#(I won’t. I would never. but god it’s a thought.)

[jamespotterismydaddy]

On the Brink

joel miller x reader smut

description: you’ve been wanting him for so long but joel can’t bring himself to give you what you want, what you deserve. a near death experience makes him realize how much he needs you

WORD COUNT: 4,2 k words

WARNINGS: smut, angst, age gap, semi-public sex, it’s also fluffy and cute at the start so no complaining about the angst

Your eyes watch him from across the yard with that same look you’ve had for the past few months. He knows what it is. Of course he knows what it is- he’s not an idiot… but that doesn’t mean he can ever acknowledge it. You’re young. Not a child by any means but for god’s sake, you’re half his age. There will be no entertaining these longing glaces you throw his way.

It was innocent at first, or at least he thinks it was. You would knock on his door, ask for his advice when it came to things like shooting and whatnot. He liked being helpful, useful. He liked that it was him that you came to, not Tommy even if he was known to be a sharpshooter. He thought that you looking up to him was the part he liked; he’s starting to realize that what he really likes is your attention.

“You need some help there, Mr. Miller?” You ask sweetly as he pulls in the planks of wood. He didn’t even see you walk over.

Joel rolls his eyes. You know he doesn’t like it when you call him that. Makes him really feel his age. “Not from you, trouble.”

He was getting the supplies together because part of his front porch was rotting and he’d be damned if he fucked his knee up some more stepping through a weak plank. He could use the help, but he just doesn’t want your help.

“You getting sick of me already?” You say, giving him that ‘kicked puppy’ look that would make any man’s heart melt. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel more than sympathy.

“Course not.” He grumbles. “I did just see you this morning though.”

“What can I say… i’m clingy.” You shrug and grin at him with a smile so bright it could light up the sky.

“Go be clingy with somebody else.” He waves you off as he picks up his pencil and ruler to start marking lines on the wood. “I’m sure any man in Jackson would appreciate it.”

You stop for a moment, like you see something underlying in his words. “That seems to imply that you don’t think my attention is purely friendly.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t give you any more of an answer.

“Besides, are you not a man in Jackson?” You ask teasingly, wanting to get more out of him.

He tries to keep his focus on his work so his attention doesn’t feed into your teasing. “That’s different.” He grumbles.

“Why is it different?”

He sighs, keeping his head low but letting his eyes rise up above his glasses to meet yours. “It’s different because i’m an old man in Jackson.”

You frown a little. You know what he means but you want him to explain it anyhow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ that I can’t entertain…” He gestures with his hand. “... whatever this is that you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

He knows. Of course he knows; you haven’t been exactly subtle. You just never thought you would be able to make him say it out loud. “And what have I been doing?”

“Askin’ too many damn questions.” He grumbles under his breath and grabs his ruler to check his cut lines again. What is it all those carpenters say? Measure twice, cut once? That must’ve been a rule he would live by.

“What is it that i’m doing, Joel?”

He stops with his work now to look up at you properly. He seems like he’s about to speak but pauses for a moment, knowing that if he addresses this then it’s out in the open. He won’t be able to neatly pack up this conversation and put it in a safe where nobody can find it. Whatever is going on between the two of you… it’s pandora’s box.

But in the moment, he can’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re flirtin’ with me, sweetheart.”

“I am.” Is all you say in reply, looking into his eyes far too deeply.

He’s a little surprised and was half expecting you to deny it. “Well you shouldn’t.”

“How come?” Your quick little replies are irritating him now.

He rubs his forehead with his thumb, feeling frustrated. You’re not stupid and you know he’s twice your age. You know why you shouldn’t. You know it makes him feel wrong. So why act so clueless?

“It ain’t right.” He grumbles. “I’m too old for ya.”

“I don’t mind.” You say softly. “I would still like you if I was 10 years older.”

“It’s not about you liking me. It’s about what’s good for you.” He sighs. “And an old man ain’t it.”

“I hardly care about pre-outbreak morals, Joel.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what you deserve. A man that can keep up with you, take care of you even 20 years from now. I can’t be that.” He looks almost nervous now. He feels the same way he did when he asked Tommy to take Ellie to the fireflies. It’s a different sense of care but he still doesn’t feel worthy for you in the same way that he didn’t feel worthy for her.

“It’s you that I want.”

He sighs.

“There’s plenty more age-appropriate men in Jackson who’d be chomping at the bit for a chance with you. You should go and take your pick of them.” He continues, trying his best to push you away. It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Christ, he really wants you. But he also cares about you and that means he’s gotta try to nudge you in the right direction.

“I took my pick. Currently, he’s being difficult.” You say and he scoffs as he tries not to think about how endearing he finds your quick wit.

“I said age-appropriate.”

“Well there’s no other man i’m interested in.” You understand why he’s trying to convince you that he’s not somebody you should spend your time on. Maybe there was a time when things like age were more important but it feels miniscule now in the great span of things and besides, you can tell when he’s being self destructive. “So it hardly matters how many there are to choose from.”

He furrows his brows. Joel can hardly understand why it would be him you would want. He originally thought whatever you were feeling was a passing fantasy due to proximity, but it’s starting to appear as if it’s more than that. You’re just so full of light; he doesn’t want to ruin that.

“Y’know I can probably finish up here on my own. I ‘preciate your help though.” It makes him uncomfortable to realize your attention isn’t going to be quite as fleeting as he thought. He doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s not that he wants to hurt you. He’s just never been a man of many words.

“Um… yeah okay. No problem.” You try not to show how upset you are but it hurts for him to brush you aside so easily. “Bye.”

You walk off, regretting trying to push his hand, regretting the conversation in general… and most definitely regretting that you agreed to fill in for Tommy on his patrol shift with Joel in the morning.

~~~~~

When he walks into the stables the next day, Joel’s ready to grumble to his brother about how he has no damn coffee left and slept like shit, but is stopped in his tracks when he finds you tacking up Bellard.

You don’t turn around to look at him, you already recognize the sound of his heavy footsteps and besides, who else would be in the stables at 8am?

“I promise i’m not trying to stalk you. I already agreed to cover Tommy’s shift. Ben’s still not feeling well.” You tighten the cinch on the horse, not wanting to have any more whoopsies involving your saddle half slipping off like when you were just learning to ride.

“Didn’t think you were.” He says, already able to tell how your voice is colder. You’re more closed off to him now.

You put your foot into the stirrup and swing your leg over so you’re sat on the saddle. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel.” It’s ironic really, they way you sound so vulnerable when you speak even though you are literally sitting up on your high horse.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He says as he gets up onto his horse as well, giving her a light nudge with his heel to get her moving. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

His false mirror words don’t fool you, the illusion shattered like glass by his nervous mannerisms. You know your conversation with him yesterday made things weird and you’re starting to wish you’d just ignored the whole thing like a normal person. You’d just really felt the need to defend yourself, never wanting to chase a man who doesn’t want you. Even if you have a feeling that he does.

But he ignores it. For the whole patrol he ignores it. The slight crack you saw in his demeanor has melded itself back together and he is back to the gruff man he usually is.

What you don’t see is his watchful eye, ever on you, protectively. You don’t know that it’s the same way that he watches Ellie and Tommy. The only people he would risk everything for, the only people that he makes sure are safe before himself. But it isn’t quite the same, is it? There’s something more in his gaze as it’s cast upon you, a hint of the same longing you have when your eyes fall on him.

“Did you hear that?” Your question puts him on alert right away. He tries to listen and he thinks his old ears are failing him before he hears the crash. It’s coming from a cabin east of Jackson, one that’s been checked through multiple times, even by Joel himself. While patrol routes are changed often, buildings are still checked regularly for anyone that might be hiding out. Clickers are of course dangerous but thinking, intelligent humans are much worse.

“Stay here. I’ll get closer and see if it’s anything to worry about.” He says, like it’s a command.

“I’m your partner, not your sidekick. I won’t let you go in there alone just because you don’t think I make good backup.”

“Jesus, woman ya really think that’s why I want you to stay behind?” You give him a look that says that’s exactly what you think but he doesn’t have time to validate you when there’s a chance that something dangerous is in that cabin right now. “Just follow at a distance then at the very least.”

That’s enough for you so you nod and the both of you hop off your horses and tie them up, not wanting them to spook at the first sign of whatever is in that cabin.

The two of you approach slowly and you try not to flinch at the crashing sounds so you can hold your gun straight. You also don’t want Joel to sense your fear. It’s not helpful for him to be worrying about you. You won’t be a distraction. He moves around the side of the cabin to look through the window and mouths the word ‘infected’ to you, holding up three fingers. You nod to show your understanding and he starts to make his way back, likely to come up with an action plan.

Though he barely makes it two feet when one of the horses whinnies. You both freeze. It wasn’t that loud, right? How good could an infected’s hearing possibly be?

Your answer comes moments later when they burst through the front door, but they don’t hear Joel. You’re the one who is in direct line of the horses.

“Shit.” You breathe out as you aim your gun and make a shot for the one in front, missing the head but hitting it in the shoulder. A shoulder shot doesn’t stop a runner.

“Goddamn it.” Joel acts quick, putting a bullet through the one closest to him with easy precision. The infected drops to the ground.

The one closest to you is still moving fast and you know you need to make this shot because if Joel misses, the last one will be on you before you can even think. You keep your hands steady, too pumped full of adrenaline to shake like you were before, and you pull the trigger.

You hear a gunshot, but it isn’t yours as Joel takes down the other runner. Your gun never fired.

Because your gun is jammed.

You pull the trigger again, and again, frantic now.

It’s no use so you drop the useless weapon. You look down for a moment to draw your knife but it’s too late as the infected tackles you to the ground.

“Joel!” The call rips out from your throat and Joel is sure he’s never heard such terror in anyone’s voice before. Well… not so sure.

You hold the infected back as well as you can, knowing that it’s over if you’re bitten, but you don’t have to push it back for long.

Joel’s gun fires and the shot rings true as the mindless flesh creature falls off next to you. A headshot taken from just the right position so the bullet wouldn’t graze you.

“Are you hurt?” The fear in his eyes matches your own as he kneels in front of you and seems to check you for injury over anything else.

Then he pauses.

“Are you bit?”

The thought comes to you at the same time. You were so dazed during the attack that it’s something you actually have to think about.

“I um… no.” You stumble over your words for a moment before speaking more confidently. “No, it didn't bite me.”

“Good.” He nods and moves on quickly, helping you to your feet.

He starts to move around, checking the infected, checking the house. He’s not focused on you anymore, like he wants to be distracted from the thought.

“One of them probably got bit a day or two back. Didn’t tell his friends and then…” He trails off, gesturing to the bodies. “This happened. Don’t think it’s something to worry about too much though. Probably an isolated event.”

He explains, but he’s rambling. Joel Miller doesn’t ramble. The near death experience is brushed under the rug, but you won’t have that.

“Joel.” You start but he cuts you off.

“I can write up the report for it. I know that’s something you’re not a fan of.” It’s idle talk, nothing of value.

“Joel.” You say his name more firmly now and he looks up at you. “I almost died.”

He clenches his jaw, the tenseness in the conversation now unavoidable. You walk closer and it takes everything in him to not step away. He wants to leave, wants to push it down, but you almost died. He can hardly wrap his mind around it. If he had shot that runner a second later, it would have bitten you, at the very least, and his next bullet would’ve been in your head.

“I know.” He grumbles.

“Do you? Because you won’t look me in the eye.” There’s desperation in the way you look up at him and it’s like he’s staring through you instead of at you.

He lets out a breath and it kills you because you can’t tell what he’s feeling. There’s emotion in his eyes but you just don’t know which one.

“Please don’t shut down on me.” Your hand rises to touch his shoulder and he feels warmth bloom in his chest. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

His eyes finally flicker down to yours and then to your lips for just a moment. He should think about what he’s doing, he knows that. Your age should be enough to put him off, but he almost lost you only minutes ago.

He won’t deny himself any longer.

Joel’s hand lifts to your chin and your eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion as he tilts your chin up. You part your lips to speak but don’t get the chance because his mouth is now on yours. All his hunger and need and desire finally come out as he kisses you harshly. His other hand finds your waist and he pulls you against him, never breaking the kiss. It’s like he doesn’t need air to breathe as he pushes his lips against yours and walks you back until a tree stops you. His tongue pushes into your mouth and he groans when feeling yours push back.

He pulls back and you worry that he regrets it, thinking he acted irrationally or emotionally. Those worries are quelled when he focuses his attention on your neck, leaving gentle kisses and sucking on the soft skin just the right amount so it won’t leave any marks. You let out a soft moan as his fingertips graze up your thigh before gripping it firmly and lifting it up against him.

“I need you, Joel.” You whisper so softly that he’s not even sure he heard you correctly.

“Hm, honey?” He still isn’t fully focused as he trails kisses up your jawline.

“I need it.” You whine a bit and he frowns.

“No.” He murmurs against your skin, kisses so soft and featherlight that you can’t be convinced he’s even touching you. “Not here. You deserve better than here.”

“Please. I’ve been waiting for so long.” You slip your hand under the hem of his shirt. “Been so patient.”

A hint of a smile graces his face. “Patient? Sweetheart, you’re begging me to fuck you in a forest in the middle of our patrol.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.” Your hand slides up his chest. “You gotta finish the things you start, Mr. Miller.”

His hand grabs your other thigh and he lifts you up so you’re pushed against the tree. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of him lifting you up with ease, like he’s got something to prove. “I know.”

“Then you should learn to watch your mouth.”

You smirk, knowing just how easy it is to rile him up. “Why don’t you watch it for me?”

He huffs as if your bratty little comments annoy him, but you know he likes it. It’s easy to tell by the way his lips find yours once again. His moves are messy and imprecise. It’s so unlike him to be so reckless but it’s you that brings it out of him.

Hands are pulling at clothes and you’re quickly at a point where your pants are off enough for him to touch you. His fingers waste no time pushing past your underwear to tease you. The movements are slow now, just enough to leave you wanting for more.

“Joel.” You try to scold but it comes out more like a breathy moan.

“Hmm?” He’s not focused on your face anymore, no matter how pretty it might be. He’s more concerned with how many fingers he can push inside you before you start to whine.

“Joel.” You pout again as he feels your wetness pooling in his palm.

Three then. He thinks to himself, calculating how long he’ll have to wait to let you adjust to his cock before he can fuck you how he wants. But he already knows he’ll be pushing your limits.

“Shh, baby. Clearly, you’re not as patient as you claim to be.”

You can’t even reply, not with how good it feels when his fingers start to curl inside you. Joel continues the motions for a minute or so but it’s not what you want. It feels so damn good but this isn’t the way you want to finish.

You start to push him away and he stops as soon as he sees the hesitation.

“Everything alright?” He asks and your heart melts at the tenderness in his voice.

“I wanna feel something a little bigger.”

He rolls his eyes. “No damn patience.” He unbuckles his belt and starts to unbutton his jeans. “I’ll give you what you want then.”

He pulls his jeans halfway down his thighs- his very nice thighs- so he can pull himself out of his boxers. There’s no more slow, teasing actions. He wants to show you what your impertinence gets you. Lifting you back up with just one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to your entrance.

As the head pushes in, he watches your face so he can see how you struggle to take it. You won’t speak up though, not after you whined and begged for him to fuck you. He might be a lot bigger than you’ve had before but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it.

Joel doesn’t want to miss the look on your face as he pushes in but can’t help but glance down. The sight of your desperate pussy sucking him in more and more is almost enough for him to finish there and then, but he holds off. He won’t let this be something you regret.

“Fuck.” He groans as he pushes the rest of the way into you with a sharp thrust. You whimper, hiding your face in his neck. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your cheeks heat and he starts to pull himself back out again before you hear the slick squelch of another deep thrust.

“Shit, Joel.” The stretch stings but it’s a good hurt.

“I know. I was trying to prepare you but you never fucking listen.” His words sound sympathetic, no matter how harsh they are, but the way he punishes you with his dick seems to contrast that.

His hands hold up both your thighs as he leans you against the tree for more leverage so he can pull his hips back and fuck into you deeper and deeper.

“Mmm.” You moan, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.

The way the head of his cock hits just the right spot before slipping up to kiss your cervix makes you feel pleasure in a way you couldn’t previously fathom. You’ve never been fucked like this before and it just makes it oh so better because it’s him fucking you.

Joel’s deep brown eyes feel like they’re burrowing into your soul with the way he’s watching you. He lives for it, your reactions, every little sound you make. It all makes him harder as he slams into you rougher with each thrust.

“You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Taking me so damn well, finally learning how to listen.”

“Dick.” You grumble and he chuckles.

“I’m not the one who begged for this.” His hips push against yours. You didn’t think he’d be able to get even deeper but he does. “Fucking begged, honey.”

“I’m not the one who let go of all my morals for it though, either.”

It’s a dangerous thing for you to point out, almost threatening enough for him to stop. But it’s also another thing he likes about you. You always bite back. There is even some part, some sick part, of him deep down that enjoys how wrong it is. It enjoys that you, being so beautiful and smart and full of life… and so young still want him. You could have any man between your thighs but it’s Joel whose fucking you.

“I’m close, Joel.” You say after his fingers have crept down to rub between your legs. He needs you to finish first, needs it bad.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezing around me. Wanna know how you love it.”

His pace never falters as he leads you to the edge, drawing in and out of you with a pace that you didn’t think a man his age could hold. It just feels so good; you want it to last forever, but all good things end eventually.

“F-Fuck.” You moan and he feels it as your walls tighten around his cock. It almost makes him cum instantly but he pushes through enough to lead you through your high.

You’re panting now as he pulls out, spilling himself onto the forest floor. You look up at him as he lets you down gently. You’re scared, scared that it’s over now, scared that this was a one time thing. And he just won’t fucking look at you.

“Joel?” Your voice cracks. God, you hate how you can’t control it.

His head snaps back right away and when you look into his eyes… it’s not regret that you see. “It’s okay, trouble. You did good.” There is something more in the way he comforts you. “We’re good.”

It’s not much of an explanation but it relieves you. You understand him and though he didn’t speak many words, you know what lies between the lines. This isn’t the end of what’s between you.

comment to be added to taglist

@grayandthyme @littledes1re just thought I’d tag my new moots because y’all’s writing inspired me to get back into it :)

[beckyninja]

Forgive Me

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC

Warnings: NSFW; MDNI; description of SA; violence inflicted on one who thoroughly deserves it

Description: Sera faces horrors from without and within. Leandros sinks to the worst thing a man can become. And Titus and Co. enact some well-deserved vengeance.

This one is dark and disturbing and therefore a bit shorter than usual... but, don't worry, the cavalry comes just in time.

Find the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. Comment and ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist. And remember my Asks and DM's are always open.

Everything hurt. 

You lay on the floor of your cell, metal grating icy against your bare skin. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The very act of drawing air into your lungs exhausted you. 

Everything hurt.

Individual pains, from your back, wrists, head, and innumerable other places, had long since merged into one rolling wave of misery. You craved unconsciousness, yet that mercy seemed denied you. 

There is no mercy in this place.

Your vision blurred. Your thoughts blurred. Your mind sought to pull you away from the horror of reality.

Demetrian.

His hands, scarred and rough, yet gentle when they held you. His voice, deep and calm, rumbling with restrained passion, whispering sweet words. His eyes….

So full of love.

A roar of fury shook you to your core. The Monster raged outside. The cell bars would not keep him from you. You tried to curl your limbs around your body, to hide your nakedness, but they would not obey. 

You lay like prey waiting to be devoured.

But… someone knows I’m here… don’t they?

Memories fought to gain purchase in your mind. A voice had come to you. A kind voice. A friend. 

Vesta….

You’d tried to tell her… something. Hadn’t you? And she’d promised… promised to….

Another snarl. The sound of bones breaking, flesh ripping. The Monster raged on. The Monster who had stalked you through the Resilient’s corridors, haunted your sleep. The Monster in a Chaplain’s helm.

Emperor….

The prayer fizzled out almost before it had begun. What hope had you for your god’s aid, when his most devoted servant caused your suffering? 

Ohhh, poor little thing.

Your eyes widened.

You begin to see the truth of things now, don’t you?

Had your mind finally snapped?

There is no hope, no one is coming to save you.

The words oozed inside your skull. Not your own. NOT YOUR OWN.

Shhh. Don’t fight. Submit to what’s coming, and you will feel so. Much. Better. I promise.

Your cracked lips formed around a question. “Who…?”

Unimportant. If you wish to survive, forget your pride. Your shame. Your… love.

A mocking laugh ripped into your psyche.

Meaningless, meaningless. All are meaningless! Only sensation matters. And what you are about to experience? Ohhh, little thing… it could be glorious.

“I don’t… I can’t….”

What was happening? The voice made your soul cringe, and yet part of you wanted to listen. You were so, so tired of fighting. 

Good girl. He’s coming now.

Footsteps. Heavy, yet without the clang of ceramite on metal. With every last bit of strength in your failing muscles, you rolled your head to one side and looked.

The Monster stood just outside. No longer hidden behind armor, he stood bare but for the cloth about his hips. Cloth that strained. Your eyes shied away from that sight and rose up and up and up. 

You gasped.

No more skull helm. No more mask of righteous contempt. Sweat streaked the stubbled cheeks. A tongue lapped at dry, flaking lips. Nostrils flared with each deep, chugging breath. And his eyes….

They burned.

It’s time, little thing. Welcome him. Open your legs and-

“NO!” 

I won’t betray Demetrian! I won’t betray myself. Never, never, never! 

The adrenaline of a trapped animal flooded your veins with sudden strength. You clambered to your feet, heedless of welt and wound. Fingers curled into claws, teeth bared.

“I won’t. I won’t!”

The Monster cocked its head to one side. Its lips curled. It opened the cell door and stepped inside, massive frame filling the space. Just hours ago you would have cowered. Now, your eyes flicked to the doorway behind it. 

And you darted straight through its column-like legs.

What are you doing, little thing?! Stop-

“NO!” You screamed. “I deny you! In the God-Emperor’s name!”

You barely understood why you spoke the words, yet the voice in your skull retreated with a vicious hiss. You ran, or tried to. Your legs wouldn’t hold your weight. You collapsed to the floor, choking on clouds of incense. The vast chamber around you spun and swirled. You would have vomited, if your stomach wasn’t already achingly empty.

Somewhere ahead, a way out. There had to be!

You crawled forward, weeping. 

“Help me!” You tried to scream again, but only a cracked whisper emerged. “Someone, help me! Please-”

“Harlot.”

A massive hand curled around your throat from behind. You writhed in its grasp as it lifted you from the floor until your feet dangled. You clawed at its fingers. To no avail.

The Monster brought you close to its face. To those horrible, hungry eyes.

“Mine.”

You kicked out, feet thudding against muscle with all the effect of wet cloth against stone. Black encroached on the edge of your vision. Movement. You were moving. Another door? 

The Monster threw you into darkness. Your back hit something that gave, if only a little. Gasping for breath, you flailed blindly. 

This feels familiar. A cot. A huge, metal cot meant for-

“Emperor, no!” 

You wanted to scream. But the strength wouldn’t come. Clawing for purchase, you pushed yourself upright-

- only for the Monster’s hand to shove you flat again.

Its growl sounded more animal than human. Its fingers pressed, sending pain shooting through your sternum, compressing your lungs. Then they splayed over your breasts, squeezing your nipples.

“No…,” you wheezed.

This can’t be happening.

The cot dipped as a massive bulk settled over you. Drops of sweat fell against your skin. You prayed it was only sweat. Fetid breath washed over your face. Everywhere, the stench of a rutting beast. You gagged and writhed. 

A rabbit against a great, hunting predator.

This can’t be happening!

Then, a voice at your ear.

“Mine. Not the Heretic’s. Not… Titus’s.” Spittle flecked your cheek.

“MINE.”

The hands moved, flipping you onto your stomach with violent speed. Stars burst behind your eyelids as your head knocked against what felt like a wall. The hands grasped your hips with crushing force, yanking them high, forcing your back into a painful arch. 

You heard cloth tear and then… something huge settled against you. Over you. Holding you down.

All courage failed. All defiance fled.

You promised you’d come back, Demetrian! You promised you’d protect me! Where are you?

“Please,” you sobbed, “please, don’t do this! Please! Stop!”

A dark chuckle was your only answer. Crushing weight choked off your voice. Teeth sank into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The obscene thing against your rear pressed-

“SERA!”

BANG!

Light poured into the room. 

***

She looked at him. In the split second after he shattered the door and charged inside, Titus saw her eyes, Sera’s eyes, stare up at him. The emotions there crushed his soul more than a century of torture ever could. 

The beast above her looked at him as well. Titus saw shock and hate and a hunger that turned his iron stomach. The beast had his hands on her body, his chest pressing her into the cot, mounting her like some feral, demented-

Titus’s world turned blood red. He didn’t recognize the anguished howl as coming from his own throat. His chainsword fell, forgotten, from his gauntleted fingers as he hurled himself upon his Battle Brother.

Brother?

This animal was no kin to him. No Chaplain. No Ultramarine. No Astartes.

“BASTARD!” He roared as he tore the beast away from the woman he loved.

The woman he’d failed so completely.

The beast had no time to react before ceramite clad fists crashed into its face. Once. Twice. Again. Reinforced bones cracked. Toughened skin tore. Titus felt blood spatter across his face and relished it.

But, unclad and unarmored and taken by surprise, the beast was still a warrior. It twisted in Titus’s grip, bringing its head up to slam against the bridge of his nose. The brief disorientation that followed allowed it to break away from Titus’s grapple. 

It didn’t get far.

“Heretic!” Sgt. Gadriel’s cry held a note of anguish as he shoulder-checked the beast, sending it back to the floor with a grunt.

“Abomination!” Titus heard ribs break as Chairon’s sabaton met the beast’s torso.

Apothecary Callistus’s snarl held no words as he brought his boot down hard on the beast’s chest, pinning it.

A chainsword revved to life.

Titus barely heard it. He fell to his knees beside the cot. 

“Sera… Little Healer… oh, Throne….”

She said nothing. Just stared. At him. Through him. The wide-eyed gaze of a sacrificial lamb. His chest constricted as he saw the state of her. The whip weals, the torn, bruised flesh. Not an inch of her seemed free from the marks of suffering.

My fault. I did this.

He’d abandoned her to this fate. The woman who’d dared love him, trust him, believe in him through the darkest moments of his long life. The woman who’d given him everything. 

“I am here now. I… I am here.” The words felt empty in his mouth.

Hollow.

Tearing away his tabard, he draped her in the cloth, covering her, shielding her. She didn’t move. Slowly, half terrified she’d crumble to pieces, he lifted her from that defiled bed. 

So light. So small. 

She made no sound. 

“Sera?” He cradled her against his chestplate, blind to all else

He brushed a lock of sweat-stiffened hair away from her still-staring eyes. If not for the pounding of her heartbeat in his ears, the slow rise and fall of her chest, he would have thought he held a corpse in his arms. 

“I am sorry, my love.” An unfamiliar burning sensation filled his eyes. “Forgive me.”

Or do not. I know I am unworthy. Just… say something.

He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “Please, Sera.”

“What in the name of the God-Emperor is THIS?!”

The bellow made Titus instinctively crouch over his woman, a snarl curling his lips. Outside the door, flanked by a squad of fully armed and armored Battle Brothers, stood Captain Acheran. The chainsword in Apothecary Callistus’s gauntlet froze, inches from the beast’s throat. Gadriel and Chairon likewise stiffened. 

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, from his prone position on the floor, the beast’s pulped lips twitched. “In the name of the God-Emperor, Captain, arrest these traitors.”

@solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bispecsual

@kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ @justeverythingnothingelse

@scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen @passionofthesith

@noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade

@iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan @justanothermemestrider @meervalv0

@grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova @ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii

@astrohymn @synfiction @n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou

@zamzmak @elita1 @ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262

@nereidof40k @ahrianee @sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus

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@sovietstrange45 @nebulaegem @ghrgrsfdesfrfg

[thewretched1999]

── .✦ i'm not in love, so don't forget it.

a/n: this is inspired by the song. i had it on loop while writing....god i lovelovelove vergil...ghhh ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| cw: none! it's all just fluff. wc: 1k

When Dante finally showed up again with Vergil in tow, he felt like a mystery to you. 

It seemed on the surface that he was nothing like V, who was so open and honest about everything when it came to you, from his thoughts to his feelings, all were whispered and confessed in the dark expressed with flowery words and shown through poems he’d come to associate with you.

Vergil wasn’t like that.

For the first few weeks he barely even looked your way, and when you tried to make idle conversation with him it felt like talking to a brick wall until he’d take his leave to go demon hunting with Dante as if they hadn’t spent months doing just that every damn day. You somehow didn't take offense because V’s words always rung in your head.

It was hard to forget about the man that you came to care for but even after he’d long been gone, replaced by a man in blue who’d treated you so coldly in the beginning--those feelings didn’t waver, merely adapted.

To your benefit, Vergil’s frigid and callous temperament didn’t last long. His front melted away rather quickly, actually.

Despite being nothing like V. Vergil couldn’t keep away, couldn’t force himself to forget the nights he’d spent with you as V, curled up on the ratty couch reading poems when there was nothing to do, but he couldn’t quite let himself accept that the love you had for him was still there.

He didn’t really know what to do with these feelings either. Couldn't decide whether to bottle them up or let himself explore them thoroughly this time, without the worry of his time running out.

Only when you two were alone would he let himself indulge in you just a little.

Some days he’d avoid you like the plague and on others he’d cling to you so tightly, never saying a word unless you tried to get up and leave when you thought he was asleep, and when he does open his mouth to speak all he mutters is a;

“Don’t.”

Before letting the room fall into silence again, keeping you crushed against the couch with your only option left being to let your hands run through his hair gently. At least until he senses Dante or Nero on their way. Only then does he shove you away and pretend like nothing happened.

Vergil says he doesn’t love you, but he lies to himself and to anyone who’ll ask. When his hand finds yours he’ll ignore the puzzled look on your face, when he holds the door open for you he’ll say it’s because he has manners. (He shuts the door in front of Dante, so you don’t know how true that is.)

…And when he takes you out under the guise of a hunt to slow dance with you in the forest, leaving only the fireflies and the stars above to bear witness, he won’t say anything at all.

It’s peaceful, when you two come together like lovers who’ve known each other for lifetimes, how he cradles you close to him so delicately, but it’s all so so confusing, his hand stays faithfully on the small of your back, whilst the other holds onto yours tenderly, most would never take Vergil for a romantic, but you know better.

“You didn’t have to bring me this far out.” You murmur, slightly pulling away from where you’d had your head resting against his shoulder to look up at him, to see how his eyes sparkle with something soft underneath the moonlight, pupils dilating before he looks away.

You smile. He was so obvious. 

“I thought it was a lovely place.” He mutters. He’s right, you suppose, it’s gorgeous, serene. 

“How did you even find this place?” You ask, his hand squeezes yours softly, and like always, it’s him who presses his forehead against yours.

“Does it matter?”

“No.” You hum. “I guess not.”

You pause, and something else piques your interest.

“I didn’t take you for the type to dance.” 

Vergil's lips press into a thin line. “I don’t.” 

Yet the way he moves so gracefully with you to the song playing from the little radio he’d brought quietly says otherwise, speaks as if he's done it for years. You don't poke fun or prod though, at least not yet, simply hum as if it were the most interesting thing you'd heard.

“I’m special then?” You ask teasingly, just to hear his answer.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face, you know for everything Vergil is, everything he was, underneath all the ice he’s a man in love, you half expect him to deny it but he surprises you.

“You are.” He says.

You stay silent for a moment, wondering if you’d heard right, before you beam, grinning so widely and laughing so softly in disbelief he knows it’s not meant to mock, it’s why he doesn’t make a fuss.

“You admit it.” Your hand unravels from his only because he reluctantly lets it, rewarded when he feels the warm pressure of your hand as it comes up to cup his cheek gently, in which he leans into your touch almost instantly. Needy man.

The silence washes over you both again, but this time it’s not heavy with denial or unsaid words, only the calm that comes with acceptance and a new beginning. 

When he doesn’t look away from you, doesn’t deny that yes, he does feel something for you, something he’s yearned for all his life—you lean in to let your nose brush against his, his breath ghosts against yours, mingling for just a moment until finally his lips meet yours.

He doesn’t hide the affection he holds for you, it’s all consuming and heartachingly tender the way he lets you lead—and how wonderful it is to be reminded that you still feel the same. As if your feelings for him would have ever changed.

While yes, you may have loved V, you adore Vergil.

[svckmyballzfr]

“I know it’s over”

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Maki Zenin!reader

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 - “Where else I can go” Tw: neglect, Injury, obsession, abandonment, Torture, Abuse, SA, Death, Suicidal thoughts, Suicide, brief description about [name]’s eyes sorry (this is a disclaimer for the whole story + sorry about the bad grammar and typos, I won’t rewrite until I’m bored)

[Somewhere In Tokyo]

The sun was setting as it rained, the streetlight outside of the school buzzed as it flickered.

Heavy breathing was heard in the hallways of said, school “Well Well , if it isn’t Yuta Okkotsu my favorite weakling”

“Don’t you come near me” Yuta said shakily as three boys surrounded him in the empty classroom.

“Oh come on, don’t play hard to get” The bully said with a smirk.

“I said don’t …” Yuta said trying to said tuff but failing miserably as the bully itched closer to him. “Come on I just wanna slug you one more time before i graduate!” The bully laughed and his little minions joined in.

“Stop it..” Yuta muttered as he clenched his other arm looking down.

“Since it’s our last time together, maybe I should just kill you” The bully said as he walked closer.

“D-don’t touch me! RIKA” Yuta said in a panicked tone looking up as the bully had gotten closer with his hands towards him. A large shadow then appeared behind the bully and he froze with a wavering presence behind him.

“hm? Whatcha say?” The bully asked confused as large hands with sharp nail and went to both sides of his face. “Argh!” The bully let out a noise as his face was pulled back behind him.

….

The rain got heavier outside as yuta had crouched by the walls of the classroom muttering “I’m sorry” Blood leaks from the locker next to him slowly and it slowly opens to a mangled body.

Yuta was now sitting in a chair, in a room full of Tailsman with small lamps surrounded in the dark room to give light. He looks up staring at all the Tailsman that reached to the dark never ending ceiling.

….

“A complete cover up and a secret execution? Boy that’s some story” Gojo said unamused “The child in question did consent though.” One of the higher ups replied but Gojo quickly responded “He’s underage, just sixteen years old, and who knows how many he have cursed”

“So you’ll take him?” One of the old hags of the higher ups asked “Yes, Yuta Okkotsu will attend Jujustu high school.”

….

Yuta had his head down with his arms crossed still sitting on the chair “You make this in shop class?” Gojo said infront of him holding up a twisted knife “Yuta Okkotsu..” he finished “I-it used to be a knife..” he said softly

“I tried killing myself” He hugged his knees closer and slowly looked up “But…Rika wouldn’t let me. Gojo just stared at him “Kinda dark.” he tossed the twisted knife away. ���guess what? You’re starting at a new school today.”

…

The next day at Yuta got ready for the day where he would Jujustu high! He got to walking in the hallways tiredly with his eye bags shining in the sun.

“Did you hear about the new transferred student coming today? I heard he stuffed 4 of his classmates in a locker” Panda said while he walked with [name] and Inumaki

“You mean he killed them?” [name] asked “Tuna mayo” Inumaki added “Nah, gravely injured”

“If he’s cocky I’ll put him in his place” [name] said holding her bag on her shoulder. “Bento flakes” Inumaki sighed

“Students of all grades!” Gojo said exaggerating with hand motions “We have a new student! Give him a hand!!!!!”

‘God it’s too damn early for his bullshit..’ [name] said with a her head leaning on her hand, with her legs crossed.

“not one hand…” he said sadly

“Heard the kid’s a real wet blanket, the last thing I need is an another moody rookie to look after.” (Whatever that means..)

“Salmon”

Panda hums in agreement with Inumaki, Gojo sighs and puts his hand out “Oh well then! You can come on in now!”

Yuta then opens the sliding door and as soon as his foot stepped in the classroom they sensed his cursed aura and ever stepped he took it got stronger. Panda tensed up and got aggressive and [name] eyes widen, a large menacing curse was sensed behind him and made a strange noise while facing the 3 students, [name] unzipped her bag, Inumaki put a hand on his tall collar getting ready to use his cursed technique.

Bruce Wayne had never truly possessed a reason to resent [name]—not a logical one, at least. He simply did. Or, more accurately, the reason was etched into [name]’s eyes: the exact same eyes as her mother’s.

Every time Bruce looked at her, he saw those eyes staring back—haunted by their shape, their color. He recoiled, not out of hatred, but from something far more : fear. Because he knew precisely why they unnerved him.

Her mother—the woman he loved—had abandoned him. Abandoned the Waynes. She had walked away from the life they had built, forsaking them for her Clan—a group that viewed weakness as expendable and loyalty as conditional. A Clan that had never seen her as a person, only as power.

That memory alone, of her turning her back—festered inside Bruce like a wound that refused to heal. The thought of her always lingered, sharp and unforgiving, and [name] carried that echo with every glance.

So when Bruce received a call from Naobito Zenin, irritation boiled in his chest. He instructed Alfred to sever any lines of communication. He didn’t want to hear from them. But curiosity clawed at him, and eventually, he took the call.

“Maybe M/n is finally ready to crawl back. Fine. I’ll entertain it—but I’ll make her work for it,” he had thought, even allowing a slight smile at the idea of seeing her again. Just like old times… M/n, Satoru, and him—together. A family of sorts, fractured but familiar.

But that smile shattered when Naobito’s voice turned somber. M/n was dead—she had died months ago. And now, there was a child. A daughter. His daughter.

He could barely choke out a response. “What.”

It was too much. Jason’s resurrection. The chaos of the Red Hood. And now, this?

Bruce had Gordon collect the girl from the airport and order a DNA test immediately. He needed proof—needed something solid to stand on.

The results were : the child was his. And… impossibly, she was Satoru Gojo’s as well.

The moment she stepped through the manor doors, Bruce hadn’t yet been briefed. But when his eyes met hers—one luminous blue like Gojo’s, the other the rich hue of M/n’s—he knew.

Even beyond the strange eye color, everything else was him. The cheekbones. The jawline. Even her posture. She stood tall for a six-year-old—too tall. But those eyes... they unraveled him.

He couldn’t be near her.

If he stayed, he feared he might crumble. Or worse… lash out at something so heartbreakingly innocent.

“I’m sorry for your mother’s passing,” he murmured, voice hollow and clipped, before retreating to the Batcave.

There, beneath the weight of grief he’d never prepared for, Bruce collapsed to the floor. Hands gripping the cold ground, lungs burning, air slipping through him like smoke. Pressure mounted on his chest, like unseen hands crushing his ribs. His limbs trembled. His heart thundered like a war drum in his ears.

“No, no, no, no… please stop…” he thought as panic overtook him. His vision tunneled, lips dry, mind spinning into a storm of sorrow and helplessness.

.

.

.

.

Dick never had anything against [name], he knew her mother was really close to Bruce and had seen the woman before plenty of times as robin and he couldn’t help but grow fond of her. I mean that’s basically his mother! So was nice, caring and also helped him when he had a problem with something between him, and Bruce! He could’ve hate her, never! But that changed when she had left, when he was nightwing. How could she? For that clan.

So, when Dick was in the kitchen he had got surprised by a voice behind him and when he turned he had thought it was M/n but smaller! Those eyes. Blue and e/c eyes…he got scared and kicked the poor child.

‘I mean who is this child?? Why do they have M/n eyes, and Gojo’s eyes…’ he soon snapped out of it when he seen blood dripping from her head.

hey sorry I’m so sorry…” Dick said and helped her up.

“I-It’s o-ok I’m a big girl..” [name] says as she wipes the streak of blood of off her forehead.

“Let me-“ Before he finishes he gets a text from Alfred [Master Bruce has passed out in the batcave. Please hurry here master Dick.]

“You said you were a big girl right?” He said turning his head to her. [name] nods her head eagerly.

“Then you’ll be fine handling it. I have to go. When I come back we can go to the arcade.” Dick offered a smile then left and hurried to the batcave where Alfred stood with a worried expression.

….

The next day Bruce had woke up in his bed when dick sat near with his hands on his face.“Bruce.” Dick stood up when Bruce had sat up on the edge of the bed. “What happ-“

“I can’t be a father for that girl.” Bruce interrupted and Dick froze and looked confused “The girl little that just came to the manor. I can’t be her father. That isn’t my daughter.”

Dick just stared at Bruce with a frown “Bruce-“ Bruce silently began to cry with a hand on his eyes “I can’t..” he said shakily, dick sat next to him with a hand on his back “Ok.”

Of course Dick didn’t approve of this, I mean who would??? But he could obviously see that Bruce isn’t in the right state but It’s ok he’ll be a big brother for her to lean on and see as a father…one day. Right?

.

.

.

.

Jason hated [name].

Or at least, that’s what he told himself every single time he caught her in the corner of his eye, every time someone so much as brought up her name. He’d scoff, roll his eyes, cross his arms, and say something cruel like-

“She’s a spoiled bratty bitch whose mother was a dumb whore that got herself killed.”

He said it like it was truth. Cold, harsh truth.

But deep down—where the rage throbbed and the loneliness curled into something even colder—Jason knew he was full of it. Every time he dragged her mother’s name through the mud, he was really just trying to bury how much he missed her. M/n was the only person who ever made him feel like more than a burden. She treated him like he mattered—like he was hers.

He cried harder than anyone when he found out she died. No one saw it. He made sure of that. But behind all the noise and anger and bravado, he wept for her. For the mother he never truly had, but almost did. Until she left. Until she abandoned him—right after he was kidnapped. After the Joker. After everything.

And now she was dead?

Jason couldn’t even look at photos of her without feeling like the world was cracking apart at the seams. He hated her for walking away. Hated her for dying. Hated how much he still loved her.

He had ignored Dick’s call two days ago. Didn’t want to hear anything that had to do with the manor. With Bruce. But something in Dick’s voice… something had kept him from deleting the message. So now here he was—back in the same house where everything had started to rot.

Dick looked like a wreck. Pale. Exhausted. Haunted.

Jason didn’t bother hiding his sneer. “What’s wrong with you, dickface?”

Dick barely looked up. “She’s dead.” His voice cracked like glass. He ran a trembling hand through his hair.

Jason blinked, confused. “Who?”

“M/n… I just wanted to tell you. She has a child. And she… she’s here.”

Dick couldn’t even finish. He left the room without another word.

Jason stood there for a long time. Heart pounding. Head spinning.

He wandered into the library, trying to escape the weight of it all. Grabbed a book—anything to pull him out of his own head. Tried to focus. Tried to not feel.

But the pages blurred. Wet. His hands were shaking.

Tears? No. No, stop that. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

But he did. God, he did.

No mission, no alias, no mask could erase the ache of being loved—and left behind.

She had come into his life. Treated him like a son. Then left. Had a baby. A new child. And then died.

Where was his closure? Where was his chance to protect her? To yell at her? To forgive her?

Jason slammed the book shut and sat frozen, chest heaving.

Then someone bumped into him.

His book hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Oh, sorry—” a small voice stammered.

He looked down.

It was like someone had punched him in the gut.

Those eyes. One blue. One [e/c].

His hands curled into fists.

So this is who she died for? This… replacement? This child? Is this the one who got her love in the end? Got her last words? Her final breath?

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he snapped, voice low and venomous.

The girl looked down, ashamed. “...oh.”

He scoffed, bitterness thick in his throat. “Another one of Bruce’s adopted mistakes?”

“I-I’m his kid! I promise… a-and you’re my brother, right?” she said quietly, voice soft and trembling.

Jason didn’t answer. He smirked—sharp and humorless.

She thinks I’m her brother. Like she gets to call me that.

He knelt slightly, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder, watching her flinch beneath his grip. “Look, kid,” he said, voice like ice, “you’re just one of Bruce’s little distractions. And soon enough, he’ll forget about you too—just like everything else you care about. You’re not special. And I’m not your brother.”

He let her go and turned without another glance as she stumbled into the bookshelf behind her. The sound echoed like guilt.

But Jason kept walking.

And as he stormed off down the hallway, jaw clenched so tight it ached, he swore something to himself in silence.

‘You ruined the only good thing I ever had—just by being born. So don’t expect mercy. Not from me.’

Yuta explains that the Cursed Spirit is Rika, a childhood friend whom he had promised to marry when they grew up. Rika died in a freak accident and became an overprotective spirit that harms anyone who threatens him. 

During his first mission with [Name], Yuta successfully summons Rika on his own for the first time to save them from a Cursed Spirit. Three months pass in his school training, and he grows close to [Name], Toge, and Panda. One day, on a mission together, Toge and Yuta are attacked by a high-level Curse. The man behind the attack was Suguru Geto, a previous student and old friend of Gojo, who defected from the school and killed over a hundred innocent people on a mission.

Geto attempts to get Yuta on his side so they can make use of Rika, but Yuta refuses when he insults Yuta's friends due to unsettled circumstances. Geto declares war to activate a portal to the under-world: he will release a thousand Curses upon the city to remove non-sorcerer humans, as he believes them to be undeserving and beneath sorcerers. Geto's real reason for the war, however, is to distract Gojo so he can kill Yuta and add Rika to his collection of cursed spirits. Gojo realizes this upon learning of Yuta's background, and sends Inumaki and Panda back to the school to protect Yuta and Maki during the night of Geto's attack. Geto overpowers them all, leaving only Yuta conscious. Enraged at seeing his friends hurt, Yuta promises himself as a sacrifice to Rika in order to strengthen their bond. As a result, Geto is severely wounded. He is found by Gojo, who after reflecting on their past friendship, executes him.

.

.

.

.

[name] stood quietly at the edge of the room, her gaze resting on Gojo’s sleeping form. The soft rise and fall of his chest was the only proof he was still here—still breathing, still fighting. But earlier… she’d seen his face after the fighting. The way his expression cracked when he thought no one was looking. The way his hands trembled before he shoved them deep into his pockets.

Her eyes drifted to the blindfold resting against his forehead, slightly askew. With a small breath, she stepped closer, fingers twitching nervously as she reached for it. She gently lifted it from his eyes, careful not to wake him, and replaced it with her own glasses, pressing them onto his face with a little huff.

she slipped the blindfold over her own eyes.

“Gosh, how does he see with this thing?” she muttered to herself with a crooked smile. “I’m literally blind right now.”

She took a step—and promptly bumped into the wall with a soft thud.

“Ow…” she mumbled, rubbing her arm.

Laughter—low and breathy—broke the silence behind her.

She whipped around, the blindfold slipping halfway off her face. Gojo was awake. Sitting up. Watching her.

And smiling.

His eyes—those eyes—were soft and bright like sunlight scattered across an endless ocean. Their glow lit something warm and dizzying inside her chest.

“H-HUH?! THIS IS A DREAM!” [name] blurted, panicking, leaping into the weirdest stance she could think of on the spot.

“Oh wow, I’m terrified,” he teased, clapping dramatically. “Is that… the ancient Fighting Crane meets Confused Flamingo technique? Legendary.”

[name] tried to hold the pose, struggling to stay serious. “Silence! I am the blindfolded warrior, guardian of the living room!” she declared, wobbling slightly to the left.

“Well then, oh mighty warrior,” he said with a mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes, “I challenge you to a duel. But only if you can pass… the tickle trial.”

“Huh? Wait no—NO!” she shrieked as Gojo lunged, grabbing her sides with the lightest poke.

She burst into uncontrollable giggles, twisting away and finally pulling off the blindfold in a fit of laughter.

“You blue eye bastard!” she panted, catching her breath.

He sat up, smiling softly now. “Yeah, I tend to break the rules. Especially for a smile like that.”

For a moment, there was silence—the good kind. Then his voice turned gentler.

“Hey, [name]… could you take that bandage off?”

She blinked, confused. “Oh. Sure—but I kinda can’t see too good with that eye,” she murmured, fingertips brushing the edge of the gauze as she slowly peeled it away.

Her partially blind eye met his, and he stared.

“I was right,” he whispered, stepping forward with small, steady steps.

“What?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

She felt it, then. The heat of tears soaking through her shirt. His shoulders trembled against her. The strongest man she knew was quietly falling apart in her arms

“You’re my daughter.”

She froze in his embrace. And then slowly, carefully, wrapped her arms around him, like maybe, just maybe—someone loves her.

A/N || sorry for the wait but here’s the chapter!!! And boom here’s the big plot twist!!! btw name won’t have six eyes or anything, just related to gojo!! SO YES GOJO IS OUR PAPI TOO GUYS 😜 (ALSO ANOTHER AUTHOR I LOVE LIKED MY SERIES AHHHHH!!!!! TYYYYYYY ILYSM (I follow you😝)

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[save-the-villainous-cat]

hiii! I really love your writing, and I wish I could absorb the power like just SNSJDHSH

anyways, would you mind doing a hurt/comfort, but while the hero literally has a knife in their leg-

I can imagine the ranting and they’re like “BISH WHATCHU MEAN IM IN PAINN”

“No.” The hero’s voice was sharp. Probably the sharpest it had ever been. They grabbed the villain’s forearm. “I’m not done here.”

They tried to pull themselves up and miraculously made it onto their feet. However, the villain saw the sweat, the shaking legs, the fear, the pain.

The hero’s fingers dug into the villain’s skin.

“Oh, you are so done here,” the villain said. The hero accidentally bumped against their nemesis and stopped dead in their tracks. Their eyes widened.

The villain could also see the tears.

“There are still people in that building. I’m not gonna—” They looked at each other.

The villain had never been rescued by a hero before. Not as a civilian. Being saved when they were in costume was the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen during the night. But now that the hero had saved them in broad daylight, now that they were officially nothing more than a civilian, it felt…it felt…

They bit their bottom lip. Unfortunately, the hero had recognised them immediately. The hero hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t even thought about leaving the villain behind.

“Can’t you call someone?” the villain asked. “One of your friends? Maybe?”

“Every second counts,” the hero said. They squeezed their eyes shut and pushed themselves past their nemesis. They were limping horribly and the knife was still inside them. The hero took in a deep breath. “Alright.”

They looked like they were getting ready to run or jump or do god knows what kind of crazy gymnastics performance to get inside the burning building.

They looked over their shoulder.

“Please stay back.”

“If I kicked your thigh right now, would you just, I dunno, fall over?”

The hero glared.

“You piece of—”

“Sorry to disappoint you. But you’re not going back into that building,” the villain said. They grabbed the hero’s biceps.

In terms of strength the both of them were an equal match. The fact that the hero was in a suit and the villain in office attire didn’t change that.

“Let go.”

“I won’t.”

“I will kick your ass if I have to. With or without a knife in my thigh,” the hero said. They turned around and the villain figured they’d fall over any second now. “If you want to see people die so badly then visit a hospital.”

“This isn’t about the people in that building. I don’t care for them. I don’t enjoy seeing people suffer. This is about you. You will die if you go in there again.” They stared at each other.

“Those people have lives. All of them. They have families, they have homes. They have hopes and dreams. I cannot—” the hero spun around to look at the building “—I won’t leave anyone behind.”

They started walking towards the building again and the villain watched as their nemesis basically dragged themselves towards the entrance.

God, they hated the hero. They truly hated that hero.

“Fine,” the villain said. They followed the hero, walked past them and stopped. “You have maybe five minutes.”

“What?”

The villain leaned over. Grabbed the handle of the knife. The hero’s eyes widened again but they weren’t quick enough to beg.

The villain pulled the knife out of their enemy’s thigh with one clean and strong draw.

“Five minutes until you bleed out. Get some help from those paramedics over there.” They stared at each other. Hatred staring at indifference.

But it wasn’t exactly indifference anymore, was it? The villain clenched their jaw.

No, it was. Total indifference. The villain didn’t care about the hero. This was just to repay their enemy for saving their life.

They loosened their collar, rolled up their sleeves.

“Good luck,” the villain said.

And with that, they walked into the burning building to search for any of those damned souls the hero had wanted to save.

[devnmon]

𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎?

eddie x volt x reader

summary: eddie and volt have been arguing all day, and rather than let them keep screaming at each other, you propose they make up.

warnings: handjob, mutual masturbation, grinding, frotting

a/n: boys kissing YAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!!!! wrote this in two days, these breaker box boys have taken over my life, have fun reading <3

wc: 1.6k

Volt and Eddie had been going at it all day. 

Things seemed fine after you had reset the power, bringing their energy back tenfold. But they still managed to get on each other's nerves. 

Something from Eddie about not messing up the wiring for a new sound system. Then a note from Volt about how there were too many people on the setlist for the next coming nights and having to reschedule. Stress was getting to both your boys and you were worried they’d start screaming at each other before the day ended. 

So you felt you had to do something to rectify the situation. 

After their shifts were over, you pulled them both aside to a separate room in the back of the club. 

“Okay, boys. I can’t deal with all this friction from today getting between our relationship. So…” 

“So… what?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You two are going to make up. Right now.” 

“What?!” 

Both of their voices rang out as one. It was cute when they did that. 

“You heard me.” 

“I’m not apologizing for anything!” Eddie retorted, annoyed. 

“Yes you are, or else.” 

“Or else what?” Volt questioned, scoffing. 

“I won’t come by the club until the two of you make up on your own time.” 

That was the sentence to get a reaction out of both men, asking you to ‘hold on’ and ‘just think this through, live wire’ with a slew of begging that followed. 

Your stern look shut them up immediately. 

Eddie cleared his throat, “What… um… would you have us do?” 

“Very cute for you to step up first, Eddie.” You started. 

“Shut up…” He replied, but the compliment painted a blush on his cheeks. 

You were very aware of the fact that both Volt and Eddie were wrapped around your little finger. 

Pulling up a chair in the center of the room, you walked over to the darker haired man and grabbed him by the wrist. 

“Sit here, Ed.” 

His large hand wrapped around your wrist as you guided him to the seat. What he thought would be the sound of you dragging over another chair for Volt to sit in was the complete opposite. His blue eyes locked on your figure as you walked over to the taller, white haired man. Confusion hit as you did the same thing with Volt as you’d done with him. 

Surely you wouldn’t…

“Volt… take a seat.” 

Immediately, Eddie retorted, “I am not a seat for him.” 

“Tonight you are, because I said so.” 

The tone in your voice meant you weren’t messing around. 

Eddie swallowed thickly. 

“What’s the big deal, Eddie? It’s not like we haven’t been in this position before.” Volt’s smug voice sounded out, placing one leg over the smaller man's thigh and lowering himself into his lap. He reached one hand behind Eddie’s head to hold onto the back of the chair, still towering over him with that electrifying smirk. 

God, the things you would do to see both of them in action. 

“Yeah, but…” The slight shake in his voice and his cheeks pinking up again only meant one thing. 

Eddie was so flustered. You never saw him like this unless you were alone with him. 

“Have you never… had Volt in your lap before?” You asked, curious to know. 

“No… I was always– ugh, it doesn’t matter.” 

“What would you ask of us, live wire?” 

Volt turned his head towards you, eager to obey your command. 

“Volt, would you please kiss Eddie the way you kiss me?” 

“Huh?” Eddie reacts, not having done anything romantic with the larger man in quite some time. 

“Don’t act like you haven’t done it before. I know you two used to be together.” 

“Yeah but… we haven’t since… I don’t even know when. What’s the point of this, live wire?” Eddie grumbled. 

“I just figure this’ll help you both remember how much you love each other! And so that the fighting will stop. I hate when you boys fight.” You pout the last sentence, watching Eddie’s eyebrows upturn in concern. 

He’s always had a soft spot for you. 

“If it’s what you really want…” Eddie trails off, turning his head to the man with glowing hair above him. 

“Live wire gets what they want… always.” Volt’s voice lowers, flashing his teeth at him. He leant in, tips of his hair grazing Eddie’s cheeks. He should be used to the way Volt’s strands shock his skin just the slightest. But all that time with him, he’s never grown tired of it. 

Volt’s lips press to his, and Eddie nervously closes his in tune. You stood back, watching, drinking in both your boys go from nervously pecking each other’s lips to finding comfort in their long parted mouths. 

A moment later, Eddie’s hands land on Volt’s waist, timidly, if at all. 

“Oh, come on, Eddie. I know your hands can grip harder than that. Give me a real squeeze.” 

Eddie made a gruff sound in reply and tightened his palms on Volt’s waist, before he pulled him in for another kiss. The larger man groaned in content, deepening the kiss and cupping his face. 

Minutes passed with you just observing the two growing deeper in need for one another, completely forgetting you were even standing there. It was only until you cleared your throat lightly that Volt pulled away from the man’s lips and turned his gaze towards you. 

“I guess you were right, live wire. That’s exactly what we needed.” Volt spoke, his voice worn. 

Eddie’s hair was ruffled, red, black and grey strands going every which way, his lips swollen and pink and cheeks matching the same shade. 

“C’mon over here, life… wire…” He panted, extending an arm to you. 

“You both looked to be having enough fun, I am fine just watching from over here.” At this point, you’d pulled up a chair, watching them with your chin in your hand. Smiling and blushing at the heavy breathing filling the room. Both Eddie and Volt looked so gorgeous when they were in the throes of pleasure, especially when you were in the mix. There was just something different in the air watching them interact one on one. It was special, intimate, and like they knew each other’s bodies from the inside out. 

Your eyes trailed down between the two men, obvious tents in their pants growing by the second. 

When Eddie let out a whimper upon Volt’s weight on top of him, was when they both became ultimately aware of what this whole situation had caused. 

“Should we…” Eddie’s eyes trailed over to where you sat. Something in his gaze seemed to note the arousal in your eyes, but he was hesitant to call you over. 

“I know,” Volt replied, “Are you sure you don’t want to join us, live wire?” 

“No, no. You boys seem to be having enough fun on your own. I can just watch… unless you’re uncomfortable with that?” 

“I don’t mind, how about you Eddie?” Volt asked, intrigued. Like he’d only continue if he was okay with it. 

“Mm mm. Live wire can watch if they want. Doesn’t bother me.” 

Eddie shot a smirk towards you, in almost a ‘thank you’ sort of way. You also knew this situation wouldn’t end without them indulging you, but you were always overjoyed when they were affectionate towards each other. 

Immediately, Volt’s hands traveled to Eddie’s belt and undid it, the dark haired man mirroring his movements on the other’s pants. When they pulled each other out from the confines of their clothes, groans of relief sounded out from them both. 

As if on instinct, their hard cocks pressed together and Volt’s hips grinded up against Eddie’s in a desperate chase for release. 

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, drinking in the sight of your two boys all over each other. Eddie’s sweet moans and Volts hums of approval as they sped up almost immediately, feral to bring the other to release. 

Watching them made a familiar heat grow between your legs, but you couldn’t spoil their fun by touching yourself, that would only ruin the fun. So you sat back, practically drooling over the two and how they moved so in sync. 

Eddie dropped a slew of curses as Volt’s hand wrapped around his length, praising him so beautifully. 

“You look so handsome under me like this, such a good boy.” 

Meanwhile, all Eddie could reply with was “Please…” and profanities. When he did the same to Volt, he lost that smug look on his face and moaned loudly. 

“Not so smooth now, are ya?” Eddie’s low voice ran a shiver up your spine. 

“Come o-on, