath. Did Dad - like her that way? Did he enjoy seeing Deanna handling weapons - and not just because he was impressed with her prowess?

God. God.

The next Polaroid is even worse. 

Deanna’s kneeling on the bed, in front of that headboard, her thighs parted. And oh, Sam can see her panties again alright; he can see her stomach too, her bare waist. The outline of her tits, suggestive; covered by Deanna's hands. Deanna's hands, on Dad's leather jacket, the only other piece of clothing she has on.

No, not the only other piece; Sam can just about see the black lace around the tops of her thighs. Stockings.

Her hair is in a cascade down her shoulders. She’s half-smiling, half biting her lip.

No.

Next photograph; and Dad’s jacket hangs loosely on Deanna’s body now. Her tits are bare.

She’s in the same pose; only now, with her head tilted a little back. Her eyes closed again, like in the last picture. Mouth slack; and there’s a hand on her face. A hand with scar tissue, house fire burns; a wedding band glinting on the ring finger. A hand Sam would know anywhere. 

The photograph blurs before his eyes. His tears are different now; born of an emotion he can’t identify. Nothing like his earlier grief.

Sam shoves the photos back into the envelope. The envelope back into the box; slams it closed. His hands curl into fists. He can’t catch his breath.

He shuts his eyes. Acid lurches up from his stomach, hits out at the back of his throat. His limbs feel weak. It takes every last ounce of control inside him not to slump off the hood, fall to his knees, and violently puke.

Sam doesn’t know how long he sits there, on that hood. All he knows is that despite the falling dusk, the cold winding through the fibres of his clothes, the teeth he can vaguely feel starting to chatter, he can’t move.

Because the thing is - he didn’t want to know. Sam never, ever, wanted to know.

You can explain things away; but you can never, ever forget them.

He should’ve expected that Bobby would come out looking for him eventually. 

Bobby approaches John’s truck slowly, the way he always seems to kind of tiptoe around Sam these days. “You been out here for hours, kid."

Sam eyes the floor. All he can think to say is, “Where’s Deanna?”

Bobby leaves a pause. Then, “She’s sleepin’. Figured we should let her get her rest. She ain’t been doin’ much of that.”

It’s true. She hasn’t. Nor has Sam. None of them have.

“Gettin’ a little worried about her,” Bobby admits, after another of those pauses. “She’s takin’ this hard. She was crazy about her Daddy.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. Bobby must notice; he must, because the silence just feels awkward now. And Sam doesn’t mean to be cold; he really doesn’t. He’s just numb.

“You got everything you need from John’s truck?” Bobby asks, eventually.

Sam nods. He can’t speak.

“All good for me to junk it?"

Another nod. Yes. Crush it to pieces with every last little fucking piece of him inside.

Sam already put John’s duffel back in the trunk. His box, its photos, its necklace, its hair, along with it.

Bobby nods too. “Alright. Now get your ass inside before you freeze to death.”

Sam could. It’s very, very cold out here.

He lets Bobby walk up the path in front of him. Lagging behind, Sam slides a finger under the elastic of the bracelet on his wrist. He tugs on it until it snaps; hearing the beads scatter their pieces across the floor isn’t much, but it’s something.

#asks #anon #johndeanna #my writing #prompt #i got carried away and this ended up not being quick lmao #tw implied addiction #tw incest #tw implied mental illness #always female dean

[ejzah]

heyy, I just wanted to say that I love your work and wanted to ask if you can write a story where Kensi is pregnant and Deeks and her haven’t told the team yet, but then Kensi gets in trouble (kidnapped or something) and in all the panic Deeks tells the team they’re having a baby and then of course they find her and everyone is happy!

(post season 14)

A/N: Thanks, anon! That’s so kind of you.

***

Collateral Damage

“What do you think? Can you tell that I’m 13 weeks pregnant?”

Deeks tilted his head, considering her outfit since she’d asked. She lifted her arms, turning in a slow circle. Her shirt was slightly looser than typical, but otherwise, Deeks didn’t see any obvious signs.

Of course, there were the little things. Like the actual glow to her cheeks, or the way she occasionally placed her hand on her stomach without realizing.

“Nope. You’re good,” he confirmed.

“Great.” Kensi sighed, slipping on a pair of shoes.

“You know somebody’s going to figure it out pretty soon though, right?”

“Deeks, we agreed—”

“I know,” Deeks assured her, gently cupping her shoulders. “I want to keep this just between our family for a while too. But let’s face it; we work with a bunch of investigative experts. On top of that, Sam has two kids. Somebody’s bound to pick up on your sudden disdain for anything with corn.”

“You’re right.” Kensi sighed, this time regret in the sound. “I just wanted this to be ours without worrying about other people’s opinions. “It’s been so nice. Just the two of us. Well, four.” She laughed soft, and pressed her forehead against Deeks’. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And it’s going to be fine.”

***

“So Johnson isn’t talking?” Callen asked, and Deeks shook his head.

“Nope. Sam even glared at him for a full minute. I threw a lot of legal jargon at him. He’s not biting,” Deeks said.

“He seemed smug,” Sam added.

“Did Fatima and Kensi get anywhere?” Resting his hand on the back of his desk chair, Deeks nodded at Rountree.

“I haven’t heard from them yet,” Rountree answered.

In lieu of their usual pairings, Deeks and Sam had been sent to retrieve the suspect in a murder, while Fatima and Kensi went to interview the dead man’s wife. Deeks couldn’t deny that he as somewhat relieved at Kensi being out of the direct line of fire. He knew she could still take care of herself, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

“Ok, check in with them when we’re done here,” Called decided. “If a Johnson isn’t giving us anything, we’ll need to find something on him that’ll give him some inspiration.”

“I’ll start digging—” Rountree started to say, then interrupted himself, raising a finger. “Incoming call from Fatima. Hey, what’s up—woah, woah, slowly down! What happened?”

Deeks leaned forward, his stomach clenching at Rountree’s tone.

“Devin, what’s going on?” Sam asked, but Rountree held up his hand, putting his head down as he listened. “No, it’s ok. It’s not your fault. I’m gonna call LAPD right now.”

“Rountree,” Callen prompted as he ended the call. Licking his lips, Rountree’s gaze flickered between them, lingering on Deeks for a few extra seconds.

“Kensi and Fatima were mid-way through their interview when Kensi heard a noise. The wife insisted it was nothing. Kensi went to investigate anyway and someone opened fire. Fatima says there were at least three armed men.” His eyes flicked to Deeks again. “They took Kensi.”

Deeks vision swam, and for a second, it felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and his knees started to buckle. Kensi needed him. He shook off the disorientation, anger filling him along with the desperate need to destroy something.

“Deeks, you ok?” Sam asked softly, but Deeks ignored him, focusing on Rountree. If he focused on getting Kensi back, he would be ok.

“When did it happen? Did Fatima see who took her?”

“A couple minutes before she called. And she said they were masked. I’m sorry, Deeks.”

“It’s not your fault,” Deeks murmured, echoing Rountree’s own reassurance. He dragged a hand through his hair, desperately trying to keep his mind from spiraling, yet all he could think of was Kensi dead somewhere. And the twins—

“Deeks, we’re going to find here,” Sam assured him. “We always do.”

“Then why are still standing around talking? We need to get out there before they get too far,” Deeks said, spinning around with the intent of heading for the armory.

“Hey, Deeks, we’ve been here before, and rushing in never works,” Callen warned him, putting a hand on Deeks’ shoulder.

He shook it off, more aggressively than he normally would. “It’s not just about Kensi,” he snapped.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, suspicion in his voice, and some of Deeks’ anger dissipated, replaced by fear again, and grief.

“She’s pregnant,” he whispered. “Kensi’s pregnant.”

***

A/N: I hope that was suitably angsty and dramatic. Part two to follow.

Thanks for the prompt!

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #drama #angst #worried Deeks #kidnapped Kensi #Sam and Callen #Rountree #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction

[looptroupe]

At the end of part 6 Lupin got VERY close to killing Goemon

What if Jigen didnt shoot the gun out of his hand on time

I need to preface this with the simple fact that I LOATHE part 6. I’ve tried and tried and tried to love it, and it’s… complicated. There are sparks of greatness there, there really are! And I’m a Brit, so seeing Lupin & co cruise through London? Yeah. That’s pretty cool. Or, yknow, it would have been, if the backgrounds weren’t descaled stock images. That said, I’ll try my best just for you anon. 🫡

I’d like to think that ‘sleeper agent Lupin’ has a little more control over himself than is shown. I can’t find it in me (in good faith) to genuinely believe that he would ever, under almost any circumstance, hurt any of the gang. He’s in there somewhere, and we know that Lupin can do incredible things when he puts his mind to it. That said, if he had hit Goemon…

Jigen would never forgive himself, I don’t think. Not quick enough, not smart enough, not sharp enough… he strikes me as the kind of man to stew quietly on a mistake like that. He’s not gonna voice how he’s feeling to anyone, but the others can feel it in the way he’s taken to drawing his gun that little bit quicker. He doesn’t hesitate anymore, maybe they leave heists with a few more bodies littering the ground. He’s certainly much less considerate for a while. There isn’t space for compassion if his companions could get hurt. He comes off as more violent, when really, he’s just more high-strung. He needs time to relax into their rhythm again and things will even out, but for now, he isn’t taking any chances. Especially not when he could have the weight of someone’s life on his shoulders.

When Lupin comes around, he’s terrified. Naturally, he masks this fear with his usual blasé attitude, but to those that know him, he might as well be biting his nails. Goemon is his friend. One of his closest, dearest, friends. And to Lupin, no treasure is more important. The people he keeps close are there for a reason— he loves them, he loves their company, they’re important to him— and so, knowing that he could have seriously injured (or, God forbid, killed) one of them? He feels cold to the core. His first instinct is anger. Anger at himself, anger at anyone in his way, anger at whoever orchestrated the whole thing. That anger takes longer to fade than usual. He’s on high-alert in their heists, now, and he’s even more self-critical than usual. He refuses to eat or sleep until his plans are foolproof, he tinkers with gadgets until they’re perfect, he takes far less chances than usual. He reverts back into the Lupin they likely first started working with, and like Jigen, he comes across as far colder. A little more calculating. Certainly a little more manipulative. Though the outside world seems none the wiser, considering he’s just as jovial and entertaining— as far as they can tell— as he usually is.

Goemon… oh, poor Goemon. He’s okay, right? You’re not gonna make me write that he’s dead, right? (Jokes on you, I don’t write much angst. You’re getting alive and well Goemon.) …makes a rather miraculous recovery! (Ha!)

Naturally, this comes with its own issues. He’s totally out of commission for a solid six months, at the very least, and he’s left— to his chagrin— totally at Lupin and Jigen’s mercy. As ruthless as the two of them have become on heists, at home, they’re closer than ever. Jigen dotes on Goemon, and has learned a handful of authentic recipes he might never have picked up otherwise. He’s taken to tending to Zantetsuken, too, even if it’s always under Goemon’s watchful, ever-critical, eye. Lupin, on his part, is still not allowed anywhere near Zantetsuken, though this is more a reflection of his Lupin-isms than it is the whole shooting fiasco, and instead has made it his mission to force Goemon into watching movies with him.

