#(<- ? probably. putting that tag there just in case.)

[phyrestartr]

PR Stunt (Only, Right?) | Sukuna/M!Reader

W/C: 6.9K (oh god lol) #NSFW, fingering, implied fucking, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, angst, fluff, smut, happy ending, Sukuna owns a body shop, reader is an actor, kinda meet cute, ABO dynamics, mpreg, yes there are always babies involved because i love dad sukuna, surprise baby, sukuna is a dickhead (what else is new), Gojo is an actor, Getou is a manager/agent, Toji is a stunt coordinator, Jin is a teacher tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @watyousayin 

“Did you sleep with (L. Name) (F. Name)?” 

The question caught Sukuna off guard; normally, Uraume didn't inquire into his personal life in regards to who he had and hadn't slept with. They were a friend, yes, but moreover they were the bookkeeper and helped with securing clients and arranging meetings–celebrities and their managers were fucks that Sukuna didn't like negotiating with. Best to leave the yapping to someone with a cooler head.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Sukuna asked as he rolled out from under the newest commissioned vehicle. 

Uraume walked to him, iPad in hand, and turned it to him, stone cold. 

Sukuna sat up straighter and squinted at the screen, annoyed. You’d probably just made up some salacious rumour and spread it throughout your friend circles; or worse, you wanted revenge on him for something he probably definitely did. In that case, Sukuna could somewhat understand. But still–

(Name) putting on weight? What’s happening to the former bombshell babe of Japan?!

Pregnant with a baby boy?! The secret's out!

(Name) returns to the stage after giving birth to a baby boy–but who is the father?

(Name) driving a Ryoumen Sukuna rescue vehicle?! Could he be the deadbeat dad we've been looking for?

Sukuna sucked his teeth after skimming over the article titles presented to him. 

“...No proof.” 

“Ah. Then please explain this,” Uraume requested, still polite as ever, as they flicked to an additional few images the scumbag paparazzi had caught of you. 

One was the car mentioned. Sukuna remembered it like it was yesterday–the joy of restoring a Porsche 911 back into its former glory was unmatched. You happily paid for all the parts and too often swung by to see the progress being made on the old thing. Obviously, Sukuna was more than happy to oblige. 

The next was of you holding a little nugget of a baby against your chest as you walked down a street in Shibuya. Nothing too damning, nothing too inspirational. 

But the last one–

“The fuck?” Sukuna mumbled as he snatched the iPad from Uraume’s hands and zoomed in on the now-toddler sitting with you in that damn Porsche, grinning brightly beside his mum while you ruffled his hair. His very, very pink hair. 

Sukuna took a breath while he thought. He didn't have to think too hard, though, not when he still dreamed about you and the short-lived fling between the two of you. 

“A Porsche 911, huh?” Sukuna grinned as he looked over the rusted beater of a car. He could still see scraps of its former glory, of the beautiful thing she used to be. Heaven knows she would've become an irreparable hunk of junk if you hadn't bought it from a scrapyard. 

“Yep.” You beamed. “So you think you can make her pretty again?” 

“You kidding? I'd pay you to let me fix this thing, baby.” Sukuna caught sight of your security stepping forward, but you waved them off without a second thought. 

Sukuna smirked. “But it’s not gonna be cheap.” 

You nodded. “Well, do what you have to. I'll pay whatever you need, handsome.” 

“Yeah?” Sukuna asked, looking your neatly-manicured appearance up and down; you were dressed like you were meeting someone of great importance (and you were, obviously), with your hair groomed perfectly, outfit fit for a premiere, skin flawless. 

“Mhm. And I tip well.” you looked him up and down in kind, grinning as you bit at the nub of your sunglasses.

“Done.” 

Every time you came to check on his progress, genuine excitement flooding in your motormouthed words, you'd go home with him and fuck him silly. 

And now, you were the momma to his baby. Allegedly. 

“I–so what the fuck does this have to do with anything?” Sukuna ran a frustrated hand through his hair after Uraume took the tablet back. “Bitch isn't asking for anything, he's not asking me to be his public fucking baby daddy, not asking me to pay for nothing?” 

“No,” Uraume conceded, “But he and his PR managers have reached out concerning this.” 

The man groaned and stood. “Fucking hell. Can't stand fucking PR teams. The fuck did they want?” 

“They want to make a statement about Touma's father.” 

Sukuna froze.

“Touma's a good name for a boy, right?” 

You asked the question so suddenly, so out of nowhere in the quiet of the afterglow. The city lights sparkled and winked at you both through the towering windows keeping you safe from the outside world. In hindsight, Sukuna would wonder if the city was excited for him. For you. 

“What, for a mutt?” Sukuna drawled, puffing on a blunt while he played with your hair and drowned in the tingles left in the wake of fingers drawing circles on his bare chest. 

“For a kid,” you chastised with a laugh. “I like Touma. Or Touka for a girl. Ayato's nice, too. Maybe Kazue.” 

“You better not be pregnant.”

“I'm not, I'm not. I'm just getting baby fever, I guess.” You hummed and left a sweet kiss against his tan skin. “I guess being around a big, bad boy like you's got me feeling domestic.” 

Sukuna laughed, dazed and happy. “You wanna ruin this pretty lil’ body for a fucking kid? Be my guest. Just don't come looking for a booty call after you've ruined yourself like that.” 

“Oh, don't worry,” you cooed. “I won't.” 

Man. Man. 

“A statement.” 

“In other words–”

“I'm not the fucking father.” 

“This might be a good way to get Yorozu off your case,” Uraume suggested, and Sukuna perked up. 

“Right. She fuckin’ hates kids.” 

“So, if you were to have a son, and it's revealed you've been quietly trying to make things work behind the scenes with (Name), then hypothetically–”

“I'll take the runt.”

Truth is out–Ryoumen Sukuna is the father, (Name) tells fans on social media!

Sukuna hated seeing that shit. The circus celebrities had to dance through used to be funny until he somehow got swept up into it. Until he suddenly had a baby boy that looked so much like him and so much like you. 

He spent too much time on your socials, scrolling through promotion posts and photos of you at red carpet events and premieres–and then he remembered you had a private account. One that you said he could follow. One that he never followed.

Sukuna rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as he sulked in bed. Was he really about to sacrifice his pride for this? Was he seriously gonna request to follow your personal account just moments after articles dropped and tweets were sent about him being the baby daddy? Could his pride take it? 

Fuck me. This shit is highschool. 

He requested to follow, and not even a minute later, you approved it. 

That had him interested. Did you want him to follow? Did you want him to be part of his little guy's life? Were you feeling a rush of anxiety and excitement like he was right now? 

“Get over it, you fucking idiot,” he mumbled to himself before scrolling through your photos. 

There was so much more here. So many photos of you pregnant, of Touma when he was so ridiculously itty bitty, of when you were recovering in the hospital, looking worn out and exhausted, but still beaming as you held your little boy. 

There were photos of his first birthday and the cute…rustic cake you'd apparently made yourself. Your agent, Getou, was there, as was one of your fellow agency mates, Gojo, along with some other folks Sukuna did and didn't recognize. 

Of course, his boy–your boy lit up the centre, eyes glittering with the reflection of sparklers and the warmth of a good, safe home. He was happy. The boy–his boy–your boy was happy. 

Then he called you. He couldn't help it, not anymore.

Sukuna paced around his penthouse, sipping on his spiked coffee and trying to desperately control his…nerves? Alpha instincts? Excitement? Fuck, he didn't know. But he was full of whatever it was, and it drove him nuts.

“Hi!” You answered as you picked up, so full of life as usual. “Been a while. How're you? What's up?” 

Sukuna felt so, so old suddenly. Why were you so awake in the morning? 

“Think you can spare some of that pep in your step for me?” Sukuna asked. He smiled when he heard you laugh on the other line. “Dunno how the hell you're so awake in the morning.”

“Well, I don't party or work on cars until the crack of dawn,” you purred back, so sweet and teasing. Sukuna almost got hard. Ugh. Ugh. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Hah? What, you sayin’ I'm irresponsible ‘n make shitty choices, babe?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Tch. Omegas.” 

You snickered again before cutting to the chase: “So, you're calling about my Touma?”

Sukuna swallowed. “Yeah. Gotta say I'm pretty fucking confused.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He heard you shift in bed, triggering a rumble of grumpy noises from your little one. You hushed him gently and apologized before the small, crackly purring resumed faintly in the background. The thought made Sukuna's heart ache.

“What do you wanna know?” 

Sukuna inhaled deeply. “Why'd you keep it?” 

“I wanted him,” you said. “Next question.”

“...When did you know?” 

“Mmh…I guess about a week or two after we stopped hooking up.”

“And you didn't say shit?” 

You went silent for a moment, and Sukuna felt his nerves tingle and prick. He wasn't anxious. He wasn't feeling betrayed. It wasn't any of that. Absolutely not. 

“I guess I got cold feet,” you admitted. “I don't--I know how many baby daddy accusations you get, y'know? I didn't want you to think I was just trying to get you to pay me out or something.” 

Oh. Okay. That made sense, actually. 

Too many omegas and women Sukuna fucked around with pointed the finger at him if they caught some sort of STI or fell pregnant; even if it was months after fucking, Sukuna would be suspected of fathering the pregnancy of a newly-pregnant, ex-partner he hadn't seen in eternities, and the media would run to the ends of the earth with it. He was the infamous bad boy the media circuit loved to prey on. And Sukuna didn't really care for it–not until now. Not until those fucks ruined his opportunity to be a dad. 

“Fucking–” Sukuna sighed and put his mug down to rub his face. “Shit. Shit. Fucking media bastards. Fuck.”

“I need to get my car tuned,” you said.

Sukuna deadpanned. “Read the fucking room, babe, we're not–”

“Do you want me to bring Touma?” You finished, undeterred by the alpha's grouchiness. “So you can meet him? I think he'd like that.”

Oh. Oh. Ouch. His heart–was Sukuna about to die? Why'd his chest hurt so much? What the fuck? 

Sukuna cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I–yeah? Yeah. Alright.” 

“Okay, cool. When's your next–” 

“Tomorrow.” He cleared his throat again and scratched at the back of his neck. “Any time.” 

You stifled a laugh poorly. “Don’t be nervous, Sukuna.” 

“M'not. Fuck you.” 

“I can do tomorrow. Let's saaay…1pm?” 

“Yeah, sure. 1pm.”

You rolled up at 12:59pm. 

Sukuna had the garage open, everything tidy and ready to go like he actually gave a fuck about tuning your car when his literal fucking son was about to be in his presence. But he was so not nervous. Definitely not fucking nervous. Nope. Nuh-uh. Never. 

You stepped out of the car and Sukuna felt his heart jump; you looked the same as you did last time he saw you. You were dressed more casually, though, done up in joggers and runners with a university hoodie to top it all off. Clearly, you didn't care to impress today. 

You threw Sukuna an easy smile before pulling open the back door and taking care in plucking your chubby bunny from his car seat. All the while, Sukuna wandered closer and closer, but maintained a respectful distance just in case your momma bear came out to bite. He knew you had an impressive temper when your easy-going self got pushed too far, and he would rather not bring that out right now. 

“Pa!” Your son yipped as soon as he got up into your arms. “Puh Pa!” 

You melted immediately, punching Sukuna in the gut with your happy scent of maple syrup and cardamom as the little one nuzzled up to you, repeating variants of “pa!” as he rubbed his chubby cheeks and snotty nose against your neck and face to get that perfect scent onto him. 

“You're so sweet, bunny,” you cooed and adjusted him in your arms as you met Sukuna the rest of the way. “Hey, hey! So, did you want to meet him first, or–?” 

Sukuna didn't know what the fuck to do, honestly. 

“I, uh. Car shit first. What needs tuning?” He drawled, watching the pup clinging to you with rapt attention. 

Admittedly, Sukuna didn't really pay attention to what you were saying and what you were gesturing to; he was too captivated by the faint wisps of scent he caught from your little one. He smelled of smoke and syrup–a perfect combination of his parents’ scents. 

And he just looked so much like the both of you. Touma's skin tone tilted more your direction, but the glowy, bronzey quality that Sukuna brought to the table still shone through in its own weird way. His eyes were almond-shaped like his own, but bore the same, welcoming colour of yours. And, fuck, his hair was just a perfect match to Sukuna's. If the little shit got Maori tattoos too, he'd be a tiny carbon copy. 

Damn. Speaking of–would his mom wanna meet the little shit? Her grandson? Would she ever bother leaving Hawaii to–

“You get all that?” You asked. 

Sukuna stared at you. “Get what?” 

You pursed your lips like you so often did and turned to the big, bad alpha. 

“Maybe we should do the meet ‘n greet first, huh?” You swayed a little and kissed Touma awake. “Baby, you wanna meet a friend?” 

“Buh!” Touma exclaimed. You gently guided his little face to look at Sukuna, and the boy looked star struck staring up at the absolute unit that was Ryoumen Sukuna. 

“Touma, this is Sukuna.” You closed the gap between the two of you a little more, and Sukuna leaned down to look at the little one. His little one. 

Sukuna twitched a smile as he looked over the little thing. “You sure this thing’s mine? Looks a little small.” 

You laughed. “If you were born as big as you are, I’m so, so sorry for your mother.” You nuzzled Touma’s little cheek and bounced him a little. 

“Wuh!” Touma’s little arms flew up towards Sukuna, and the towering man looked a little more than nervous, looking at the tiny pudgy hands like they were deadly weapons. 

“Come on, don’t look at him like that.” You took Sukuna’s hand and delivered it to Touma. “He’s curious. He hasn’t met anyone as big and tall as you, y’know?” 

Sukuna huffed, but let the little one grab at his fingers and hold his hand. “What, you don’t have another alpha looking after you? Hard to believe that. You're the neediest little bitch I know.” 

“Stop. I'm not Yorozu,” you huffed, and Sukuna cringed at the name. “He has alphas around, sure. But not big ones like you–security excluded. It's not like other men want to play nice with another alpha's pup.” 

Sukuna caught the hint of a frown on your face, and his hackles started to rise. 

“Some dumbfuck giving you grief?” Sukuna asked, voice rolling with thunderous promise. He'd kill whatever moron fucked with you and his pup. You just had to drop the name.

You sighed, light-hearted. “You know what the rich and famous are like--we're the worst.” 

Sukuna growled, and Touma mimicked the noise as best as he could with his pathetically teeny tiny crackled voice. Fuckin’ cute as shit. 

“Tch. Don't sell yourself short.” 

“I'm just trying to say I don't need that around my boy, and I sure as hell don't want it around me, either.” You nodded and stepped closer as Touma reached up for Sukuna again. Apparently just holding his hand wasn't doing it for the boy anymore. 

“Good. Don't need those pathetic fucks around the runt–oi, wait, what the fuck're you–” 

“Wup, wup!” Your son shrieked as you helped bully Sukuna into holding him.

“He wants uppies.” 

“Uppies,” Sukuna balked.

“He wants you to–okay, you're bad at this–don't hold him like that! Here, do it like–” you cut off as you helped Sukuna get a comfortable hold on Touma while the littlest one squirmed and squeaked in delight, trying to climb up onto Sukuna's shoulder but failing miserably. 

Sukuna twitched a smile as you sighed, exasperated by the ball of energy trying to scale the mountainous man. But he got a hold of him, tucking his arm under his butt and holding his back to make sure the little shit didn't go plummeting to the floor. 

“You give your ma hell, huh? I can get behind that,” Sukuna hummed. His son's little hands papped at his face, grabbing at his nose and jaw–specifically over the dark tattoos streaking along the curves and cut of his features. 

And you smiled the entire time. You pursed your lips tightly to hide it, but you did it so poorly. You always did. Maybe it was on purpose. 

“So, can I tell you about my car problems now?” 

Sukuna held onto his runt while you explained what flaws, either cosmetically or mechanically, were bothering you. It mostly consisted of slight dents from other assholes not knowing how to park, paint scratches, and more of that sort. As a fellow car guy, Sukuna could understand the anguish of having a favourite baby get all dinged up. 

“Not hard to fix,” Sukuna decided. He held the hood up with one hand and looked over the motor–everything looked clean and well-maintained. He was almost impressed. “But, well, it'll cost ya. Uraume can send the details.” 

You nodded. “Sure, sure, sounds good. I'm never taking this thing on the road again after it's fixed. Too many fucking idiots out there with piss poor driving skills.” 

The mechanic smirked. “Ho? So beating up your car is what makes you start cussin’, huh? Noted.” He let the hood fall closed and adjusted his hold on the now-sleeping tot. “Couldn't even get you to do that in bed.” 

“Psht, don't say that in front of the baby, Sukuna, jeeze,” you sighed and rubbed your face. “Babies remember more than you'd like to know.” 

“Huh. You think he'll remember when he got–” 

“No, he won't remember his inception.” You laughed and shook your head, but paused when you saw smears of concealer on your fingers and tutted. 

“How long's the car gonna take? Should I get a rental?” You asked before the man could comment.

“Probably, if you want me to detail this thing right,” Sukuna mumbled. He reached out and turned your chin back to him, looking at the spots concealer missing, hinting at dark circles under your eyes. 

Your face grew hot, but you nodded and cleared your throat. “Yeah, okay. I'll, uh. I'll call someone to pick us up–” 

“I'll take you home.” 

You brightened the slightest bit. “Yeah? I–okay.” You pulled his hand from your face and smiled. “I'll grab the car seat.” 

Sukuna liked your house. It was a nice mix of traditional and modern with large stretches of woodgrain and bamboo. A neat outdoor garden and pond decorated the front, but a bigger, more lush collection of tropical plants greeted guests. It was beautiful, if one was desperate to be in nature. 

“I'm just gonna get him to bed, be one second.” 

Sukuna nodded and pocketed his hands as he pretended to not watch you trot upstairs with the sleepy cub melting in your arms. You still had a nice ass even after popping that little melon out. Huh. 

He looked around your space more, wandering with slow, lumbering steps. The house wasn't huge by any means, but it was cozy and warm, quiet and hidden away from the city's gaze. That was probably why you chose it–here, you could be honest with yourself. You could shield your babe from the brutality of your career and keep him safe from leering eyes. Honestly, one of the leaves on your giant monstera could hide him from the whole universe. 

Guy's too obsessed with growing shit. It ticked him off, but he didn't know why. 

Maybe it was all the photos of you and Touma. Maybe it was because he wasn't in them and too many other men were in his place, lining your walls in the protection of cheap IKEA frames–but Sukuna didn't want you. No, no, Ryoumen Sukuna did not want anyone. He didn't want you. He didn't need to settle down and–

“You want a glass of wine?” You asked when you came back down the stairs. “It's plum wine. Don't really have any scotch or anything, but I–” 

Sukuna scoffed before a mocking laugh slipped out of him. You paused, looking at him with bleak attention as he shook his head and pocketed his hands. Your request for him to stay pissed him off; clearly, you expected something more from him.

“Whaddaya think is gonna happen here, huh? You think we're gonna fall in love, pick up where we left off, have a happy little fuckin’ family to tell the tabloids about?” 

“What?” You asked. “I never–”

“Didn't have to. Gotta admit, you did a better job than the rest of the whores that tried wrangling me in to–”

“All I asked,” you cut him off, voice quiet but firm, “Is if you wanted wine. I’m not proposing, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna didn’t like that. The whole…not-being-into-him and not wanting him to stick around after he just shut you down. He sucked his teeth and took a breath, about to say something, but you spoke first. 

“I know this is a PR thing. I know how the whole media circus works–you want your ex to stop bothering you, and I want people to stop asking questions about who the fucking father of my son is.” You paused, staring Sukuna dead in his eyes, a quiet, simmering rage boiling just beneath the surface of placid control. 

“Call my manager when the car’s done,” you decided, sounding beaten down and exhausted. “I’ll send someone for it. Thanks for the ride home.”

Next thing the man knew, he was ushered toward the door and stood in the doorway, stuck on the idea of being kicked out of his omega’s–no, no, out of an omega’s house like he was trash. 

“Fucking–wait, just–” 

“What?” You snapped.

“I could–glass of wine doesn’t sound too bad–”

You shoved the bottle into his hands and slammed the door. 

Sukuna tried to sleep it off–as in, he slept around to forget about the crushing weight of rejection collapsing down on him, shattering his chest, spearing his heart with shattered bone. 

You still kept being so fucking nice to him, too. You never slandered him, never spoke ill whenever he was asked about in interviews–you spared his reputation with a kind smile every time you had to talk about him or to him. 

And he was grateful for it, even if he didn't return the favor. It's not like he was on a smear campaign, no, but anytime a hook up would ask about you, he wouldn't give a glowing review, per se. But it wouldn't be scalding either. Just sheer indifference tainted with drops of bitterness stemming from unripe guilt.

It went on like that for months–until you did your parental duties, and set aside your feelings about Sukuna for the sake of your son.

“Uraume, get that,” Sukuna called as his phone rang. He was too busy fucking around under the hood of his latest project to wipe his hands free of grease and pick up himself, obviously.

But Uraume was there for a reason. They picked up the phone with a polite hello before their sharp frigidity melted into rounded edges. 

“(Name)-san,” they hummed. “It's good to hear from you. Do you need to talk to Sukuna-san?” 

Sukuna started wiping his hands off so unbelievably fast. 

“He's working on a car right now. You know how he can be when he's focused.”

“Fucking–piece of shit–what the fuck–” somehow, he got even more grease and oil on his hands thanks to that stupid fucking rag. God, what a nightmare.

“Sure, I can take a message.” 

“Fuckin’ shit fuck, fuck.” He wiped his hands on his designer jeans before running to Uraume and gesturing for the phone.

Uraume's brows raised, and they actually smiled. 

“Ah, hold on, Sukuna-san's here.” 

Sukuna snatched up the phone, ignoring the knowing look glimmering in Uraume’s eyes. Ugh. Ugh. Betas.

“Hey,” Sukuna said after clearing his throat. 

“Hey! Ume said you were working on a car? You didn't have to stop to talk.” 

“Yeah, well.” Sukuna shrugged to himself and kicked a scrapped car part, sending it skittering across the ground and clanking into other parts. Jesus, when did his shop get so messy? “Needed a break anyway.” 

“Ah. You work too hard, you need to take breaks more often,” you laughed sweetly. “So, listen, Touma's birthday's coming up–”

“Shit, seriously?” Sukuna grinned and kicked another chopped part. “Fuck. How old's the little shit turning?” 

“Two! He's growing up so fast, I wish I could slow down time and–” you paused and laughed, suddenly sounding unsure and a bit nervous. “Sorry, sorry, was about to go on a tangent. Anyway, there is a little get-together, but you don't have to come. Satoru and Toji'll be there. But your brother and his son'll be there, too, so it won't suck completely.

“Otherwise, if you want to come see him earlier or something, that's fine, and–and you're not cutting me off and I didn't think I'd get this far so I'm losing the plot.” 

Sukuna huffed. “What, you don't want me to fuckin’ listen, huh?” 

“I know you will since I have such a pretty voice, but I'm surprised you're being a good boy for once.” 

The mechanic rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. Who knows if it was to wipe away embarrassment or fatigue. 

“You’re exhausting.” 

“And you’re a dick.” There was a special brand of teasing bitterness behind those words, but the vibes were balanced perfectly; seemed you were still cranky about what he said, but you were willing to let it slide.

Sukuna chuckled, relaxing the slightest bit. “Alright. I don't know what the fuck kids like at that age, but I'll figure somethin’ out. I can at least show up Jin.” 

“Wow.” 

“Text me time and place. I'll be there.” After a moment, he added, “I’ll bring some plum wine. Fancy shit.”

The hidden rumble of a purr snuck its way out from your side, and Sukuna did everything he could to suppress his alpha's reciprocation.

“Sounds good. See you then, Sukuna.”

Toji answered the door. 

“Hah. Why the hell are you here?” The fuckhead ex-Zenin asked with a stupid, shitty smirk on his dumbass face. 

Sukuna strained not to throw the first punch. He really shouldn't murder someone at his--your son's birthday party. Murder is bad. Murder is bad. 

“Fuck you.” Hey, at least it wasn't murder. “‘M here for my fucking kid.” 

Toji crossed his arms and suddenly looked beyond bored as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Your kid? You mean (Name)’s kid?” He wondered, putting on a show of thinking. “Weird.”

“You're one to talk. You forgetting what you did to your own brat? You fuckin’--”

“Sukuna!” Your sweet voice called, instantly changing the atmosphere. “Glad you came. Do you–oi, Toji, move, stop bodyguarding. You're not a bouncer.”

“Eh?” Toji stayed in his spot as you smacked at his arm and tried to push him away. “I'm just standing here. Not bodyguarding. Minding my business.” 

“You’re so full of shit.” You wheezed and squeaked as the man suddenly gave way, nearly making you crash into him and plummet to the floor. But you caught yourself and hissed at the dark-haired menace until he whistled innocently and waltzed away. 

“Fucking--why’s he here again?” Sukuna grumbled as you let him in. He leaned down to nose at your cheek with a grumpy, quiet grunt--typical greeting procedures for an interested individual or bonded pair. But the way you choked on whatever you were about to say meant he must've caught you off guard. 

“He's uh–we work together. We've worked together? He was the stunt coordinator for some movies I've been in.” You cleared your throat and took the present bag from Sukuna to place with the others. “And I babysit Gumi sometimes.” 

“Gumi? What the fuck is a Gumi?” 

“Megumi? His son?” Oh. Oh. “I babysit Yuuji too, so. Thick as thieves, y'know?” 

Sukuna nodded a little, thinking hard on the lore. He liked that Yuuji was taken care of by you, but surely that wretched Gumi could go somewhere else. Toji was probably just leeching off of you. 

“Oi, Momma, get in here,” Toji crowed from wherever all the baby giggles and excitement bubbled from in the house. “Your boys need some maternal guidance–” 

“Toji, don't make it weird!” Jin whisper-yelled before going on a long-winded rant about this and that, about proper behaviour and attitudes in front of children (not that the kids were paying attention to anything Toji did). 

You gave Sukuna a tired smile. “Come on. It won’t be that bad, I promise.”

Sukuna sighed, but let you drag him to his demise, bottle of wine in-hand.

But it wasn’t that bad. Not really. 

Your other boys, Gojo Satoru and Getou Suguru, showed up and showered tiny Touma with way too much praise and far too many gifts, but the little shit looked so pleased that Sukuna couldn’t get too annoyed. Shoko and Uraume came by, too, much to Sukuna’s surprise. Uraume brought with them a whole fucking confectionary cake they’d crafted themselves at home. Gojo obsessed over it and Getou tried to reign him in to no avail. 

And the night went on. No one talked shit, not unless it was in good fun, no one got fucking hammered, no one talked about work–it was all about the kids. Nothing else. No one else. 

Sukuna could never guess just how far that truth went.

When everyone left for the night, the alpha could start to see the edges of your smile fraying. But you held on, thanking everyone for the gifts and for showing up for Touma, and especially thanking Jin for offering to let all the little ones spend the night at his place (you and Toji would forever be in his debt). 

Then, when the door closed and all fell silent, he heard you cry. 

Sukuna didn't know what to do about people crying. He never had. Even when he was a kid, he had a hard time trying to comfort people with hugs and words of reassurance–he just couldn't do it. 

“It's okay,” he heard you whisper. “It's okay. It's okay. You're okay. It's okay. I'm okay.” 

Sukuna got up and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “Sure about that?”

You jumped and clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle your scream. Sukuna barked out an ugly, reedy laugh while he defended himself from your petty smacks and pinches. 

“You scared the fuck out of me–why're you still even here? Go home! Shoo!” You wiped your eyes once you were done harassing him and turned away, busying yourself with cleaning up dishes and wrapping paper left in the aftermath. 

Sukuna followed you idly, a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. What could he say? He loved seeing you get all petty and riled up. But he didn't love seeing you cry. He didn't love seeing you try to stealthily wipe tears away, to try and steady your shaky breathing. 

“What’s going on with you, babe?” Sukuna asked as he settled beside you at the sink. 

“It's nothing,” you said with a snuffle. “It's seriously nothing. Sorry, I--you don't need to stay. Or anything.” You sighed and rubbed at your eyes with your sleeve. “You've done your fatherly duties. You're free to leave.” 

“Yeah? ‘N what about my baby daddy duties?” He wondered, voice so horribly low and comforting, like the buzzing crackle of a campfire. 

You laughed, watery and shaky. “You already did everything you needed to, Sukuna.” 

“Come on, don't cockblock me like that.” He gently tilted your Chin his way to catch your eyes just like he had back at the shop all those months ago. “Look at me.” 

You did. Your eyes were red and irritated, whatever pretty boy make up you wore was wiped off and smudged, and those heavy, dark bags met the light in front of someone else for the first time in a long time. 

You still had the gall to laugh it off and pull Sukuna's hand from your face with a small, “I'm fine,” though. 

“Then why the hell are you crying?” He asked. 

You squeezed his hand with both of yours. “Things are just…hard. Overwhelming.”

Sukuna nodded a bit. “That why Jin took the runts tonight?” 

“Yeah. Needed some time, I guess.” You snuffled and wiped your face with both hands before finishing up with cleaning. “Makes me sound like a shit parent, I know.” 

Sukuna couldn’t disagree more. “Least you're not flipping out on the kid. That'd be way shittier, yeah?” 

“I don't know. I guess, but–yeah. I don't know.” 

Sukuna sighed and scooped you up like a new bride. “You're driving me fucking mental.”

“Sukuna–!”

“Quiet.” Your omega indeed piped down at the grouchy command, and you shyly let the man carry you up the steps to find your bedroom. “You're getting some damn rest. You look like shit.” 

You grumbled something Sukuna elected to ignore in favour of tossing you onto a bed the way one might lob a stone into a pond. You landed with a warbled squawk and looked at Sukuna with horribly accusatory, baffled eyes. 

Sukuna quirked a brow as he looked down on you, gladly using his broad build and tall stature to secure your submission. And it worked; the aggravated spark in your eyes curled up and fell silent after a few long seconds. Your head lowered just the slightest bit, too, but your passive gaze remained stuck on him, waiting for his next move. 

“Fine,” you grumbled. 

Sukuna raised his brows and eased onto the bed, caging you underneath him with his solid frame. Your scent flickered with shy playfulness, and Sukuna relished in it. 

“How do I know you're gonna obey, omega?” 

“I guess you don't. Not for certain,” you admitted begrudgingly. 

“Tch. Someone's gotta keep you accountable then, huh?” He nosed at your neck, nearly letting his lips touch your neck but refusing to do so in the same instance. “Make sure you're doing the right thing, make sure you're behaving.” 

One of his hands squeezed at your soft thigh before inching up little by little. Your hands found themselves in his hair as he teased at your joggers’ waistband, pulling the elastic taut before letting it go. 

“Sukuna,” you laughed, sounding a little breathless. “I, uh–I thought you said–”

“Changed my mind.”

“But–”

“Forget what I said and let me make you cum on my fingers, brat.” 

Oh. Well, hard to argue against that. 

You swallowed but gave a meek nod. He ripped your bottoms off and felt up your blazing skin with rough, calloused hands, groping and grabbing in the same spots he liked back when you were hooking up: your thighs, your hip bones, the squish of your stomach. As much as the man harped on about not wanting “damaged goods,” he sure worshiped your body like it was brand new, untouched. 

Sukuna brought his fingers to your mouth, and you took them with utmost compliance. Your tongue worked against his digits thoughtfully and thoroughly for your own sake–a lack of starter lube wouldn't end well, after all. And Sukuna was not the most patient man in the sack.

“See?” Sukuna crowed into your ear as his hand traveled south and a finger sunk into you. “It's not so bad to just behave, now is it?” 

You already felt like you were about to explode, and Sukuna savoured It. He liked being the one to do this to you–the only one for a while, considering how tight and sensitive you were. Any little push or prod inside you brought sweet sighs and soft moans to the surface–and a second and third finger had your hips bucking and your nails digging into his shoulder and back as he finger-fucked you to oblivion while still caging you in. 

“Good omega,” he cooed. “Gonna cum already, huh? Tch, you shoulda said no one’s been taking care of you; I would’ve taken my parental responsibilities more seriously.” His lips and teeth landed on your neck, as you curled up into him, body tensing, heels digging into the mattress, panting and gasping getting louder and faster. The sound made his pants strain even more. 

“Fuck, you smell fucking good. Better than when I fucked you the first time.” 

“I-I forgot you talked so much in bed,” you managed out. “Could you just–shut up?”

Sukuna growled, and you whined. “You want me to shut up, huh? You wanna listen to your slick fucking hole getting spread open, plowed into? You miss me that much, omega?”

“No.” You hissed and clung to his upper arm as he somehow managed to take it up a notch, slipping his fourth finger in and spreading you obscenely wide. 

“I think you did. Think you were hopin’ I’d come around, plow you into the bed again, stuff you full like no one else can.” 

“Sukuna–”

“I’ll fill this hole up all you want, baby–I’ll even stuff another pup in you. Twins. You want that, huh? You gonna be my omega from now on? Creaming on my cock ‘n fingers the way you shoulda been the day you walked your perfect, little ass into my life?” 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up–” you choked on a gasp and bit into his shoulder, soaking his shirt with drool and shuddered mewls while your body tightened and ecstasy hit like the weight of Sukuna’s words–brutal, fast, honest. 

Sukuna moaned in sympathy, ignoring the way his hand and arm cramped and ached to keep pistoning into you and draw out your high. He couldn't help it–something about you drove him mad in that moment. It could have been how you made his ego swell, it might've been the way his greed needed your slick staining his and only his skin, perhaps it could have been a quiet yearning coming from his lonely, hollow alpha. He didn't know. But he didn't question it. 

Your body started to relax with the death grip you had on his shoulder as you came down from the sudden, electric high. Your hips still jolted with every slow, lazy push into your soft hole, though a haze of purring and cooing filled the spot where gasps and moans once did. Eventually, you melted off of him and collapsed onto your back, looking as content as a cat lounging in the sun. 

“Oi, oi, you're not done yet, sweetheart.” But if you said you were done, he might've listened. Just that once. 

You hummed something as you looked up at him, eyes doey and so egregiously lovey-dovey. 

“That's a nice face. Make sure you save it just for me,” Sukuna gently commanded, and you laughed. 

“Demanding. I thought you didn't like used goods.” 

Sukuna scowled. “Shut up.” His free hand traced the stripes of stretched skin left in the wake of bearing his baby boy. “I like ‘em when they're used by me.”

“Does that really make them ‘used goods,’ then?” You murmured as if speaking logic too loud would break Sukuna's entranced obsession of you. 

But maybe, maybe, you had a point. 

“Guess I'll have to think on that.” His fingers slipped out of you and he gave you a wet slap on the ass to wake you up. Your subsequent squeak sure as hell woke Sukuna up. 

“Ow. Gross.” 

“I'm not finished with you, brat. Don't get too fuckin’ content, yeah?” He smirked when you glanced at his crotch expectantly. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Please.”

Sukuna sighed and settled between your legs as he futzed with his belt and button. “Could put up a bit of a fight.” 

“Too tired.” You yawned and stretched with a pleased sigh. “No will to argue.” 

The alpha leaned down to bite at your knee, and you pulled your legs together to avoid his chunky, rude fangs. You knew he'd delight in making you bleed or leaving dark bruises. He was the worst. 

“Still got a little fight left in ya,” Sukuna said with a grin. “Let's see how much more we can find, hm?”

[dunmeshistash]

Maybe it's about the "complexity" of the familiar that affect the user ? Like Marcille's three familiar weren't that complex, they even managed to manually change their shape without any resistance even when it wasn't their creator doing it. Thistle's "eyes" do look more deeply thought and fast but are numerous so can't have the same "depth" and probably work like a hive mind of some sort(that would be cool)

Meanwhile Fleki's familiar is a crow creature that might not even be a monster, if it is might be a Yatagarasu or a similar crow creature(but weirdly it didn't have 3 legs ?) but do feel more independent and smarter than the other two familiar shown

Anonymous asked: Fleki's familiar giving her severe brain damage when it dies might be a combination of Fleki's being made of blood giving it a stronger connection to her and fleki herself being a skilled familiar user jamming her entire mind into that thing for even better control then the other summoners which is probably a risky move when she can already control it just fine the normal way the other canary summoners use. My thinking here being that managing to fit your whole consciousness into a smaller and more primitive creature takes skill and a lot of recklessness on part if the user considering if that thing dies its taking you with it. I'm thinking the pros of this would be less distractions and better use of the familiar (assumed) superior senses and more ease of control

Anonymous asked: I never notcied before but is Fleki's familiar made out of mana? Maybe it's even more difficult or has a stronger connection to the caster? It's probably the most mana intensive one out of the stated options (making familiar out of scratch + only using mana, remaking the familiar every time).

Sorry I'm putting all the familiar asks I received here.

Basically all we can do is speculate I guess there isnt much info about Fleki's Familiar, I always assumed it was just a normal raven but since it was inside her head at one point maybe not.

Anyway yeah most likely is a case of Familiar complexity and connection, you can check the Familiar tag to see what other people have theorized

[gffa]

Im having tons of fun crawling all over your dick grayson tag and checking out the comics you've commented on. Batman year one:scarecrow has to be my favorite bbydick and bruce dynamic lol, but also if my dad nerve pinched ME to keep me out of the fight idve gone ballistic immediately upon waking. Betcha dick made *very sure* bruce could never keep him out of a fight that way again (though i didn't quite understand what dick meant when he said he feared batman in a godfearing way? Like its a raw as hell line but i dont quite get what he meant)

Excellentttttt, there's a lot of really fun Dick Grayson comics out there, and that one is just an absolute joy. (I would also recommend One Bad Day: Mr. Freeze, because I think it captures the same feral gremlin angel baby energy of Year One: Batman/Scarecrow! But also Robin & Batman. And Batman: Dark Victory.) The art combined with the dynamic is just so top-tier:

Dick just REFUSING to be serious about Bruce's cranky moods!

Dick casually flinging himself upside down on the couch while talking to Bruce! Refusing to let Bruce snipe at him, he's serious about this, too, you know! What's making you such a pill tonight?

Dick scooting under Bruce's arm to get a better look at some evidence in their case, like he's so little! And he just WRIGGLES RIGHT IN THERE, absolutely no thought for personal space! Or leans his head right on Batman's arm to get a closer look! And that's something that will continue even when he's big as an adult, he has never met personal space of a loved one that he would not casually violate!

Hopping up on the table to curl up with his arms around his knees, like he's not a tiny baby child, and going, "Bruce, seriously, something's wrong, talk to me." as if he's the adult in this situation while sitting there like a TINY BABY CHILD.

Leaving money for a guy they just beat up!

Bruce PICKING HIM UP BY THE SCRUFF OF THE NECK like he weighs nothing, like he's just a pet cat to haul out of harm's way!

Dick trying to flirt with the receptionist and Bruce LOOMING with a cracking knuckles gesture, like if you even THINK about taking this tiny baby child seriously about how he's offering a date, it will not end well.

THEN MOVING DICK OUT OF THE WAY BY PUTTING ONE HAND ON HIS FACE AND SHOVING, I love Bruce, he's awful and the best.

Dick noticing details and asking really good questions, like that kid may not be as trained as Bruce is yet, but it definitely shows he had a natural affinity for detective work, that he's probably genuinely one of the best detectives out there after Bruce himself!

But also the "god-fearing way" and the nerve pinch lend it some nice crunch, because those moments (for all that this is a genre where these things should NOT be taking totally seriously, this is comics) are really kind of fucked up. I think, while Dick doesn't fear Bruce as a person, he can see the person Bruce is underneath the persona, there's part of him that understands Bruce is not always in control of himself and he does things he later regrets because of it. The whole mini is undercurrented with Bruce being in a bad mood, being surly and snapping, beating up people with more force than needed, slamming tables in his frustration, not talking things out. Dick sees how that plays out, it's why he keeps needling Bruce to talk to him--and Dick's not going to let any of that hold him back, he clearly feels safe enough to tease Bruce, to wriggle in under his arm, to lean on him, to snap back at him. But he also knows that Bruce can do things that are terrifying. He fears that Bruce is going to shut him out. He fears for the people in Batman's way. He knows Bruce will regret those things, but when Batman swoops down on someone he sees as being in his way, that's terrifying, like a wrathful, vengeful god. He's not really bothered by the nerve pinch, he gets why Bruce did it, and it hardly slowed him down that much. He understands that it was Bruce's way of protecting him, because he didn't want Dick to get hurt, but also I think Dick probably sees it as a challenge--to avoid it or overcome it again in the future, it's good training! Like, what a beautiful, wonderful, sweet, fucked up dynamic those two have! What a hilarious feral gremlin child he is, what an incredible "the child has to be just as mature as the adult, sometimes more mature" deliciously awful dynamic that is! Anyway, if any of you others enjoy Batman comics, please read Year One: Batman/Scarecrow, it is so funny and delightful and fucked up in a way I'm not sure it meant to be but sure is tasty as hell!

[ramblers-lets-get-ramblin]

Ninety-Nine Days- Dieter Bravo x OFC

Main Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Unnamed OFC

Summary: Dieter Bravo pays his estranged wife a visit after leaving rehab.

Rating: M for mature MDNI 18+

Word Count: 2481

Warnings: TAGS CONTAIN SPOILERS: drug abuse and addiction, major angst, character death

Author's Note: I literally have no excuse for this. I'm so sorry. I had a thought in the shower and ran with it. shout-out to @pedgito for beta reading and basking in the sadness with me!

graphic made by me!

Dieter steps out of the building into the blistering Arizona heat. He slides his sunglasses onto his face and lights a cigarette. It's a dry heat, they always say. “Dry heat my ass,” Dieter thinks. Humidity doesn't matter when it's a hundred and seventeen. Garbage cans and car headlights are melting to the ground. Ground so hot you can fry an egg on it. 

He blows smoke out of his mouth and nose, thankful this rehab place didn't prohibit them like the last one. Ninety days without his smokes doesn't do anyone any good. A black Escalade pulls up to the curb and Dieter leaves the relative shade of the building overhang and the sun warms his face and neck immediately. The driver exits the SUV and grabs Dieter's rolling suitcase. “Mr. Bravo,” he nods. Dieter grumbles a reply and opens the back door himself, desperate to escape the oppressive heat. 

He slides in and the blast of air from the car's a.c is a blissful relief. His shirt sticks to his skin and the black leather of the seat. He slams the door and rolls the window down, flicking the ash off of his cigarette. James, his publicist, is occupying the other middle row seat. He's tapping furiously on his phone and doesn't even seem to notice Dieter. 

The driver closes the gate and slips into the front seat. “Is the air cool enough, Mr. Bravo?” He asks, meeting Dieter's eyes in the rearview. 

“Yeah, it's fine. Thanks,” Dieter replies. He slips his wired earbuds from his pocket and plugs them into his phone. Lou Reed's voice fills his ears and he lays his head back on the seat and smokes all the way to the airport. 

He and James make small talk on the plane while Dieter's leg shakes with nerves. He's been gone for three months. Did the City of Angels forget about him? Did she? A nearly identical black SUV collects them from LAX. They pass by her neighborhood on the way to his. Dieter looks over even though her house isn't visible from the main road. James places a hand on his shoulder, startling him. 

“You can't see her, you know.” Dieter nods in agreement but doesn't say anything. He knows he can't see her. But the thing about being rich and famous is that Dieter can do anything he wants. He shouldn't, though. It wouldn't be good for either of them. She's probably been home for a week or two. The rehab she went to was in Maine, but she was able to go before Dieter could get away. He had to wrap up filming, and neither the studio nor his people were willing to put it off for three months. Wonder what they would have done if I died? 

James rattles off a laundry list of obligations Dieter has to fulfill. Promotional interviews for the film, a meeting with a filmmaker who wants Dee to be the lead in his new movie, even a podcast. All Dee really wants to do is crawl into his bed and never come out. Not unless she's there to drag him out. Dieter doesn't listen too intently, his assistant handles his schedule, after all. He just goes where he's told. Wears what he's told. Stands where he's told. Says what he's told. 

He's got three Oscars in a case at his too-big house that let him, and everyone else, know that he's made it. He doesn't need to do this shit anymore. He's got more money than he knows what to do with, even with the alimony payments to two ex-wives. Soon to be three. He could just quit. Sell his Sherman Oaks mansion and move into her modest two-story suburban house. The house he bought for her when she moved out over a year ago. The same house he overdosed on the floor of three months ago. The memory of the bitter taste of activated charcoal fills his mouth. It wasn't his first rodeo with overdoing it. It likely wouldn't be his last.

“Did she sign the papers?” He asks James. James doesn't answer right away and that tells Dieter everything he needs to know. She's the one who left. Why won't she sign the fucking papers? He knows why, though. The same reason the first thing he wanted to do the second his plane touched down was rush over to her house. They might not be good for each other, but they love each other. Love isn't enough anymore , she had told him. But she still won't sign the divorce papers. She still won't let him go. Dieter doesn't want to let go. Toxic, the kids call it.  

“I'll have the lawyer send them again,” he tells him. Dieter thanks the driver and waves to James. Finally, he's home. 

He enters his house and it is finally quiet. He hasn't had many moments alone in the last three months. There were doctors and nurses first. Then there were police and reporters and James and his agent. More doctors and roommates. Other junkies. Every fucking person in the whole state of California. Every person except the one he wanted to see. He lugs his suitcase up to his room and drops it on the floor. He begins stipping his clothing away, dropping it on the floor while walking to the bathroom. The walk in shower has a digital display that controls everything from an exact water temperature down to the lights. Dieter punches the button for his saved specifics and turns to the mirror while he waits for the water to heat. 

He hardly recognizes the man looking back at him. His body looks much healthier than it did before he went in. His skin has returned to a normal color after months of being pale and clammy. He's softer around the middle he notices with a sharp poke into his gut. The bags under his eyes are gone and his once hollow cheeks have filled out. The wonders of three meals a day, he supposes. The mirror begins to fog and Dieter runs his hand through his messy curls before opening the glass door and stepping into the shower. 

He goes through his routine pretty quickly. Shampoo twice and let the conditioner sit for five minutes. Gives his natural curls a fluffy appearance. He soaps his body thoroughly, eager to wash the medicinal smell of the rehab center and the sweat from himself. Once he's finished, he plants one hand on the wall and curls the fingers of the other around his cock. He gives himself a few tugs and tries to work himself up. Just like every other time over the last three months, nothing happens. Not even a twitch. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, smacking his open hand against the tile. A sharp pain radiates up to his wrist and pisses him off even more. He hasn't come once in ninety days. Ninety-nine actually. He was hoping it was just the lack of privacy. Clearly, that wasn't the issue. He yanks the door open and shoves his finger onto the button on the shower control panel, shutting it off. 

The entire time he’s getting dressed, the whole time he’s sifting through papers on his desk, he tells himself that it's just business. He just wants to get the papers signed, get this chapter of his book closed. He knows it isn’t true, not even that deep in his mind. But that’s what he needs to tell himself. He knows how fucked up it is to go over there, to go see her. To drag her back into his shit. Ninety-nine days without the sound of her laugh, the feel of her fingers running through his hair. Ninety-nine days without the sound of her moaning in his ear or the velvet of her cunt wrapped around his cock. 

He curses himself as he gets in his car. He sticks the keys into the ignition but hesitates before turning the engine over. He hits the button that opens the gate to his property and every second it takes to open is another second he has to question his decision. He hits every red light along the way, which he oughta take as a sign. A sign to turn around, go home and forget this stupid ass idea. But he doesn’t. 

His car idles at the curb, and Dieter stares at his hands on the wheel. This is a bad idea, he tells himself. Probably the worst idea he’s ever had. She’s probably fine without him. Piecing her life together. A life that doesn’t include Dieter. “Fuck it,” he says aloud, turning off the car. “She’s my fucking wife.” He’s not ready to give up on her, on them. He grabs the envelope from the passenger seat and slams the door behind him. The grass is a little overgrown and starting to yellow in the late July heat. When he gets to the door he raises his hand, takes a deep breath and knocks. When the door opens, Dieter quickly realizes he had it all wrong. This is why James didn’t want him to come over here. 

“Hey, Dee,” She says and Dieter’s eyes widen in shock. It’s clear that whatever she’s been up to, she didn’t spend the last three months in rehab. Since it wasn’t a court ordered stay, there was nothing stopping her from leaving any time she wanted. Since they already had Dieter’s money whether she stayed or not, they weren’t very bothered when she left. Especially when they filled that bed with someone else’s money. 

“Hey, baby.” Dieter takes in her disheveled appearance. Her eyes are bloodshot and sunken in. She’s wearing a ratty old band tee of Dieter’s, The Replacements, and it hangs off her too slim frame. There are scars from old tracks in the crooks of her elbows. Fresh ones run alongside them. “Can I come in?” She opens the door all the way and steps to the side. Dieter walks into the house and is struck by the smell of food that’s been sitting out just a tad too long and stale cigarettes. She closes the door behind her and follows Dieter into the living room. 

“If I had known you were gonna drop by I woulda cleaned up a little.” She gathers laundry from the couch and deposits it into the chair, making a space for Dieter to sit. “I thought after James told you I left rehab you wouldn’t wanna see me again.”

“He didn’t tell me.” Dieter clears his throat and pulls the papers out of the envelope. “We need to get this taken care of, baby.” She sighs and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. She reaches for them but he snatches his hand back. “You don’t have to sign them, ya know.” 

“What do you mean?” She picks at the hem of her shirt. His shirt.  

“You could always come home,’ he offers quietly. He doesn’t meet her eyes for fear of what he might find there. She might not want to come home. “I’ll call James. We can get you into another rehab, have you there by tomorrow if you want.” She doesn’t answer so he continues. “Then when you finish treatment, you can just come home. We’ll sell this shithole and move forward. Together. ” 

She’s quiet for a long time. Too long. Dieter reaches his hand out and this time she takes the papers. She looks at them for a long moment but when Dee reaches for the pen in his shirt pocket she surprises him by tearing them in half. “Let’s go home.” Dieter stands from the couch and wraps his arm around the small of her back. He pulls her close and captures her lips in a kiss. She returns it with the same fervor she always did. Like she wanted to swallow him whole. Dieter grabs her by the hand and tugs her towards the bedroom.

“Let’s get you changed and get the fuck outta here,” he declares. When they make it to the bedroom she drops Dieter’s hand and heads to her nightstand. 

“Before we go,” she begins, “how about one last one? For the road?” She holds up a baggie full of white powder. Dieter opens his mouth to protest but she doesn’t let him speak. “I swear baby, this will be the last time. I’ll go to rehab tomorrow for however long you want,” she promises. “Then I'll come home to you and we’ll never have to be apart again.” 

Dieter’s eyes flick between his wife’s face and the baggie pinched between her fingers. He shouldn’t. He can’t. The last call was such a close one. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, baby.” Nobody knows better than Dieter the siren call of that first hit after a drought. But it’s been ninety-nine days. 

“I just bought this, an hour before you got here. It’s good shit, new shit. I already spent the money, baby. Let’s not waste it.” Dieter sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’ll be like old times,” she promises, climbing into his lap. Dieter’s cock twitches in his pants. The erection he was chasing earlier in the shower finally makes an appearance and Dieter groans when she grinds down on his growing bulge. “One last hurrah, and then we’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you, baby.” She bites the skin just below his jaw. His favorite place. Her favorite place.  

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers against her lips. He can feel his self control melting away. Tomorrow will be a hundred days. Dieter hasn’t been a hundred days sober his entire adult life. His will is slipping through his fingers and then it’s gone. All it took was a tug on a zipper for him to cave. “Fuck it, set it up.” She stands from his lap and removes her shirt, his shirt, and drops it to the floor. Clad only in a pair of panties, she bends and rummages through the nightstand drawer. Dieter tugs off his jeans and kicks off his shoes. Finally, everything he wants is within reach. He has ninety-nine days sober, he can start fresh tomorrow. 

“Oscar winner Dieter Bravo has died today at the age of forty-five, TMZ reports. He was found unresponsive in the home of his estranged wife this evening by his publicist. There was another person in the home, also confirmed deceased. No identity has been made, but reports suggest that it may have been Mr. Bravo’s wife. Mr. Bravo was released this morning from a treatment center in Phoenix, where he was recovering from a drug overdose three months ago. Friends and fans alike are taking to social media to mourn the troubled but beloved star.” 

[lifblogs]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by: @just-here-with-my-thoughts (I feel so honored, thank you! And I really am dying to read Welcome to the Outpost.)

These answers will probably involve a range of fandoms.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

647.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,850,510

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily The Bad Batch now, maybe Clone Wars here and there. My fandom writing migrates. Used to be Doctor Who, then Supernatural, then The Clone Wars, and Rebels.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Apparently my top 5 are fics I don’t even care about anymore. *sigh* Not providing links because of how meh I am about these.

1. Morningstar (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina),

2. Take Me Home (I actually didn’t realize this was in my top 5), it’s a Supernatural fic),

3. Take Me to Church (Supernatural),

4. Deal (I believe this is an Avatar: The Last Airbender crack fic based off of incorrect quotes), and

5. Ineffable (Good Omens).

5. Do you respond to comments?

Most definitely!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Definitely either Bleeding Reality, or In the Dark.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely May I Have This Dance? Oh, how I adore that fic. I wrote it based on art I love so much, and the artist even let me put their art in the fic!!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Used to years ago, so now I still feel dread in the pit of my stomach when I get an AO3 comment email. The dread thankfully doesn’t show up all the time now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh, hell yeah, I do! Not sure about what kind. It’s just, I don’t know, smut.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not.

11. Which fic are you proud of but wish had gotten a bigger response from your readers?

Maybe The World Goes Cold? But I am maybe releasing chapters too slowly, so I guess it makes sense the response isn’t as big.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think I’ve had a couple translated into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I tried to do so with my brother a couple of times, but we never finished them. I don’t think either of us really understand how the co-writing process works.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Tbh, I always feel the most when I think about or see anything involving Whoufflé/Whouffaldi from Doctor Who. They were my OTP from 2013 to 2016. Might still be the case!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

You know, I had ones I did want to finish, but now, I’m not even sure I want to.

Still, I guess Blackout, and Three Birds, One Stone held a lot of my attention for a few years. But with the fic content now being triggering for me, and with a brain injury, I feel as if I may have moved on.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have been told my descriptions are incredibly visceral, and I might agree. I’ve been on the edge of my seat or emotional more than a few times during my editing process. I also like to consider the fact that I’m writing at all a strength given I have a brain injury that gives me memory problems and aphasia.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, I’d say say the memory problems and aphasia cause some weaknesses. I have caught a couple weirdly-worded errors and it’s slightly embarrassing. Does Omega shredding my outline multiple times count as a weakness? lol I suppose another weakess is spelling and forgetting words and struggling to find the right words. I often have to look things up. But as far as things like description, dialogue… I’m not sure I struggle there.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I’d take a crack at French! I used to be able to read and write in French very easily.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Lord of the Rings. I was 8.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably Brother, Hold Me Up, and it’s still going!

Tagging: @evilwriter37, @envydean, @cascigarette, and @clownery-and-fuckery

[vera-king-hrfl]

Here's the first bit of the promised Zevlor/Rolan little one-shot spicy story. It's more gentle than I expected, after the first bit, but I don't really plan things, and that's what came out. 🏳️‍🌈

Edit to tag @manicpixie-tieflingboyfriend in case they didn't see it. I gotchu fam.

 

“So I hear that you are planning to leave us.”

The gruff rumble of Zevlor’s voice cuts through your reverie and you look up, frowning. “I’m surprised you aren’t. They don’t want us here. We’re going to be forced out anyway. I’m just cutting to the chase.”

“And that is what it will be, Rolan. As soon as you step out that gate, the three of you will be vulnerable. And that’s not all. By abandoning the rest of us, you will be putting everyone at greater risk. We are stronger together.”

You bark a laugh, “are we? Dragging around a load of children, elderly, non-combatants. Almost all of them. I saw Guex yesterday. The kids. They will fall like wheat to the scythe. Can you and a handful of soldiers save them from gods know how many goblins and worgs and whatever else they send? At least, if it’s just Cal and Lia, we can hide, and I might be able to…”

He cuts you off with a chopping motion. “If I cannot hope to stand against this, then what chance do you have? You should wait. The party that just arrived, they are on our side. They have offered…”

“Bullshit. We don’t know those people. They took the Blade of Frontiers with them and fucked off. He was the only one left here that was on our side and the Arch Druid is probably dead. Even the mercenaries left after they knocked out their leader. For being rude to you, I might add. Can’t even fight your own battles. I think you’re going soft.”

“And I think you’re being very selfish. We have elderly, and actual children to care for. You should think of that instead of acting like one yourself.”

You growl, feeling the heat in your face. You know you’re getting too angry, given his calm demeanor, but you don’t care. “Yeah. Children and elderly, like you. Broken down old asshole. Half of our people are already dead because you can’t cut it anymore.”

You see him wince a little, and almost wish you could take the words back, but it’s too late. He bares his teeth, finally raising his voice, “Fine! Have it your own way. Petulant, stupid little brat. Go and get yourself and your family killed. I have better things to do than argue with you.” He whirls and starts to stalk toward the door of the cave he’s been using as an office, but his words burn you. Partly because you know he’s right, but you are seeing red, and almost before you realize what you’re doing, you raise your hand and shoot a single magic missile at his retreating back. It hits him, and he staggers, stopping dead. He’s wearing armor, but it still probably stung him pretty good.  

Zevlor turns, “you really want to do this, you little shit? It would take more than…”

Desperate to shut him up, you snarl and send two more missiles his way, but incredibly, he manages to dodge one. Fuck, the old man is fast. The other hits him in the shoulder, and he shakes it off and starts toward you, fangs gleaming.

Dodge this, you think. “Detono!” He leans into the Thunderwave, and it pushes him back, his boots sliding over the stony floor, but he doesn’t go down. Shit, he’s still coming, and you’re getting tired.

You try to blow him back with a gust of wind, all you have left, but the spell is too weak, he seems hardly to notice, gripping your wrist and twisting, whipping you around, wrenching your shoulder and pressing himself to your back. His other hand flashes up to cover your mouth. “Stop this now,” he snarls, “save it for our real enemies.”

You struggle, squirming in his grasp, attempting to pry the hand from your face, curling your tail around his leg and yanking at it, but he is far too strong, and your shoulder is screaming, and you’re thinking of enemies. Enemies everywhere, threats on every side, goblins on the road, gnolls in the hills, druids trying to force you out. You hear the insults, the filthy names, flashing back to your life as an unwanted orphan, the sting of stones thrown by human children when you were cold, hungry, and desperate for someone, anyone, to care about you. And now Zevlor will hate you as well, the person you secretly trusted to be strong enough to save you and your siblings.

Perhaps he feels your chest hitch with the stifled sob, or the tears trickling onto his fingers, or perhaps not, but either way he releases your wrist then, letting you drop your arm, and wraps his arm around you, still holding you tight and covering your mouth. “Are you finished?” But his voice is much more gentle now, and you nod, gasping for breath when he releases you, stumbling forward to lean against the table. You are reluctant to turn, to let him see you crying, but he is silent, merely standing there behind you, perhaps waiting for something. An apology, most likely. You know you should apologize for picking a fight, for attacking him even when he was resisting what had to be a powerful urge to knock some sense into you. He hadn’t hit you even then, merely restraining you so you would stop trying to hurt him. Your shoulder aches, and your lips sting where they were cut against your own teeth, but the tough old Hellrider could have destroyed you if he’d wanted to.

“That was really stupid,” you rasp, finally turning to look at him, “I am sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

He looks a bit stunned, taking in your tear-stained face and bruised, bloody mouth, but shakes his head, “we’re all under a great deal of stress. I should not have let it go that far. I engaged where I shouldn’t have. The fault is mine.”

He's blaming himself, as usual, looking so contrite that another little sob forces its way past your lip. You had hurt him, just not physically. You know how little Zevlor thinks of himself, and this is just another stone piled onto the great burden of guilt he carries. That, more than anything, causes your face to heat with shame and the tears to flow faster, and you cover your face with your hands. “No no no,” you whine, “it was me. It’s all just… too much. I am afraid… makes me so angry…”

He's here now, closing on you, his hands gentle, soothing, and you feel the soft wave of his power flow over you, healing the cuts, the bruises, the pain in your arm, and he pulls you to him, hushing you and tucking your face into his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, uncaring of the armor, holding him tightly as he rubs your back, letting you cry on him and whispering words of praise and encouragement. He is so kind, you think, so steady, a solid wall to prop yourself against when the shadows gather too near. You finally run down and sniffle, chuckling a bit, “I’m going to rust your armor.”

“Fuck the armor.” He eases you back to look at you, and you wipe your face on your sleeve. “Better now?” He’s still speaking quietly, smiling a little but still looking anxious, and his solicitous nature moves something in you. Your hair has come undone and he reaches up to brush a lock from your eyes and tuck it behind your horn. So gentle, so generous, eyes so bright, just like yours, lips so soft… without thinking you lean forward and press your mouth to his.

Zevlor freezes for a moment, but then pulls back, holding you away from him. “You are overwrought, Rolan. I think you should rest now. Come, you can wash your face and when you are more yourself again you can go back…”

“No,” you interrupt him, clearing your throat and lowering your eyes, mumbling, “I mean, I am, yes, but that’s not why. I know you don’t feel the same but… I kind of… I have a little crush on you. Have for a while. I don’t know if you would ever… never mind. It’s fine, I’ll deal with it.”

He looks more surprised than he had before, but he’s still holding one of your hands, and he doesn’t release it. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never thought about you like that. Never allowed myself to…” Of course he hadn’t. You had known men who had, who had made their desires very clear, sometimes even forceful, and you’d had to fight off quite a few unwanted advances in your youth. It was one reason you strove so desperately to make yourself more powerful. But Zevlor isn’t like that. You’d never seen him so much as look at anyone in a way that might suggest interest. If he has desires, he hides them very well.

You swallow, his proximity and the warmth of his hand in yours making you brave. “Well, think about it now. If… I mean, if you want to. If you don’t like men…”

He shakes his head, his burning eyes wide. “It’s not that. And you are very… but I still think you are a little off balance. Not thinking clearly. You couldn’t possibly be interested a battered old soldier like me.” But you see the barest flicker of hope cross his face. Hope that he would quickly crush himself if you don’t act decisively.

You touch his face, the ridges on his cheek, and he doesn’t pull away. “I should not have done that without permission. I’m sorry. I will ask this time. Zevlor, may I kiss you?”

He is silent for so long that you become nervous again, thinking that perhaps you’ve offended him. He’s going to refuse, you’d misread him. You are gathering yourself to apologize again, to pull away, to take back your words, but it seems you have just rendered him speechless, because after another moment, he merely nods. You blow out a breath, feeling relief flood through you. You have to reset yourself. You want this to be good. Steeling yourself you slowly lean forward, slide your fingers up into his hair, and touch your lips gently to his.

He doesn’t respond at first, but you shift closer, increasing the pressure incrementally, and after a few more seconds he begins to return your kiss. His lips are even softer and sweeter than you had imagined in your guilty late night fantasies, and he moves them slowly, hesitant, not applying much pressure of his own. He is being very careful, you think, probably he still doesn’t really believe that you want this, thinks you might change your mind and pull away with every second that passes. But you have no intention of stopping. It feels too good. You tilt your head a bit, fitting your mouth to his, sliding your fingers to the back of his head, and you feel his own large, warm hand lay lightly on your waist. He likes it. He’s responding, getting a little more confident, and you hear his sharp intake of breath when you flick your tongue briefly over his mouth. He parts his lips, slightly, allowing you to taste the moist inner surface, to touch the points of his teeth. The hand on your waist slips further, settling against your lower back above your tail. That appendage is trembling, and you can’t see, but you think his might be as well. You decide to check, passing the length between your legs and his, seeking his own tail. A soft brush of the spade on the end, and you coil it around his, squeezing a little. That seems to crack some of his reserve and he wraps his arms around you fully, opening his mouth and letting you push your tongue against his. You moan, feeling the delicate tapered points taste you carefully. It’s incredible. He feels amazing, his heat, his strong hands, his tail around yours, and you feel safe in his arms, protected.

But you want more. You want all of him, and you lose yourself in the intensity of the moment, sealing your mouth with his, and reach your hand around to grip his ass and pull him hard against you. You are as hard as granite, but the armor is in the way, you want it off,  want him bare against you, on top of you, taking you. You are considering the fastest way to get into his pants when he suddenly breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Stop.” You shake your head, needy, and try to recapture his lips but he holds you away from him. “Not here. Not now. Someone else might walk in at any moment. And I… Rolan, that was… no one has touched me, kissed me in years. I need time to think, and we need to talk about this. Tonight. Down by the river. I will be there, and if you still feel… but I will not press you. If you change your mind I will understand. I won’t be upset. We can forget the whole thing, alright?”

You nod, breathing deeply, trying to calm yourself, but you know you will remember that beautiful kiss for the rest of your life. “I will be there.”

[mccoyquialisms]

wait, there’s for real, serious discourse about the bad kids killing the rat grinders? people realize they’re watching a show based on the “burn towns, get money, slaughter our enemies to save the day” game, right?

[robin-with-a-pen]

Okay I’m having ideas I need someone to stop me-

Anyways, so we all know that Chilchuck probably doesn’t have the healthiest relationship with food? Right?

I don’t think he has an eating disorder but more so disordered eating- that hellish middle space, right? I mean “maintaining his body weight at an acceptable level” really sticks out to me

So picture this- my man retires, he doesn’t need to control his weight anymore, no worry about setting off or anything, but he realizes that the unhealthy habits he’s developed over he past ten years are harder to break than he thought

[callmehere-iwillappear]

yknow that. that one meme. yeah

(tc/st dni i Will block you)

[curi0uscreature]

* Hashtag couple goals (He/Him for Lili)

[multiversal-madness]

So I’m not usually one to make theories or stuff like that but I noticed a few things in the trailer and decided I’d share my ideas.

So this guy:

Is most likely in the same world as all of the strange/monstery looking candy people:

Because of this screenshot below (from this post) that shows the two ice skater people in the candy place with Fiona who’s wearing the same outfit as she is in the weird looking banana guard screenshots.

So that made me think, what if this is Bubblegum and she’s the bubblegum from this world (note the similar cookie-like background and the fangs/wild hair that match up with the more monstery candy people).

And if that is the case, then maybe this universe is a role reversal/swap of sorts with Princess Bubblegum being the crazy ‘Candy Queen’ or something along those lines with this worlds Simon being more like Bubblegum (or at least more sane). It is implied that he’s a prince and not a king in the trailer after all.

I don’t know if any of this really makes sense or if someone else has said anything about it but I figured I’d share anyway as it seems interesting at least.

[basuralindo]

So I was asked to expand on the whole Jamil having a trauma response to Leona comment on my last post, aaand here's that.

(This pertains to chapter 6 btw, so spoiler warning)

(also it's very much sleep deprived rambling so sorry if it's, well, rambly)

First off, I'm operating under the assumption that he has cPTSD. Jamil has clearly been programmed since birth to always obey the Asims and act in their best interests, even at the expense of his own life. This is a boy who has been forced to eat poison to protect them and their assets, who's family was forced to let that happen, and who has been so desperate his entire life to escape that situation that he was willing to resort to murder and doom not just himself but his whole family which he is implied to care about. Which means if simply quitting was an option, he would have done so. So, you kinda have to infer that he and his family don't have a choice in this role, and there are severe enough consequences for disobedience that fucking up or refusing is a worse option than risking a slow painful death every time Kalim wants to eat something. And this is all stuff that's been depicted blatantly in canon, not even touching on the assumptions that could be made from there.

So that's the position Jamil is in. That is a traumatic situation. This is a guy who has been groomed for servitude and obedience since he was old enough to talk. These kinds of circumstances absolutely can lead someone to be triggered into subservience or other trained behaviors. That's just, a thing with trauma.

Now, with the Asims being one of if not THE most powerful merchant families in their country, one of the expectations of Jamil as their servant and especially as the attendant to their heir is to ensure good relationships with other rich and powerful families, especially royalty. This was shown in the fireworks event, where he states that as a prince, if Malleus came to any harm under his watch while a guest of the Asims, it could start an international conflict. These are incredibly high stakes, a misstep on Jamil's part could ruin the Asim family and potentially even endanger his country, and it's pretty strongly implied that he and his family would take the blame and suffer the consequences. Now, much like how wearing a company logo while at work makes your actions representative of your employer, Jamil serving the Asims 24/7 (and especially as the chaperone of their heir) means that he is representing their family At All Times. This is why he is forced to defer to Kalim in all aspects of life even outside of their country, part of his job is to make his employers look good, and there are consequences for not doing so. This means that anyone of high enough status to be significant to the Asims is someone who Jamil is required to be subordinate to.

Then, enter Leona. As a wealthy prince, he would be someone who Jamil is expected maintain good relations with at any cost to himself. With his position Leona could literally destroy Jamil's (and probably his family's) entire life with a single complaint to the Asims about his conduct. Like, he could do that with no actual cause just for fun, because the Asims are 100% going to take the side of a prince over an expendable servant. This means that one misstep or any backtalk from Jamil puts him at massive risk, it is entirely up to Leona whether or not he suffers for any of these actions, and while the audience knows Leona's personal morals would prevent him from actually doing that, Jamil does not.

THEREFORE (sorry this ended up so long), once Jamil was in a life threatening situation with Leona, it seems likely that all this programming and fear would manifest in desperately trying to protect him and follow orders the way he's always done for Kalim. To me, the way he snapped into bodyguard mode, and immediately complied with every one of Leona's bitchy commands (like giving him a hair ornament to throw away without question, and barely saying anything about it after), even while being humiliated and knowing he was less trained in magic, just comes off more like a trigger response than anything. Especially because I can't imagine that situation not being triggering, and I can't imagine him knowing any other way to respond.

[louisbleedingout]

i really feel for louis and claudia so far in season 2 because the ONLY private space they had away from lestat in season 1 was their brains. claudia had her journals, but she really had to be careful with what she was writing after lestat told her that he read her journals.

sure there are ways to "build up mental walls" like armand keeps mentioning, but your mind should be a sacred place. needing to keep mental walls up 24/7 in case someone can dig around in there is horrifying to me as an abuse survivor, it would literally be my worst nightmare. we saw the impacts of how easily it lead to claudia being abused in season 1, but something about the realization of any vampire being able to dig around in another vampire's brain didn't hit me until this season. also not just one person digging around, but the ENTIRE 10+ member coven trying to find a crack in your mind to slip in?? horrifying!! even picturing that for a few days or weeks would be enough to give me life long trauma, let alone how long louis and claudia are going to be doing it for. there's so much autonomy that you need to regain in order to present yourself and make yourself come off as "normal" after surviving abuse. not having any private space (or space where you can sort out what version of yourself you're trying to be) REALLY would start to make anyone fall apart long term, but i can see why it's taken such a toll on louis. even louis' ONLY creative output and hobby (photography, especially focusing on his love for portrait photography) means he always needs to indirectly involve other people

[diathadevil]

Do you ever think about how Fakir, after him and Ahiru finally broke everything that kept the town of Goldkröne in the ghostly hands of its writer, after they finally have some air of peace over the town finally being able to live in its intended early 2000s environment, that Fakir still feels at times like it's not real and that for a while he fears that if he closes his eyes it'll be back in Drosselmeyer's control. Like it just doesn't feel real to him during that first year of calm, until he feels the dull pain on his recovering hand injury and Ahiru who follows him without a pendant anywhere to be found.

He doesn't feel it's real, the calm finality of this town, but he makes sure to feel the scar on his hand. And he makes sure to hold the little duck and realize that she is who she has always been. Him and the town are finally living peacefully.

[pseudo-hero]

In the same spirit as the bottom of my "Comics!Clex Plot Connection?" post, here's another (sort of serious) Clex/SuperTie Translation:

Lex Luthor: "You and I could make a pretty lovin—I mean, great pair, I think. A wonderful not-couple. Don't you think? Pretty please say you do! We could save each other."

Superman: *Pretends to not have already made up his mind* "Listen Lex, I want to be able to hold you believe in you so badly...which is why I came here to ask you...if you would be...my partner in stopping crime?"

Lex Luthor: "...What...? Oh...! I thought you'd never ask! I mean—I knew you'd eventually come around to see things my way...my love."

[felidthing]

black dresses has all their albums free on bandcamp for "a while" go listen to black dresses download all their shit and also give them money but DOWNLOAD THEIR MUSIC. NOW