Lupin confides in Goemon about his plans. He checks constantly for a second opinion, and his frantic pantomiming of whatever scheme he’s cooked up this time keeps Goemon mildly entertained. It’s a great comfort to Lupin to have Goemon’s level-headed attitude present around the hideout consistently, and though Goemon has been incredibly critical about the logistics of ‘The Wizard of Oz’, he’s come to find that the Samurai makes a great plot-hole finder. The two of them have taken to blasting popular films on Letterboxd, if only to laugh (or smirk, and insist stubbornly that he isn’t, in Goemon’s case) at the incensed replies they get from die-hard fans.

Fujiko comes and goes, visiting more frequently in the beginning. She often drops little gifts off for Goemon (things she’s picked up in Japan, most likely) and pretends that she has no idea where they came from. As if she’d have the time for all that, anyway. She’s a busy girl, you know? Though, she’d love to know if Goemon enjoyed the konpeitō Jigen found on the hearth. Just because she’s curious.

Zenigata, having witnessed the whole thing, has quietly defended Lupin’s honour. While he certainly can’t say anything publicly, he’s been a forum warrior and a staunch advocate for ‘slimy-and-a-pain-in-the-ass’ Lupin, rather than ‘now-blatantly-evil’ Lupin. Because he might hate Lupin’s guts— or at least pretend to— but deep down, he’s offended at the mere insinuation that Lupin is morally corrupt. They might be opposites, but Zeni can respect Lupin’s unshifting personal morals if nothing else.

#lupin iii #lupin the third #lupin the 3rd #ask box #looptroupe rambles

[mlmxreader]

The New Guy | Steve Murphy x m!reader

Anonymous asked: All this Steve Murphy talk reminded me to request something for him kdfjkdfjsk

Prompts:

"I've got you, don't worry"

"Fuck off, I’m not scared"

Was thinking something along the lines of the reader being a Rookie and working with Javier and Steve and Steve sort of takes him under his wing

summary: you're the new guy, but while everyone else is perfectly fine with you, Steve treats you a little... differently.

tws: swearing, smoking, mentions of gun violence

You were new to the whole DEA thing, transferred after you had finished your qualifications that were apparently needed for you to head to Columbia, you weren't sure why exactly; you had originally planned on getting down there to study ecology and conservation, and still had the qualifications to do it. But the money was better with the DEA, so you took the job, hoping that you could just lounge around in an office all day and maybe wander around to see the wildlife. You figured it would be easy. But then you were tasked to shadow Javier Peña and Steve Murphy.

Javier was nice, a little bit of a flirt and sometimes too much, but he was nice enough; he always brought you coffee when he got some for himself and Steve, even though he didn't have to. He always made sure that whatever snacks he got for stake outs were suitable for your dietary needs, too. He was nice enough, very handsome. Very charming.

Then there was Steve... fuck. Charming, American accent. Blue eyes that made you weak. Kind. More than kind, he always double checked that Javier had gotten your coffee just the way you liked it, always looked at the ingredients on snacks and warned you if they weren't suitable, always found a snake or two to tell you about. Golden hair and blue eyes and he would sit just a little close at the cramped desk, his shoulder against yours as he let his knee press against yours; he would double check your paperwork, he would buy you a packet of cigarettes every time he got himself one. Steve was... Steve was always good to you.

Javier was more than happy to just let you sit in the car whenever they went to deal with the real dangerous shit, but Steve always insisted that you ought to come along.

"He's just a fucking rookie."

"So?" Steve would put a hand on his hip. "If they see him sat there, they're gonna kill him. He's better off with us."

Javier would then insist that you were Steve's responsibility, that he had to keep an eye on you because even though Javier liked you, he wasn't about to keep an eye on a rookie while getting fucking shot at; you didn't blame him, you would have done the same.

So Steve ended up taking you under his wing, he ended up practically looking after you; his ex wife Connie would occasionally pop in and see you on your days off if Steve couldn't get away. She was lovely. She always brought you something to eat even if you could cook for yourself, telling you that really it was no worry, it was no problem - she kept saying that she was actually happy that Steve had taken a shine to you, and she admitted that if she had met you first... she would have, too. Connie was lovely, and you quite often swung by her place unannounced if you ever needed someone to talk to. She was good like that.

You and Steve were doing overtime tonight, flicking through files and newspapers and reports and everything else you could get your hands on, it was just you and Steve at the office though, well, you and Steve and the cleaning staff; he kept stealing glances at you, his breath hitching in his throat each time he looked at you. He kept swallowing thickly, kept shifting in his seat and kept running a hand through his hair like he had something to say but couldn't work up the gall to actually say it.

You nudged his shoulder, clearing his throat as you tossed a file into his lap. "You okay? You're... fidgety."

"I'm fine," Steve told you, although the way that he clenched his jaw said otherwise. "Is Connie gonna swing by yours later?"

"Yeah," you nodded, eyeing him with suspicion for a second. "She's gonna check on my dogs and snakes for me, make sure everything's okay... I owe her so much for doing shit like that... she, uh, she mentioned that she had a date tomorrow night."

"Yeah, some guy she met," he hummed. "He seems alright. He's clean. Attractive."

You froze a little at the last bit. "What do you mean attractive? Like, you'd date him attractive, or he's just... nice looking?"

"I'd date him," Steve admitted, clearing his throat. "That's, uh, that's not uhm... y'know, I'm, well... y'know, but-"

"It's fine," you dared to laugh softly, shaking your head as you lowered your voice a little, a force of habit. "I'm queer, Steve. You're safe with me, I've got you, don't worry."

"Fuck off, I'm not scared," he growled a little, not knowing that the way he said it sent a jolt down your spine, but then he laughed softly. "Sorry... you're new, and I shouldn't."

"Who cares that I'm new?" You scoffed. "Javier treats me like I've been here for years."

"I care," he said softly, slowly. "You're... you're not like anyone else, (y/n)... you're a good man."

You grumbled a little, daring to shift around just enough so that you could rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you let out a yawn. "So, what? You decided to take me under your wing because I'm good?"

"Well... there's other reasons," Steve admitted with a slight shrug, his gaze going to your lips for a second before he cleared his throat and growled softly under his breath. "I really shouldn't... we're... we work together, and you're new here."

"I don't care about that," you told him quietly, shaking your head. "I mean, if I didn't work here... I'd be down, if you were... I'd... I'd wanna be your boyfriend."

His eyes went a little wide as he looked at you for a second, but then he moved so that he could pull you onto his lap, large hands on your face as he pulled you in; it was instinctive more than anything, and he knew he would regret it the second that your lips were on his... but fuck, you felt so good and he couldn't help it when he slipped his tongue between your lips and how the soft moan that left you made his head spin. He would regret kissing you, you were colleagues, but... but he adored you.

He really adored you and when you pulled away, Steve couldn't help but to miss the feeling of your mouth on his; his chest heaving and his breathing ragged as he looked up at you with those baby blues. Shit, he adored you a lot more than he wanted to admit.

"You would?"

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

"Yeah," you nodded, daring to smile at him as you raked a hand through his hair and hummed quietly. "I'd, I'd really like that... if, y'know, if that's what you want, too."

You pulled a cigarette out from your pocket, and let him cup his hands around it while you lit it; he even smiled when you blew a huff of smoke directly into his face.

"What do you say, Murphy?"

"I'd say be a good boyfriend, and give me half of that cigarette," he growled. "And then maybe we can go get coffee."

#mlem writes #steve murphy x you #steve murphy x reader #steve murphy imagine #steve Murphy #narcos x reader #narcos oneshot #narcos imagine #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos

[foxxsnacks]

Daryl Dixon gt/Vore headcanons por favor 🥺🤲

HI HELLO YES IVE BEEN WAITING FOR AN ASK LIKE THIS SO I CAN GO ABSOLUTELY OFF THE RAILS INSANE

I apologize if some of these are ooc. I'm a bit delulu ❤️

He's always very gentle with tinies- even if they're being annoying, he's still very careful and wouldn't intentionally hurt them.

He's very awkward about holding tinies, tho. Sure, he holds them securely with both hands, but he likes to be able to do things with his hands and stay busy. Tinies will usually end up in a shirt pocket, or perched on his shoulder if it's a more calm environment.

He doesn't like tinies climbing around on him, it makes him a bit tense or nervous that they're gonna fall. Being on his shoulder and being stationary there is one thing- trying to climb up the back of his shirt is another.

He'll bring tinies or borrowers any sort of scraps he finds while out on runs. He doesn't really know what'll be useful to them, but if he spots something that he thinks could be useful in smaller hands, he'll grab it anyway.

Now into the vore stuff... *horrible gremlin laughter*

He doesn't strike me as the type to be particularly into mawplay- he's usually a swallow-and-done type of pred. But if his prey wants to linger in his mouth for a bit longer, he'll gladly let them since it gives him a sort of excuse to properly taste them more than he'll usually allow himself to.

He's not an aggressive pred a majority of the time- at least not towards willing prey- but he's not super gentle either. It's not intentional, he just doesn't really realize he can be a slight bit rough at times. If a prey points it out, he'll be more conscious of it and would probably mutter out a quiet apology and not much else.

He really, really loves willing prey. He won't admit it aloud, but he does.

He likes being able to hold someone he cares about close to him- it's one of the few times he's actually able to relax and feel like he's doing a proper job at protecting someone.

His belly is. Super fucking loud. That man has the diet of a rat in a New York dumpster, you can't tell me it's not noisy in there.

His stomach in general is really active no matter what, and might be a bit more slimy than what's normal- again, because of his awful diet.

He tries to hide it but when his stomach is particularly loud he does actually get a bit embarrassed by it. It's not super obvious, he's good at hiding his emotions, but if you know what to look for you can tell he's a bit flustered.

His voice is also very loud from inside. Like. He talks all low and gravelly so from inside his stomach it's super bassy and loud. He probably doesn't even realize how loud it is either until it's pointed out to him. He'll try to keep his voice down afterwards if it's someone he actually likes that's in his stomach, but otherwise he could care less.

At heart he's kind of a caretaker pred. He'll occasionally check in with his prey and press at his belly to see if they're alright and if they need anything. Not constantly, but often enough for it to be obvious that he cares.

He's not super touchy with his middle- at least not in public. If it's the right person, and he's away from prying eyes, however... his hands are practically glued onto his stomach. He doesn't usually rub, but when he does, it's slow and soothing- more for his own comfort than his prey's.

Belly rubs don't tend to do much for him... most of the time. Usually, he'll grumble something appreciative under his breath about it or other. But if it's timed correctly, and he's emotionally primed enough... oh, that man just breaks down. He's not used to being treated with gentle affection, so if it's coming from the right person at the right time he'll cry.

He refuses to eat anything with his prey. Not for any specific reasons, he just feels awkward doing it because he doesn't really see prey as any sort of food, and it feels weird to have them in his stomach while he eats.

Prey can expect to get squeezed a lot if he's in combat. He's got dense core muscle, and he throws himself around pretty violently, so being held tight is probably a good thing anyway. He'll check in with his prey afterwards to make sure they're okay, and maybe mutter a small apology for the 'bumpy ride'.

All of the softer stuff aside tho, he'd also be great for unwilling prey scenarios.

It's most likely that any sort of prey he eats that's unwilling is just being captured and contained temporarily. Be it a stranger he encounters, or someone from an enemy group.

He wouldn't go through with fatal stuff, I don't think, but he'd probably threaten it if the prey has info he needs, or if they're just flat out squirming too much.

He doesn't mind prey moving within him, but if they're outright fighting him he doesn't really like it. It doesn't hurt or feel uncomfortable, it's just hard for him to focus on much when there's some agitated prey thrashing around in his gut- and that can be detrimental in a dangerous situation.

Not surprising but he's very cold towards any sort of captured or enemy prey. He's not cruel, per say, but he's pretty much going to ignore them and just be snippy whenever he does talk to them at all. He won't purposefully pick at them or press at his belly much like that though, he deems it best to just let them sit and stew. If they're panicking, it's not his problem.

...at least, most of the time. If he's got someone who's outright crying and terrified of him he'll soften his approach a bit. Not by a whole lot- they're still a captive, after all- but he might confirm to them that no, they're safe, he's not intending to hurt them.

That's all I've got for right now nonnie!! I'll probably have more thoughts later it's 4am rn and my brain is fried so more asks abt my fav greasy man are more than welcome :)

#asks #foxx answers #vore talk #anonymous #soft vore #safe vore #willing pred #willing prey #unwilling prey #v0re #nonfatal vore #d/aryl d/ixon #he's EVERYTHING to me you dont even KNOW #ive been braining about him so fucking bad

[xadoheandterra]

A little something for Chain On Your Neck. Husk's perspective in this scene. It's not done yet, this is only part of it. The rest is planned to be between Husk and Rosie but the phone call wouldn't get out of my head.

Below cut.

--

“Yeah, no, I’m stuck in Cannibal Town for fuck knows,” Husk grumbled into the phone pressed to his ear. “I won’t be able to stop by and pick it up.” “Well what do you want me to do about it, pussycat?” “Drop it off! What else?” Husk snapped. He glanced around at the wide, smiling faces of the cannibals nearest to him and carefully hunched himself downward. “He ain’t home right now, ya coward.” “But he might be comin’ here.” “Yeah and it’d fuckin’ serve ya right to have him stop by while yer out, Bas’,” Husk agreed with a faint grin. “I mean it’s not like yer hidin’ somethin’, are ya?” He knew precisely what Basil was hiding and exactly how well it would go down if Basil wasn’t there when Alastor found out. “Gale! Pussycats bein’ mean,” Basil yelled. Thankfully the man had pulled the phone away from his face to do it otherwise Husk would have chewed him out double for screeching in his ear. He could faintly hear Gale respond, but the words were garbled from the fact that the signal for this phone was shit in Pentagram City. Husk sure as fuck wasn’t going to get a damn VoxTek phone if he could help it. He’d deal with the shitty reception if it meant keeping a phone that was bug free, and not liable to get Alastor on his case about giving away secrets to the enemy. “Quit yer bitchin’ already,” Husk grumbled and carefully stepped around a group of three cannibals that eyed him. He shuddered heavily and looked away with a grimace. “He’s not gonna head to yer place so quick.” A quieter, softer whisper reached Husk from the phone. Basil was really upset over it all, Husk knew, but he hadn’t expected this response. Still the goat said, “You’re sure?” “Yeah. He was headin’ to the old stompin’ grounds first.” Meaning that Alastor had decided to check on the Radio Tower that was left in disarray before anything else in the territory. Basil and Gale’s little shop was set up in the complete opposite direction, and while Alastor could certainly be there in a snap of his fingers Husk knew the man would rather spend time walking the familiar streets of his territory first. “Ya’ve got time.”

The sound of Basil grinding his teeth was like sweet music to Husk’s ears. He wanted to grin, but the way his fur stood on end and the numerous, hungry stares put a quick stop to any amusement Husk got out of this phone call. A part of him wished he made the call before he reached Cannibal Town, but then that would put him too at risk for someone to run off to the Vee’s with news of Alastor’s potential return. Husk didn’t doubt that the stupid television had his eyes out for when Husk bothered to show his face, given Alastor hadn’t walked around the rest of Pentagram in seven fucking years. “Fine,” Basil grunted out. “Fine. I’ll take the damn box to the house.” Husk breathed a sigh of relief with the agreement. He mumbled, “Great. Perfect. And can ya get Gale to look for Niff too?” “Still haven’t been able to find her?” “Would you be able to find ‘er when she don’t want to be found?” The silence on the other end of the line was telling enough. Basil sighed, tinny and static filled. “I doubt Gale will be able to find her either, you ass.” “He’s better at it,” Husk pointed out. “Done it before.” Gale had done a lot more than that, but Husk didn’t need to say it for Basil to know what he’d meant. Their pasts, and their deaths, were all open to for Husk to know. He massaged between his brows with a grunt. “Just…find her. Before he realizes she’s been missin’.” There was quiet, and then a whispered, “You didn’t tell him?” “It’s Nifty. The fuck you think he would do if I told ‘im?” Alastor would have been beyond infuriated. He would have ripped Husk to shreds if Husk had told him no one and seen or heard from Nifty in almost the full seven years he’d been gone. That Husk didn’t have her phone number or another way to contact her didn’t mean much to Alastor. It was Husk’s job to know where the rest of his precious deck was. Husk was the Joker, and while he could be anything Alastor needed he couldn’t outright replace the rest.

Nifty was his Queen of Spades; his pride and joy so to speak. Husk couldn’t even begin to comprehend the full bond between Alastor and Nifty, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Nifty unnerved him on a good day. Despite it being over thirty years since his Deal, and despite working with Nifty for most of those years, Husk never quite got used to her brand of crazy. He scratched his cheek and huffed. “You made your point,” Basil agreed, voice tight. “So deliver the box. Get Gale on finding Nifty. Got it. Anything else ya bastard?” “Nah,” Husk tilted his gaze toward the sky and came to a slow stop. He could see the bright sign that indicated Rosie’s Emporium in front of him. He’d reach the destination. “I’ll call ya if it changes, though.” “Great. Good. Wonderful. Fuck I am so dead.”

#hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel #fanfic #fic: chain on your neck

[cats-inthe-cradle]

Have even MORE Morro thoughts (srsly I can't get him outta my head helpp)

In my Morro au I think Morro would be very protective of the others. He's like Kai in that he can have a temper especially when it comes to the safety/wellbeing of those he cares about. And like, he's never really lost someone he really cared about before except Wu, and Morro was the one to run away and die. Plus he got Wu back. So while he's probably grieved the loss of his own life to an extent, he's never really grieved someone else. (Except maybe his birth parents? Idk it's hard to say since we don't know anything about how he came to be homeless and alone. And if that was the case he would've been a kid with no one to properly support him so uhh, it probably wasnt very healthy grieving.)

He doesn't want to think about potentially losing any of the others. In his mind it's a distant future possibility at best (he died twice and still came back). Any time they lose one of the others / think one of them has died, he just, doesn't know how to handle it. He'd be in denial, refusing to believe they're truly gone and would get mad at any suggestion otherwise. And he'd work himself ragged trying to make it right. He finally has the family he probably always wanted and he's gonna do everything in his power to keep them in one piece. He dreads the day he loses Wu.

(It's all the others can do to keep him from jumping off the Bounty after Cole in s10. And you know he's devastated when they lose Nya. And would probably get mad at Kai and Jay and Lloyd (am I forgetting anyone else?) for leaving. The only reason he'd leave himself is if he was hunting for a way to bring her back. In which case he'd probably drag one of the others along with him anyways.)

He's also just, protective of them in general (especially Lloyd I think). He WILL try and go after and single handedly fight anyone who hurts his family. (He'd HATE Harumi for what she did to Lloyd. And even if/when she redeems herself(?) he'd give her a LOT of crap n stuff for what she did.)

Honestly he probably has a check list or something of people he needs to go beat up especially after the others start telling him about all their adventures pre Day of the Departed. All the villains start showing up in Crystalized and he is ready to throw hands with every single one of them, even the Overlord and especially Harumi. He threatens Aspheera to no end and hates that they promised to let her go free (and that Lloyd went through with it even as they were all being arrested).

#ninjago #morro ninjago #wu ninjago #cole ninjago #nya ninjago #kai ninjago #lloyd ninjago #harumi ninjago #overlord ninjago #aspheera ninjago #ninjago crystalized #cradle talks #cradle's fics #morro lives au

[evilkitten3]

My friend is getting top surgery next month, I'm very glad that he's getting that weight off his chest. Since you've been through it all ready, could I ask for some advice on supporting him through the recovery process?

absolutely.

make sure he has someone/thing to reach the top shelf. he's not gonna be raising his arms above his shoulders for a while

make sure the pharmacy prescribing the pain meds understands that they're for treating the pain from the surgery, not for gender dysphoria. otherwise they simply will not give you pain meds. they may not even tell you that they have not given you pain meds. i recommend against finding this out the exciting way like i did (side note: surprisingly not that bad most of the time)

if it's the same for him as it was for me, he'll be on a 5 pound weight limit for three weeks, and then a 25 pound limit for another three weeks. this is going to affect more than anyone involved will realize. if he's gonna need to move anything heavy any time soon, he should do that before surgery

i had to switch to tylenol instead of ibuprofen a few weeks pre-surgery bc ibuprofen can increase risk of bleeding. if he's an ibuprofen guy, he may want to grab some tylenol just in case

i've heard different people have different experiences with the drains. for some people, that's the worst part. for me, it was pretty simple (although my mom handled most of the measuring). if you aren't going to be involved with keeping them clear/measuring the goop, try to remember to glance down every now and then just in case a cap was screwed on wrong and too much air got in there. probably not gonna be a medical emergency but you wanna keep an eye on them so they'll do their job.

does he have a ride to and from the hospital? this is a very important question bc if the answer is no, the surgery simply will not happen. they just won't do it.

what i got specifically was a double mastectomy with free nipple grafts. if he's getting the same, i cannot stress enough that the nipples will look weird for a while. this is probably nothing to worry about. they're supposed to do that. if he's still worried, he should check in with the surgeon or another qualified expert, but probably they'll just say "it's ok keep an eye on it and if it hasn't healed in [x amount of time] come back then"

he is going to be constantly reminding that all your bits and pieces are connected to one another. even the bits you aren't thinking about. it's gonna be weird.

if he has a dog, offer to walk the dog for him (or help him find someone else who can do it). dogs do not understand the importance of the surgery recovery process. don't let overly enthusiastic dogs happen to you (or in this case your friend)

get a spare binder. not the chest kind, the abdominal kind. you might wanna wash the first one (this will likely be provided by the hospital) and it's better to have two.

speaking of binders, at some point the bandages will come off. the binder will still be required (or, more accurately, highly recommended). this was, for me, Absolute Sensory Hell. i recommend you make sure he's got a few light, loose shirts he can wear under the binder just in case

this didn't end up being relevant to me, but my surgeon recommended my mom buy some puppy training pads in case of accidents (accidents is a word which usually implies pee, but here means bleeding. sometimes there be blood)

if he has cats, he's gonna need to be careful not to let them step on his chest. cats do not like being told where they can or can't step. i hope he has more willpower than i do

quite likely, he's already aware of a good chunk of this. your first step - and possibly only step - is to ask if there's anything he needs from you. if he's got things under control, have faith in him.

brace yourself for how happy he's gonna be once he sees himself topless after the drains come out and the bandages come off. i was pretty much bouncing over my reflection. the euphoria is real.

#there's also some stuff concerning scar care but uh. let's just say i'm probably not the person you should ask about that #i managed to remember to use the cream for longer than i thought i would tho so that's something #surgery tw #medical stuff #top surgery #trans stuff #i don't know if your friend is someone you live with or if he lives with his parents or alone #for me it was mostly just me and mom for two weeks #and the critters #blood mention #surgical drains #if he lives alone he may want to plan on crashing with someone else for a couple weeks or having someone else crash with him #again there are more things that weigh more than five pounds than you might expect #also taking a shower for the first time post surgery was really nice if a bit awkward #can't think of anything else rn but i'll let you know if i do #best of luck to your friend!

[dreamswapafterdark]

Okay, some of that stuff is great for febwhump and that sounds traumatizing, but also perfect for writing fucked up situations. You can give me any ideas you have, as I'm struggling to figure out what to do for the prompts. I'll send the list and you can just give some ideas, doesn't even need character names, could just be like a and b and then whatever situation. I've currently only got an idea for day 18.

DAY 1: touch starved

DAY 2: flinching

DAY 3: muzzled

DAY 4: knife to the throat

DAY 5: “that’s gonna scar”

DAY 6: secrets revealed

DAY 7: made to watch

DAY 8: panic

DAY 9: voice loss

DAY 10: difficulty breathing

DAY 11: fever

DAY 12: “can you hear me?”

DAY 13: forced to hurt a loved one

DAY 14: captivity

DAY 15: self-sacrifice

DAY 16: semi-conscious

DAY 17: silent tears

DAY 19: “you deserve this”

DAY 20: knife wound

DAY 21: shackled

DAY 22: can’t scream

DAY 23: “you’ll have to go through me”

DAY 24: bloody clothes

DAY 25: assumed dead

DAY 26: forced to choose

DAY 27: survivor’s guilt

DAY 28: “you’re safe now”

ALT 1: rope burns

ALT 2: caged

ALT 3: soft words

ALT 4: experimentation

ALT 5: time loop

ALT 6: limp

ALT 7: immortality

ALT 8: found footage

ALT 9: natural disaster

ALT 10: inferno

*rubs hands together* assume this is all dreamswap cast unless stated otherwise

Also likely have a TUSOUD flavor to them but you can remove it if you like

Day 1: touch starved - Error is in the meme squad house and still a little icky on touch with the other two. Cross is a new addition to the place and doesn't quite know about the touch stuff. (Alt 1: rope burns - Angel getting his hands on Nightmare, having his fun with him all the while throwing insults at him and his body)

Day 2: flinching - Finch having an extra bad reaction to Nightmare's tendrils (Alt 2: caged - Nightmare getting stuck in a cell before he meets his friends and realizes.. crap, he is stuck. Freak out ensue :3)

Day 3: muzzled - Chris feeling unable to reach out to others and thus doesn't tell anyone about his struggles. Could end in many ways~ (Alt 3: Soft words - probably this but like. someone helps him.)

Day 4: knife to the throat - Blue's done a bad to Error and Error is finally done with his shit. (Alt 4: Experimentation - you know the thing with Night being in constant pain if someone attempted to radiantise him? Yeaaaaaah...)

Day 5: "that's gonna scar" - Error hurting himself and Blue taking care of his wounds, but continuing to terribly try and manipulate Error during it.

Day 6: secrets revealed - so imagine Nightmare never stopped self harming. Now imagine Angel hurting Nightmare more and trying to rape him on the battle field, thankfully being stopped by the others, but not before Nightmare's thighs are basically shown for all to see. Yeaaaaaahhh...

Day 7: made to watch - either Dream or Angel raping Nightmare and unfortunately, Error and Cross is in the same room but cannot do a thing. (Alt 7: immortality - Nightmare is immortal, which means that his friends will die before he ever will.)

Day 8: panic - I mean idfk maybe use the situation of my panic attack when mxrtified blocked me to do this. maybe edward gets blocked by barry for whatever reason and shit starts to spiral. a good song to listen to is "panic attack" by insane clown posse

Day 9 - 11: voice loss; difficulty breathing; fever - allergic reaction?

Day 12: “can you hear me?” - Nightmare got really badly hurt during a fight (perhaps hitting the ground in that fight at the tree and Cross is forced to take him away to the omega timeline)

Day 13: forced to hurt a loved one - Reverie and Neil end up finding Terror in the red rock AU (fun fact that AU they found themselves in before they were found by the meme squad + night and glitch is actually based on a real place, aka Sedona Arizona). While Reverie is trying to use his bow to hit Terror, Neil gets shot thanks to the goop bitchass.

Day 14: captivity - Broken Family!JMV Jade is in the rehab alongside Obsidian. He's trying to keep Obsidian in check because there is little chance his family (zircon, jasper, silver and koroit; oh yeah uh they're obsidian and jade's kids in broken family au) will stand a chance against the entirety of Justice Reigns. Inside, a random doctor (it could be an oc of mines, or an oc of yours!) notices over the course of a few days how Jade reacts, and kindly says to him "oh sweetie, you don't belong here in this rehab."

Day 15: self-sacrifice - Night taking a fatal blow for Reverie.

Day 16: semi-conscious & day 17: silent tears - tbh i dunno

Day 19: “you deserve this” - Dream finding out about Nightmare's self harm much sooner and telling this to him.

Day 20: knife wound - Nightmare wants to die, but he's tired of letting Dream ruin his life. Now he wants to ruin Dream's, in a more permanent way. (Specifically without Error and Cross being Dream's friends)

Day 21: shackled - Nightmare hurting himself after an extended stint in jail where he can't escape.

Day 22: can’t scream - Blue raping Error.

Day 23: “you’ll have to go through me” - Cross defending Nightmare from Dream.

Day 24: bloody clothes - Dream comes back from a rough fight from Terror. Maybe some Ink x Dream?

Day 25: assumed dead - Kevin dies, but with this, Nightmare is now thought to be dead due to Kevin's negative aura disappearing.

Day 26: forced to choose - Terror capturing both Night and Neil and Reverie is forced to choose whether Neil or Night dies.

Day 27: survivor’s guilt - Nightmare and Error die, and Cross has to deal with the fact he lost his loved ones once again.

Day 28: “you’re safe now” - Error encountering Blue for the first time and being brought to his house.

Hope you like all of these <3

#blethering #cw #tw #nsft #ask #anon ask

[seven--secrets]

slimibi but at what cost || yuuto || trial 4.1 || re: riley, shigure

For all that it’s worth, he still feels like he’s coming off of something, voices murmuring in the back of his head that he was right, something had finally happened, hadn’t it? Why aren’t you as surprised as you should be? You expected this, didn’t you? And stepping into the trial grounds made him more aware of that than ever.

He’s duly reminded of what had happened the last time they were all here, the results having knocked him breathless. Who would it be next this time? 

In spite of that though, Kaz’s state doesn’t slip past his concern, the other now looking even more exhausted than the last time he had properly checked on him. And not to mention, Riley’s look doesn’t pass him by either, her motive clear as she gestures her head towards Kanna’s direction.

… Maybe if necessary, he’ll take that suggestion later, assuming it's needed. But not right now. At least, before he manages to compose himself and get a feel for the room first. He’s preparing himself for the worst, as he subtly taps his fingers onto the edge of the table to keep himself grounded. Oh, alibis, huh?

“Before uh… last time here, Wakaru-kun wanted to make some slime for Fuyubi-san in the laundry room. Of course, that never happened, but it just crossed my mind again this morning and I wanted to do something for them both. So I got Kanna’s help when I woke up at 5.”

Why he had to come busting down her tent door at 5AM of all times remains to be unknown. Sorry Kanna.

“We separated to grab some supplies, and after that I headed to the kitchen. On my way there, Yamashita-san came out of the communal bathroom and we headed there together. From what they were doing, they seemed to be baking sugar cookies? I ended up grabbing some breakfast too, and by the time I left at 6, Yamashita-san was still there.

Everything Kanna says from 6 on relatively adds up for me. There was ah… There was a lot. Of slime. We kinda made a mess. I told her to go on without me first since technically I was the one who asked for her help. Otherwise I just cleaned up on my own and made it to the utility closet at around 9. We stayed there until 10 for the most part."

… To be honest, cleaning is a bit of an overstatement. He’d intended to stop by to double check and clean up once more afterwards but… that would probably have to wait until after all this. Awkwardly, he picks at another piece of glittery slime from his hair, hidden somewhere near the base of his neck, before he continues.

“I should probably mention that Sibyl-san had already left the tent when I woke up, but she was asleep when I went to bed at 12. Sugimoto-san was also with us in the utility closet spending time with Statlender-san.”

Which then brings up the elephant in the room in regards to motives. His brow furrows as people bring up their separate accounts, fighting the urge to fidget even more in his seat. His hands feel restless, and he continuously begins to reshuffle the papers and pens on his table. 

“I think a majority of us were affected by at least… something. Guess it wasn’t just me either. For me, I felt a bit more sensitive? I couldn’t help but feel like something was coming, or someone was gonna…”

His voice trails, but it explains some of his actions in other individual conversations. One moment he’d stand about listlessly in a daze, and the next he was dropping all of his belongings like he’d seen a ghost if someone surprised him. Don’t enter a tent alone with someone, even if it’s a trusted individual. You never know what’s going to happen. And even if you’re reorganizing your tent for the nth time, make sure to do it outside of your tent, so there’s other people to watch you.

He had reigned in those thoughts and assumed it was just him, but now with these accounts, he supposes now it wasn’t just thoughts. How unsettling. He swallows.

“Besides that, do you mind if I bring up the glass shards near the cabinet for a bit? I think that might’ve come from a glass in the kitchen. I’m not sure when it was taken though, since I didn’t notice anything was missing or not when I came in around 5. If anyone else was in the kitchen before then, did you notice anything?”

#yuuto #chapter 4 #trial 4 #submission

[wonlouvre]

hello!! can i request a fwb!wonwoo + angst to fluff 🥺 thank u

start | j. ww.

pairing: race car driver wonwoo x g.n. reader genre: fluff, angst if you squint, also 18+ (some sexual themes, mentions) warnings: couple’s arrangement is FWB, but nothing explicit, accident, injury mentions of sex (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.5k+ (i have no regrets)

💌: hi anon! thank you so much for requesting <3 this is not as explicitly fwb and angsty and i’m so sorry :((( i hope you still like it tho! i actually thought of developing this into a oneshot someday-ish. who knows? tell me what you think!

It’s no secret that you frequent Jeon Wonwoo’s office a lot. It’s also no secret that something bloomed the first time you introduced yourself to him after he won the race hosted by his very own racing track. You’re interested in cars as much as you are interested in the youngest owner of the most coveted luxurious cars in the world. You own yourself a few. Some you have purchased from him and some he has given himself for free in exchange for the special arrangement that the two of you have.

The attraction was quick but it took quite a while for the two of you to give in. Being professional business partners and all. But along the way, the two of you reached an agreement. An agreement that you thought would only last for about two months tops and yet here you are, eight months later, still running to his arms. You know Wonwoo is no different. 

“Hi Woozi. How’s my favorite racer doing?” You greet Wonwoo’s friend lounging outside the closed doors of the office you’re supposed to be visiting.

“If you’re here to visit your man, there’s a line,” Woozi deadpans as he boringly flips through the magazine with his fingers. “I’m supposed to be practicing with Wonwoo right now but he seems to be caught with something, someone that isn’t you.”

You didn’t fail to catch Woozi’s disdain and that only makes you giggle. You sit on the opposite side of the center table, placing your Prada purse beside your hip as you cross your legs. You feign ignorance on his “your man” remark but the term “someone” fuels your jealousy. Of course, you will never admit that to him. 

“It’s an admirer,” you say and grab yourself a magazine to skim through. Might as well entertain yourself if you’re indeed going to wait. It’s unbelievable. You keep in mind to avenge your wasted time in the bedroom with Wonwoo. “Been doing a lot of visiting on behalf of they’re old father who has no single interest in race cars.” 

Woozi frowns at the information. “How do you know that?”

You look up from the latest issue of racer weekly and blink up at him before pursing your lips. “I saw their car parked in my supposed parking spot. Plus, they send an awful lot of gifts that Wonwoo just gives away to his staff. Gifts are a normal exchange between potential business partners, but it’s not when said business partner always leaves love notes.”

“And, you’re not bothered at all?” Woozi finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask. 

You smirk and return the magazine to the table. Then, you pick your bag up as you stand to your feet. “Of course I am bothered. I could be with Wonwoo right now, at this moment, but they’re holding me up and I don’t like that.”

You fix your hair and skirt before strutting to the huge doors and opening them without knocking. Wonwoo is not surprised to see you but you can tell he’s relieved with the way he’s smiling at you. On the other hand, his visitor doesn’t appreciate you barging in like that. They’re resentment is pretty obvious with how they’re glaring at you. 

But it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter as you walk to the man you’re here for. 

“Woozi is waiting for you,” you cheekily say before rounding straight to his executive table to give his cheek a smooch, your red lipstick leaving a mark. You gingerly wipe it with your thumb while he just keeps smiling, looking up to you. “I wanted to stop by to invite you for lunch, but it looks like you’re busy.”

Wonwoo shakes his head and holds your hip and stands up from his chair. “No, I’m good. They’re just about to leave.”

The other person in the room panics. “But I wasn’t done explaining—.”

“My team will review your proposal and we’ll get back to you if they deem it beneficial for our company,” Wonwoo bids farewell and holds your hand to his. “My assistant will escort you outside. Thank you for your time.”

Wonwoo didn’t give them the chance to say anything else because he’s already leading you outside to meet Woozi who’s been waiting for him. You also didn’t have the chance to say your goodbyes to them because the toned arm around your waist and deep voice against your ear is enough to distract you. 

“They were cute,” you make a point to mention the culprit behind your stolen parking spot when you finally get the chance to sit down at Wonwoo’s favorite restaurant. “I think this is the third time I saw them at your office this week.”

Wonwoo gives your orders to the waiter without the need to ask what you fancy because he already knows. When the order is set, he returns his attention to you and flashes his signature smile that makes your legs grow weak. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No, no,” you’re quick to answer before sipping on the lukewarm water you requested. “Just annoyed that during the three times I saw them, they have also taken it upon themselves to just park at my spot.” 

Wonwoo chuckles and opens his palms on the table, seeking your hand to hold halfway. You roll your eyes, but you don’t hesitate to grant him access to your ring clad hand (the ring was a gift from him and you haven’t taken it off ever since you received it). His phone suddenly dings! and you know it’s Woozi grilling him for not keeping to his end and practicing with him. 

You let Wonwoo cater to his friend’s needs all the while letting his other hand caress yours, his fingers digging on the silver band once in a while. Your heart and mind can’t help but get confused about where you stand with him because of gestures like this. 

At some point, you’re supposed to end this, right? Whatever this may be. But the real question is, do you want to end this with Wonwoo? This happiness, this warmth, this comfort, this lov—.

You step on the brakes before you could continue and blink away the daze you were stuck on for a moment. Wonwoo must have noticed you flinch because he drops his phone back on the table, eyes full of concern directed towards you.

“Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “Never better.”

It’s not less than three days later when you receive a call from Wonwoo’s assistant, voice frantically shaking as they inform you about what happened. 

To your horror, Wonwoo got injured in an accident while performing practice laps with his friends. 

You own race cars but you never thought you would be driving one beyond your usual speed limit because the stupid boy you’re in love with got in an accident. There, you admit it. You’re in love with Jeon Wonwoo not only because of his stroke game, abs, broad shoulders and deep voice among many perfect features of his.

You’re in love with him because he makes today's you look forward to tomorrow’s him. 

You try to calm your heart that’s been beating so fast because of the adrenaline and anger that’s coursing through your blood right now. Wonwoo better make sure he’s not badly injured, otherwise you would throw your hands at him yourself. 

A cut on his forehead, lips and nose. 

And a dislocated shoulder as cherry on top. 

You couldn’t mask your disappointment when you saw Wonwoo getting checked on for the last time by the doctor in charge. You grimace when you hear him groan as they place the sling on him. What do you even do with this boy?

When everyone else is gone and it’s only the two of you left, your disappointment and anger vanishes the moment he calls you.

“Hi baby.”

Your tense shoulder loosens and your legs quickly run towards him (carefully). 

“I hope you know that I hate you right now,” you say without meaning them anyway. 

Wonwoo has the energy to giggle and tug at your hand to sit beside him. He leans his head near your chest, a habit he’s been doing whenever he wants you to coddle him. Carefully and gently, you hold his head and caress his greasy locks. You’re sure it’s going to be a struggle to help him shower in the coming days. 

“Did you see your parking spot?” Wonwoo suddenly mumbles. 

“Why are you bringing that up now?” You frown. 

“I put your plate number on the wall so that no one can take the spot.” 

“Wonwoo!” 

“Baby,” he whines. “Not so loud.”

“Why would you do that?” You hiss. 

“Because I love you?” Wonwoo answers, his soft kitten eyes gazing up at you. 

You gulp and look away, trying not to smile at what he just said. 

“I was supposed to make a romantic confession over the weekend,” Wonwoo says, making you look back at him. “We’re gonna have to postpone, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his smiling ones. “But, I love you too.”

“Does that mean you’ll be staying over my place until this shoulder is back to normal?” Wonwoo pleads, lips moving against yours. 

Your eyes glimmer with mischief. “Yes and that also means no sex until then.”

“Wait, what? No!”

There’s still a lot of talking to do and a lot of changes to happen. But for now, you’re just glad that today’s Wonwoo is alright. 

#seventeen #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen drabbles #wonwoo drabbles #wonwoo drabble #seventeen drabble #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagine #seventeen imagine #wonwoo fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #drabble: adore u #drabble: start

[hqcult]

EYELINER ## suna rintarou

trying to apply his eyeliner would've been easy if only rintarou can keep his hands to himself.

. tw smut, dom suna, established relationship, fingering, oral f receiving, edging, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, mind break, unprotected sex, pwp . wc 4k

"ugh, he's gonna do it again." you mutter, eyeing suna's hand as it skims around your vanity desk for his favorite brand of eyeliner. for some reason everybody naturally finds themself drawn to suna rintarou, even if he was always so stoic and detached. 

you hate how girls would flock around him in parties as they stare at his kohl-lined eyes or at the painted black nail polish whenever you disappear to get a drink, knowing full well what kind of thoughts are running in their heads because you, for sure, thought of him the same way. alright. we get it. your boyfriend can be a hot mofo if he wants to be and his idgaf attitude just adds to the whole appeal.

we get it.

because you love him more than the stars in the galaxy combined, sometimes you can't help but feel jealous when people get too close to him. you really didn't want to be that type of girlfriend but sometimes you just like the assurance that he's all yours and nothing's wrong about that, right? plus, suna seems to exceptionally love when he gets you jealous and feral. he may always pretend otherwise but he loves staking his claim on you just as much as you liked being claimed by him. 

"are you done yet?" you say, staring at him from your bedroom door frame. 

atsumu was throwing a party tonight and you were all dressed up and ready to go, just patiently waiting for your boyfriend. 

suna replies a beat later, not bothering to meet your eyes. "just a minute."

you just want his attention all on you. you don't even want to go to this stupid party and see all these people shamelessly flirting with him even if you were right there by his side. you just want to have some alone time with suna rintarou. 

and you may or may not have just come up with an idea to make that happen.

"where's the eyeliner? the one i always use?"

"it's not there? i know i left it there. wait, let me look." 

you straighten up, walking towards him in your red leather mini skirt that can make any man's eyes sliver down to your ass. 

suna is sitting on your swivel chair, leaning back in a man spread as he clicks his tongue impatiently. he looks good even in a plain shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, his athletic and tall build enough to make any outfit look good.

"are you sure it's not in the drawers?"

"yes, i already checked."

you pout, making a show of muttering "i swore i threw it in here," under your breath as you maneuver around his spread legs to stand in between them, bending forward as you rummage around where he's already looked twice. 

you know he's staring at your ass. suna was never lowkey with how much he loves you in this leather mini-skirt. it's a miracle he hasn't landed a rough spank yet after getting a face full view of your ass. 

"wait a minute, maybe it rolled under my vanity."

so you get down on your knees, making sure your butt grazes the front of his jeans and just like you predicted, suna was half-hard already. 

it was truly such a stroke to your ego but you focus on the task at hand. 

you arched your ass up as you bend down to look for the little tube of eyeliner, slightly shaking it side to side as you "struggle" to get the eyeliner out from underneath the table. 

when your hands feel the cylindrical plastic, you retreat, sitting up straight again and proudly showing your boyfriend the eyeliner in your hands. 

you made sure your eyes were as huge and innocent as they look, kneeling in between his legs, shins tucked in and hands in your lap like a good girl. 

"i found it!"

you could've sworn you've seen his left eye twitch as he stared you down. you've been with him long enough to notice that look in his eyes. what are you playing at, huh?

you wait for him to speak but you can see all the gears turning in his head as he continues to stare at you. 

you wait anxiously for what he's going to do next. maybe he'll make you suck him off, or he'll throw you on the bed, or spank your ass because you were clearly teasing him—

"why don't you put my eyeliner on for me?"

you stand up, opening the tube in as he shuts his eyes. you try not to let your disappointment show too much. fine. maybe you can just have a quickie later while drunk in one of the rooms in the frat house. 

"why are you standing? come sit on my lap while you're doing it."

you were too busy removing the excess product off the brush to notice his eyes had taken a dark turn, contradicting the gentleness of his warm hands as it snakes around the back of your bare thighs pulling you closer. 

"no, i'll mess this—"

"i said sit."

delicious shivers create goosebumps on your skin. 

you know that tone. he only uses it when he's horny and he wants to bend you over. so maybe your game plan did work after all, yet you're staring at him dumbfounded with the eyeliner brush in midair. 

"come sit. i won't repeat myself." he leans back against the chair, manspreading as he waits for you. 

you scramble to straddle his strong thighs, muscles a manifestation of his hard work and dedication to volleyball. it was great to see him in action on the court but you'd rather he flexed those muscles when you ride his thighs. 

you cup his face, getting all up in his personal space to apply the eyeliner. 

you've long grown out of the honeymoon phase but why is your heart beating so damn fast right now?

your hands were shaking, perspiration was building up in your forehead, and you were holding your breath.

"are you nervous?"

"shut up, rin. 'm not."

when the brush first touches the lid of his eyes, a nimble finger traces the expanse of your whole slit over your panties. 

you pull the brush away, hissing in surprise. 

"rintarou—!"

"what?"

his sharp tone isn't what shut you up, it was the hand cupping your sex. the heel of his wrist slowly grazing against your sensitive clit. you drew a sharp breath. he smirks. 

"go on. continue, doll."

you want to hate the teasing lilt in his voice but you know deep down you love it.

you held your breath, diving in once again to the task at hand whilst trying to ready yourself from his ministrations. 

your hand slightly shakes as you start in the middle of his waterline, slowly tracing the bottom part of his eyes before making a small wing at the end. 

you've seen him apply his own eyeliner so much you have this down to an art form. everything would've been easy if only he kept his hands to himself. you try to ignore the digit still feathering over your slit or the hand wrapping around you to bunch your skirt up around the waist. 

for someone whose eyes are closed he's doing a damn good job navigating. but maybe that's how he shows you're his. he knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows what makes you tick, what makes you pant, what makes you moan in ecstasy. 

"i can never resist when you dress up all pretty for me. you know that, right, doll?"

applying the eyeliner to his waterline had been fairly easy. the lash line, on the other hand, proved difficult. especially when suna's upgraded from tracing your pussy lips to dangerously toying with the elastics of your panties, slipping his finger under before stretching it to slap your skin. 

as you try to connect the upper part of the eyeliner to the small wing you made from his waterline, you hissed. 

"why don’t you pull them down?"

he chuckles at your impatience and you slightly pull the brush away as he finally shoves the fabric down. you gasp when the cold hits your wet cunt. the scent of your essence unmistakable and you know suna's holding back from teasing. 

"as you wish, baby."

as suna grows bolder, the more your hands shook as you worked on his other eye. 

just as the tip of the brush touched his left eye's waterline, he pushed two fingers inside of you, dragging them against your walls in a lazy manner that was so distinctly him. he curls his fingers when he fucks it in before dragging them against your walls when he pulls it out, slightly scissoring you. he uses his other hand to draw figure 8’s against your clit. 

you swallow, trying your best to keep your hand still as a surgeon but you see the jagged little curves where your jolts of pleasure were too strong. 

you never should've provoked him to shove your underthings down, at least then you wouldn't have to suffer through his fingers. they were just so long, so thick, and so experienced when it comes to pleasuring you that you can never touch yourself anymore without craving suna's own fingers instead. 

you bit your lip, the hand that was cupping his jaw tightening as you try to fix the little mistakes here and there, hoping suna won't see them when he inspects your work in the mirror. it doesn't matter that he purposely set you up to fail. there'll be consequences if he isn't satisfied with what you did. may god have mercy on your horny little soul if rintarou thinks you were a bad girl. 

"you just hate losing, don't you?" you hiss, jolting when you feel him slap your cunt. your knees nearly buckled and you almost fell off the chair if not for his sturdy hand on the small of your back. 

"what are you talking about? i'm just fingering my girl like a winner."

just as you started outlining his left lash line, suna shoves a 3rd finger into your sopping cunt. loud squelching noises fill the room as your walls pulsate around his thick digits. the metal rings he wore brushing against your pussy lips as he fucks you knuckle-deep with three fingers. involuntarily, your own hips started moving to match his pace, shamelessly thrusting up everytime he shoves his fingers in.

he knows you so well. he doesn't even need to look at your face, he can feel you out by the noises you make. so good. so good. his fingers feel so good. fuck. fuck. fuck.

until he pulls them out of your sopping pussy. 

"rin," you whine, folding into his shoulder as you struggle to balance your kneeling self on the chair. you blindly reach down for his hand, urging him to put his fingers back in. "rin, please don't stop. please please please—”

"i told you to put my eyeliner, not fuck yourself on my fingers," he leans back on the chair, eyes still shut close while licking his digits clean. 

your lips press into a thin line, eyes dilated as a whine starts to threaten to pass your lips. you're sick of whatever game this is, you just want him to fuck you silly already! but as if sensing your thoughts, suna clicks his tongue and speaks. "hurry it up. we have a party to get to."

without his fingers to plug your cunny, your slick runs down the insides of your thighs. it's slow descent against your skin making goosebumps run up your arms, shivering as the cold hits your bare cunt. 

suna must've known your anguish, he could feel his jeans getting soaked but he didn't care and you wish to punch that smug smirk off his pretty face. 

your fingers stilled when you cupped his cheeks and leaned in to start applying a thin stroke of eyeliner to his water line. with a simple flick of the wrist you ended it with a little wing, just like how your boyfriend likes it. now, you just have to do his lash line and—

you let out an audible gasp when his fingers started feeling around your thighs, having an inkling idea of what he's tryna look for. true to what you expected, he traces the line of your dripping slick up your inner thighs until his fingers graze your nether lips, successfully collecting your essence. 

you stare entranced when suna brings them up to his lips, eyebrows furrowed and almost moaning aloud because of your taste. the fact that his eyes are closed made you want him even more. his fingers pop out of his mouth, but you get the feeling it wasn't enough. he wants more. suna wants you under his mercy. he wants to taste and ruin you until you're fucked out and lying in a pretty mess on the bed sheets. 

"so fucking sweet, my baby. you're this desperate for me? for my fingers?"

you snapped. you threw the makeup elsewhere in the room (though not before screwing it shut) before diving down to kiss him on the lips. all lust-filled and rough as you both channel the desires you have for each other. maybe suna was at his tipping point too, noting that he doesn't even bother to push you away. 

with his strong arms he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his torso, never breaking the kiss before literally throwing you down on the bed, knocking the air out your lungs. 

"rin!"

"whoops."

he's kneeling before the bed, the sheets ruffling when he pulls you to the edge by your calves, hot breath against your sex making you squirm. 

"my pretty thing," the kitten lick against your pussy drove you crazy, desperately bucking your hips up and suna chuckles condescendingly. "but such a bad fuckin' girl, aren't ya?"

you yelp when he slaps the side of your thigh. 

"who said you could kiss me?"

he pinches your clit hard as he enters your line of sight. suna has never seen you this pretty and desperate for him before. sweat making your skin glow, lips raw from your biting, eyes conveying your every lust-filled thought about him. the sight of you so riled up makes his dick ache and he wants so badly to fuck you already but bad girls don't get what they want just yet. you have to earn it. 

"i asked you a question. who the fuck told you that you could fucking kiss me?" the acid in his voice contrasts the gentle way he caresses the spot on your thigh where he had hit you. 

"no one."

you sob in pleasure when his hot tongue licks a stripe up your pussy before suckling on your clit. once. twice. sucking particularly hard on the third. before running his tongue swiftly over the bundle of nerves and kitten licking his way down your pussy lips. your thighs were shaking so hard he had to pin them down. he knows it's a sign that you're close, not that he's surprised, he's been stimulating your body for minutes now it was amazing you haven't cummed yet. 

but then he stops.

a thread of your slick dribbling down his chin as those cat eyes of his stare you down. he watches, enchanted by how your chest rises and falls. another sweet release he snatched away from you.

"i thought so. what does that make you?"

amazing how he manages to sound so normal, conversational even while he's literally edging you like there's no tomorrow. what do you expect? it's his favorite punishment. he gets to see you sob and beg for him like there's nothing in your mind but his cock and he loves it so much. loves seeing you bend and break for him to please. 

you sniffle, arm coming up to hide the frustrated tears in your eyes. "been… been a bad girl."

a hand slaps your thighs, brutal. eyes on rintarou when answering his questions. your eyes shoot up. 

"and who's bad girl have you been?"

"yours."

this time he reaches forward to tweak your pebbled nipples. the sudden cold of the pads of his fingers making you gasp and spasm. your boyfriend straddles you and you shiver at the head of his glistening cock leaving trails on top of your thighs. but he doesn't make another move. when you sneakily try wiggling your hips for your sex to graze his dick, he slapped your thigh without holding back. you doubt it won't start leaving a handprint. you wait with bated breath when he grabs hold of his cock, the head angry and dripping, the only proof of his also growing desire for you. 

when he directs the head for it to graze your nether lips, you almost cried another fresh batch of tears. his hand quickly brushes up to wipe it away, though not before feeling his dick twitch. you know how much he loves seeing you cry from the overwhelming pleasure he can give you. 

"last time i checked, my name isn't yours. didn't i tell you to answer in full sentences when i'm fucki—"

"suna! suna rintarou! i've been sun-suna rintarou's bad girl!"

suna ducks to mark your neck and torso. he feels the goosebumps forming on your body. the heat enveloping the two of you as you both quickly shed any remaining pieces of clothing. he kisses you. sloppy. nothing but teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance as he cradles your face with his big hands, feeling the mushroom head of his cock grazing your thighs.

usually he'd appreciate you not cutting him off mid-sentence but he too has reached his own limits and right now all he can think about is drilling you to the mattress. "rin, please!" you sob, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"shh. yes, doll. i hear ya." 

you were dripping wet enough that all it took is one deep thrust for him to bottom-out. usually you're quite hesitant when rintarou's rawing you but at this point right now, you doubt fucking with a condom would've felt this good. no thin plastic whatsoever that's separating you from him. when he starts to move, you both moan in ecstasy. the bed creaking under the weight of you both as he pistons his dick inside. "you feel so good, doll. so fucking wet and tight. look how wet you are. dripping for my cock, huh? this all for me? answer me!"

you hardly register his voice, the pleasure you've been craving since minutes ago now being crashed down upon you. it's overwhelming and you don't want it any other way. 

"yes," you pant. the tears still leaking from your eyes as you claw at his biceps. "yes. all-all for you, r-rin! just for you!"

he stubbornly keeps hitting the spot that'll make you keen and whine, suna forcing your hips down and sitting up with his palms at the sides of your head. he wants to see you come undone, he'd love to grab his phone and make this memory permanent but he doubts his camera can capture the real deal. your moans and pleas reaching his ears, spurring him on, the beautiful way your back arches of the mattress, the way you physically shook in pleasure and you screamed and worshipped his name.

"rin! oh my god, rin! fuck. 'm close," your voice breaks, hiccuping from the onslaught of tears you can't hold back as blinding pleasure grips you in a tight vice.

suna comes down to snake his arms around you, pulling you infinitely closer as one of his hands supports your lower back, manually moving your hips to match his frantic thrusts. "why you crying? bad girls should be tough, right? aren't—shit—aren't you a bad girl? hmm? bad girls like you shouldn't be crying."

you shake your head, looking pretty and desperate as you meet his eyes. "no, i'm not a bad—"

"yes. you are," you groan, his thrusts particularly hard to shut you up and make a point. "you're a very, very bad girl. you don't listen to me at all. bad girls don't even deserve to cum."

"no! no! rin, please!" you say, a blubbering mess as you bury your forehead into his neck, licking and suckling at his skin to get in his good side. "i'll be good. i promise! please, let me cum. rin! please, i'll be good. i'll be good! only your good—ah."

"you fucking bet you're my good girl," he hissed, biting your shoulder before moaning, pitched and wanton as it threatens to snap the stretched cord inside of you. but not yet. you can't. not unless he says so. "it's me that's making you feel this good. this is my pussy. my plaything. repeat what i said—doll! repeat what i said."

you cried, screaming in frustration as his cock stills inside of you and you know he won't move until you oblige. "this is…" you hiccup. "rin-rintarou's pu-pussy. i'm rintarou's play-plaything."

"what was that?" he asks, hips starting to rut against you again in full force. the headboard violently hitting the walls. when your hands scramble to cling onto something, you accidentally shove something off the bed but you couldn't care less. "louder, doll. i want the whole fucking neighborhood to hear you."

"this is rintarou's pussy. i'm rintarou's plaything." you say in your normal speaking voice, albeit shaky and almost incomprehensible as he holds you firm against him, his cock embedding it's shape and size into your sopping walls.

"louder!"

he hoists you up into a sitting position, his hips fucking up towards you and you only realize he did it when you see the window situated meters behind you two. curtains-drawn, open for the night breeze to billow in. he wasn't kidding. suna rintarou wants the neighbors to hear how good you're getting rawed. he wasn't kidding. he was not kidding.

"go on," he whispers, breathy and teasing. "you'll do it. you're a good girl for me arentcha?"

fuck. "this is rintarou's pussy! i'm rintarou's plaything!"

he licks a stripe up your neck, hands coming around your neck as he whispers into your ear the words you've been dying to hear. "cum, baby."

and your orgasm surges through your whole body in violent jolts, thick ropes of cum squirting out your pussy as you distantly hear him groaning, your walls tightening and sucking him in with every aggressive thrust. rintarou quickly finishes after you, teeth embedding themselves into your shoulder as he groans. you knew bruises will form and you're going to be sore as a bitch but you don't fucking care.

"rin, i love you." you say, grabbing a hold of his face as you stare deep into his eyes. and you don't understand why there's doubt clouding in your head when he takes a beat later to answer, when really, he just can't help the sudden wave of emotions festering in his stomach as he meets the gravity of your gaze. the love and devotion in your eyes as he can only hope that he could translate his emotions through his eyes, too.

he smiles, leaning in to give you a kiss. it's sweet and gentle, completely unlike the one he gave you a few minutes ago when in the throes of pleasure. no. you feel every bit of his love for you in this one kiss and you don't know why you ever doubted yourself, doubted him. you've been together for so long and you're it for him. 

"i love you, too."

but leave it to your darling rintarou to ruin the moment.

"but you'll never apply my eyeliner ever again."

. a/n » this was so self-indulgent im sorry lmao

#haikyuu smut #hq smut #suna rintarou smut #suna smut #suna rintarou x reader #thirsthours #(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧ #tw smut #tw exhibitionism #tw mindbreak #tw edging #tw dirty talk #suna rintarou x you #suna rintarou x female! reader #suna rintarou x f! reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x y/n

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,193 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the prison Warnings: none really Summary: Y/N falls ill and Daryl goes to make sure she's okay, only to discover her cell is empty. A/N: Just a short and sweet fic! For all you fellow migraine suffers out there! Requested by: @winchestershiresauce and anon!

Your name: submit What is this?

“Gettin’ real sick of staring at these ugly fuckers,” Daryl said, smashing the end of the metal rod in his hand through the chainlink fence and into the brain of a particularly loud walker. He watched carelessly as it crumpled to the ground and was immediately replaced by another.  “Yeah, well—” you jabbed the crowbar in your hand into the temple of the seemingly endless infected clamoring at the fence, “someone has to do it.” You paused for a moment as your head suddenly swam. Daryl immediately noticed.  “What? Ya alright?” He thought maybe you looked a little pale all of a sudden, which was strange considering the sweltering heat and humidity. He was sure he was red-faced and he knew he was soaked with sweat.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment and shook your head. “It’s nothing. I’m good.” You resumed your thankless and grim task, picking out another infected dead one to put down. You felt Daryl’s eyes on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the fence. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and pushed on, but it was only a few more minutes when you felt your vision start to change and the familiar stabbing pain began to grow behind your eyes. Daryl watched as the crowbar dropped to your side and you froze again, squeezing your eyes shut, a grimace wrinkling your brow. “Hey—s’goin’ on? And don’t feed me some bullshit about how you’re fine,” he drawled. He watched your fist clench around the iron crowbar. “Just—just a little too much sun probably. I’m just gonna go get some water and shade for a bit. I’m fine. Really,” you said, opening your eyes again and turning to look at him. His eyes were narrowed as he peered back at you, concern obvious on his face. “I’ll walk ya up—” “No. No, Daryl, I’m fine,” you reassured him, forcing out a light laugh. “Just keep at it down here. I’ll see if Glenn or Maggie can come down. There’s too many walkers. We need to cut this herd down or we’ll lose the fence,” you said, already walking backwards toward the gate. “I’m fine,” you tossed out one more time, forcing a smile that you knew wasn’t entirely natural. He watched you turn and let yourself through the gate, taking the alleyway between the fences back up toward the prison. Hopefully you just needed to rest a little while... He continued to work on thinning the herd for a while but found himself distracted. Neither Maggie nor Glenn came down to help and it was possible they were just busy, but he found himself fixating on an intrusive thought that you’d collapsed somewhere of heat exhaustion on your way back to the cell block. He finally decided to take a break himself and make sure you were alright. He could see if anyone else was available to help on the fence too. The archer didn’t find you anywhere on his way back inside, collapsed or otherwise. He breezed into the cell block, stalking past Beth who had Judith in her arms. He slowed as he neared the cell you’d claimed and was surprised to see that it was empty. He spun on his heel and headed right back out toward Beth. “Hey. Ya seen Y/N come in here?” “She came through a little while ago, but she left again,” Beth said. “But ya did see her?” Daryl asked again. Beth nodded. “Yeah. I saw her. Why? What’s goin’ on?” She saw worry in the archer’s expression. “Any idea where she went?” Beth shook her head. “No. Daryl, what’s goin’ on?” “Nah, nothin’. She just—she was out on the fence with me and said she wasn’t feelin’ well. I just wanted to make sure she was alright. I was thinkin’ I’d find her in bed but she ain’t there.” “Oh,” Beth said. There was something like a realization on her face and Daryl paused. “What?” “Nothin’,” Beth said again, averting her eyes back toward Judith.  “Ya ain’t a good liar,” he said, a little annoyed that she obviously knew something she wasn’t saying. “C’mon. Spit it out,” he said, flicking his fingers at her. Beth looked up at him again and still seemed unsure. “It’s just—she doesn’t really want anyone to know...” “Know what?” he pressed. Beth looked hesitant, but the look on Daryl’s face convinced her to spill it. “Sometimes—she—she gets migraines. They can make her real sick,” Beth said, bouncing Judith on her hip. “Only reason I know is because I saw her leavin’ with her pillow one time real early in the mornin’ when I was up helpin’ with Judith.” “Leavin’? Leavin’ to where?” “She needs it dark and quiet... so I think she goes to one of the other cell blocks,” Beth said. “But she really told me not to say anythin’.“ Daryl stood stunned for a moment. “One of the other cellblocks?” Beth nodded. “Ya mean with those bloodstains and shit all over the place?” Beth shrugged. “I told her no one would care but she insisted I didn’t tell anyone anythin’.” Before Beth could ask him not to let you know that he knew, his broad shoulders were already disappearing back out the door. Daryl checked two cell blocks before he heard the sound of you being sick. He pushed through the cellblock gate, which creaked lazily on its hinges, and found you huddled over a bucket. You rinsed your mouth out with water and didn’t notice him standing in the cell doorway until you had sunk heavily back down on the edge of the mattress. You startled a little and Daryl watched your expression and body language just sag. 

“Great...” you muttered. “Did Beth rat me out?” you asked, sliding further back onto the bed and wiping a shaky hand across your clammy forehead. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how disgusting do I look right now?” you asked, leaning your head back against the wall behind you and shutting your eyes. Daryl was just about the last person you wanted to see you like this. He watched a flash of pain flit across your face. “‘bout a 5,” he drawled, stepping into the cell. You cracked one eye open to take in his expression and saw that although one corner of his mouth was quirked slightly upwards at his joke, he mainly looked concerned. You closed your eyes again as the light coming in the high cellblock windows made your head throb.

“I’ll be okay. I just need—if I can get to sleep, sometimes that stops it...” You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the thudding of your pulse beneath your fingers. “Sometimes?” Daryl repeated. You didn’t respond and he moved farther into the cell until he was standing at the side of the bunk. “I thought it was yer head. How come ya got sick?” he asked. You took in a deep breath and tried to let it out steadily. “If the pain’s too intense sometimes it can make me nauseous.” Oof. Talking was not helpful. “Mmm.” You shook your head. “Can’t talk.”  “Hmm...” Daryl considered you for a moment. “Scooch. And lie down.” You looked up at him, surprised, through bleary eyes, the aura of your migraine distorting your vision uncomfortably. “What?” “Ya heard me,” he said, his tone soft. You obeyed and shifted closer to the wall, settling down on your side. Daryl squeezed himself in beside you, sitting up with his back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle.  Your eyes were closed, but he still saw your expression tighten as waves of pain crested and fell. “What can I do?” he drawled quietly.  You shook your head. “Just—nothing...” you murmured, feeling a hot wash of shame spread over you. The next moment your eyes shot open as you felt Daryl’s fingers running over your hair, following a strand gently, brushing lightly over you. You peered up at him in surprise and he immediately pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewed it anxiously. His fingers left you for a moment. “Uhh—s’that... help?” he asked, his hand hovering above you. You nodded and closed your eyes again, just in time that you didn’t see how red Daryl’s cheeks and ears suddenly were. “Actually, yeah. That helps...” you sighed. His fingers landed in your hair again and resumed their gentle movements. He watched your breathing slow and deepen, and you seemed to sink more heavily into your pillow. Once you were asleep, Daryl carefully slipped from the cell and returned with a blanket for you, covering you over gently. He debated about heading back to the main cellblock, but the idea of leaving you there alone bothered him. Ya shouldn’t be in a fucking prison to start with, but alone in that cellblock that still held signs of unspeakable horrors? That was out of the question. So, instead, he slipped back onto the edge of the bunk, setting his back to the wall again, and settled in next to you. Maybe it was the hard work out on the fence earlier, but he was soon asleep too. When you woke up many hours later, you were surprised to see Daryl beside you asleep. his head nodded down toward his chest. He’d stayed there next to you? That whole time? He woke as you stirred a little, leaning up on an elbow and peering up at him, rubbing your eyes with your free hand.  “Hey,” he said, feeling suddenly awkward and climbing off the bunk and onto his feet. “How ya feelin’?” You nodded. “Better. Thanks. Just... a bit hungover,” you said wearily. The sharpness of your migraine had faded to a fuzzy kind of ache, and your whole body felt fatigued. “Hungover without the fun of gettin’ lit in the first place? That’s some serious bullshit,” he drawled, leaning back against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Yeah, tell me about it,” you said, swinging your legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, the blanket falling from over you to land in a soft pile. “Thanks...” you murmured again, feeling that creeping wave of shame rising in you again. Daryl must have sensed it because you could feel his blue eyes on you, studying you, and you glanced up at him. “Why didn’t ya tell me?” he asked. “I mean, why hide it?” He looked around the empty cellblock and his eyes landed on the bloodstains on the floor outside the cell you were in and the piles of trash nearby. “This ain’t where ya should be when yer sick. Ya should be back where—where we can take care of ya...” He’d almost said “I” instead of we, and he felt his heart start pounding.  You hung your head and stared down at your hands. “I don’t want to be a burden...” you said quietly. “It’s better if I just deal with it. Alone.” Daryl scoffed and you glanced up at him. “Tha’s stupid. Ya ain’t alone. Ya got a family. And ya ain’t a burden cuz ya get sick. Ain’t yer fault. Can’t control it. Ya didn’t choose it. It’s the shit hand ya been dealt.” You shrugged and peered down at your hands again, anxious. “This why ya had to back outta that run the other week at the last minute? And—that time when we were out tryin’ to track that horse?” Your jaw clenched and you nodded. “Usually I know when they’re coming on. Sometimes I have more warning and sometimes hardly any at all... Before the world went to shit I had a couple medications that really helped, but—can’t exactly walk into a pharmacy now and fill a prescription,” you said wryly. “It’s fine. I manage them. But... I know it makes me weaker...” “Weaker? Nah. That ain’t true. If anythin’ it makes ya stronger cuz ya gotta deal with that pain.” You shook your head. “No. What if I’m out there and one hits me? That’s a weakness, Daryl. It’s dangerous.” “Mmm,” Daryl hummed, chewing on his bottom lip. He seemed to make some decision at that moment and straightened up. “Look. From now on? If yer gettin’ sick, ya just tell me, alright? No matter where we are, I’ll always make sure yer safe. If we’re outside the fence, we’ll find someplace to hole up. If we’re in here, I’ll make sure ya get to bed and that everyone keeps fuckin’ quiet so you can rest—well, ‘cept Lil Asskicker, but can’t do nothin’ about that,” he drawled.  You managed a half smile. “Daryl, you don’t have to—” “I know I ain’t gotta, but that’s how it’s gonna be. Like I said, yer not alone.”  You were a little overwhelmed at the moment and you felt a bubble of emotion forming in your chest. You cleared your throat and tried to gather yourself for a moment before you looked back up at him. You knew there was no point in arguing. “You’re the boss,” you said, when you finally met his blue eyes. He rolled his eyes at you in response.  “Alrigh’, we both know that ain’t true... C’mon. Let’s get ya somethin’ to eat,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the cell door.  You smiled and took in his broad shoulders and strong arms, feeling another rush of heat in your chest. The softness inside that badass warrior always melted you and you had readily come to the realization that he was simply your favorite person in the world. And soon you planned to tell him so.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[animeomegas]

MY FELLOW ANON ARE VIOLATING MY EMOTIONS TODAY 😂 god I’m acc crying. Your writing is amazing. I’m gonna combat the sadness with a wholesome thing of them finding a pup in a bin (or something) a few months after the loss of the first pup (Neji is currently shut down entirely) is like “lol gimme”. Proceeds to take the pup home, put it in his nest scent the lil bean (gender is your choice) and just be like “yeah this mine now”. Any nay sayers are ignored bc it’s still his baby (maybe almost like his pup reincarnated 👀👀) regardless of how baby was obtained. Idk I just think my guy needs some positivity after life kicking the ever loving shit out of him

This is beautiful and you’re right, Neji deserves the world, but I’ll settle with a quiet life and some happiness for my boy!

Okay, so things haven’t been…good with Neji since you had to let your pup die to save him.

It has been two months and still he lays in his nest every day, sometimes crying, sometimes whining, but mostly just staring at nothing. He had incorporated a bunch of baby stuff (blankets, toys etc.) into his nest before he went to the hospital, in order to make his pup feel more at home in the nest when he was supposed to bring them back. You had tried to take them out to stop him having to be confronted with what happened in his safe space, but Neji almost attacked you for doing so, so you let him keep them.

But it’s very concerning when he spends hours at a time just stroking the pup's blankets and staring at nothing.

So, you decide to take Neji on a walk to get him out of the house. It would be his first time leaving the house since the funeral.

You go at night time, because Neji is still refusing any contact with anyone he knows and this way he’s less likely to be confronted when he isn’t ready for it. To make extra sure that you can be alone, you decide to walk around the edge of the woods around one of the quieter training grounds.

Neji doesn’t speak much, but he doesn’t whine or cry either, and the night air brings a little colour to his cheeks, and you’re so happy at the small improvements. It doesn’t matter how long it ends up taking him to feel better, you’ll be here with him the whole way.

…

“I was thinking about cooking something special next week,” you make idle conversation, not expecting Neji to reply. “It’s our anniversary after all, do you have any preference?”

Neji stops walking suddenly. His shoulders are tense.

“Neji?”

He hushes you harshly.

“I can hear…”

Without another word of warning, Neji makes his way a little further into the trees. You follow him, confused and worried.

“Byakugan!” he calls, scanning the area. He gasps as he scans over a nearby bush and immediately he drops to his knees beside it.

“Neji?” you ask, now more than a little concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You watch as Neji pulls something out of the bush. He turns around with a bundle in his arms.

“It’s a pup,” Neji says, obviously shocked. You can’t blame him, you’re feeling more than a little shocked yourself. What on earth was a pup doing out here? “They’re freezing. Give me your jacket.”

Without hesitance, you quickly slip your jacket of and hand it to Neji who promptly bundles up the pup in it and brings them to his chest. The pup is making small whimpering noises that had been almost impossible to hear over the wind. Neji must have hear them, thank goodness.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Neji coos to the pup. “You’re safe now, I'll take you home and make it better, I promise.”

“We need to get them to the hospital asap," you say, shaking your head. "They must be freezing and they look underweight as well. We’re not mednin, Neji.”

“Our home is closer.”

“Neji…”

“We need to make sure they’re warm,” he argues. “We can bring them home and alert a medic to make a home visit.”

You look at the earnest look on his face and know that he won’t back down, and now isn’t a time for arguments anyway.

“Okay,” you swallow nervously. “We’ll bring them home.”

…

You bring the pup back to your home and before you can protest, Neji brings them into his nest with a mumbled ‘they’ll be warm in there’.

Neji bundles himself and the pup up in the corner of the nest, turning on a little heater beside him, and tucking the pup into his shirt to share body warmth.

“We’ll get you nice and warm, it’s okay, you’re safe, I won’t let anyone harm you,” he whispers while stroking their cheek with a finger. The pup wriggles around, already looking more energetic, and starts mouthing at Neji’s chest.

“Are you hungry?” Neji laughs softly before turning to you. “Go and heat up a bottle for the pup, all the supplies are in the… the nursery.”

You nod dumbly and do as you’re asked, astounded at how much life is in Neji’s eyes. It’s the most life you’ve seen from him in months. But you can’t help but worry. What if Neji gets attached and you can’t keep the pup? Of course, you want nothing more than to keep the baby, it almost seems too good to be true that she literally fell into both your lives at this trying time, but what if it is too good to be true? What if they’re sick? Or their parents are looking for them? Or… something else. Neji doesn’t deserve another heartbreak, and you don’t want to destroy the small amount of progress he’s made in the last month.

But for now, all you can do is heat up the bottle.

…

“Here, it’s a good temperature, I already checked,” you pass Neji the bottle. He checks it again anyway and you can’t help but smile at how overprotective and parental he's being. It's so bittersweet to see him like this.

“Here you go sweetheart, just for you,” Neji smiles, cradling the pup as they latch onto the bottle with fervour. “Shh, shh, shh, slow down, it’s not going anywhere.”

Neji feeds the pup and then burps them, and you pretend you can’t see him smiling when he notices that they are starting to smell like him. You need to know you can keep her before you let him get even more attached.

“I’m going to send a clone for a medic, now.”

The room became tense all at once.

“They’re fine, I’m looking after them,” Neji protests.

“I know, and you’re doing a good job, but we still need a medic, Neji.”

Neji holds the pup more tightly to his chest, tucking an extra blanket around them. He's using the special blanket you had got commissioned for your pup. You can feel your heart break at the sight. He's already attached. Now you just have to hope you can keep them. For his sake.

“I don’t want them to take the pup away like last time,” Neji admits softly. "I can look after them, I won't let anything happen like last time, I promise. They'll be safe, we don't need a medic."

“We need to know their primary and secondary gender, omega, and we need to make sure they aren’t sick after being left in the woods…”

Neji hesitates but nods his consent in the end after you explain that your pup could become ill if left untreated. You don’t tell him that you are also sending a clone to the Hokage. Naruto will be able to grant you and Neji the right to keep the pup, and you hope that as Neji’s friend, he’ll be able to see how much he needs this.

…

You have to move Neji and the pup downstairs to wait for the medic, because Neji would not appreciate someone unknown seeing his nest he made for his pup. He’s not expecting Naruto to show up as well so you go to the door to intercept and prep them both.

“Thank you so much for coming, Naruto, I can’t tell you how much this means to me and Neji,” you say, hugging him as he walks through the door.

“I’m going to do everything I can,” he promises. “If the medic finds signs of long-term neglect, I can take the parental rights away from the biological parents straight away, even if I don't know who they are, and transfer you the rights.”

Your face visibly brightens, but Naruto continues.

“But if the only injuries are from laying in the forest for a few hours, I’ll have to try and find the parents first, because the child may have been taken from them by force, when the pup was otherwise a healthy baby being looked after sufficiently. In that circumstance, I’ll have to take the child back with me and put them in foster care until a three-month window has passed. And if the parents are found…”

“I know,” you sigh. “Let’s just get this done as soon as possible.”

The three of you walk into the living to see Neji cradling the pup tightly against his chest.

“Hey Neji,” Naruto greets softly with a sad smile. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

Neji tenses upon seeing Naruto.

“Naruto? Why are you here?” Neji clearly misinterprets the situation, holding the pup even more tightly and turning accusatory eyes against you. “Why did you bring him here?”

“I’m here to determine whether the pup was abandoned or kidnapped to the best of my abilities, once we have that done, we can decide how things are going to happen, okay?”

“How do you decide that?” Neji asks with distrustful eyes.

“The medic will give them a check-up, completely routine, I promise,” Naruto speaks with a soft voice like he’s talking to a cornered animal. Well, you look at Neji for a moment who is coiled as tightly as spring, he’s not far off.

It takes about five minutes for you to convince Neji to let go of the pup and hand them to the mednin, and then the next fifteen minutes involve you holding him in your arms to stop him wrestling the pup back from the mednin.

And then, rather ominously, the mednin pulls Naruto aside to talk.

Neji is shaking in your arms.

“It’s okay, calm down, Neji,” you try to comfort him.

“I can’t-“ Neji chokes, hands fisting in your shirt. “He has our pup, you let them take our pup.”

You don’t bother to correct him on his use of ‘our’, knowing it would only upset him more.

“I know baby, but they need to see that they’re healthy, nothing’s wrong, just breathe.”

Neji doesn’t take your advice.

"Last time they took them-"

"This isn't like last time, omega. Come one, try and settle down a little, that's it."

...

Naruto eventually walks back in, holding the pup securely, the mednin nowhere to be seen.

“So,” Naruto says seriously. And then his face breaks out into a wide grin. “Am I right in thinking you want to adopt?”

You can almost feel your relief in the air. Thanking every power that be for this stroke of luck. Losing this pup could have easily meant losing your mate, and the gravity of the situation all comes crashing down at once. Neji looks as though he is feeling much the same.

“Give me them,” he orders, arms out.

“Her,” Naruto corrects. “The mednin said she’s a female alpha.”

Tears start welling up in Neji’s eyes as he takes her. Their bio pup was a female alpha, too.

“Thank you,” he whispers to no one, holding his new pup as tightly as he dared. “I’ve got you now, you’re safe and sound with me, I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.”

Naruto slips out of the house without a fuss, dropping the mednin’s recommendations for feeding the underweight pup on the coffee table.

...

You and Neji take your new pup upstairs and bundle her back into the nest. Neji lays down with her, stroking her cheek as he watches her sleep.

“You need to get some rest too, omega,” you suggest, running a hand down Neji’s back.

“Guard?” he asks in response.

“Yes," you smile at his protective instincts. "I’ll guard the nest while you sleep, I promise.”

“Okay, alpha…” Neji settles down, still with one hand resting on the pup. “But if I don’t wake up when she cries, wake me… I want to be the one to feed her.”

You laugh gently, “Of course, now get some sleep. I’ll guard you both.”

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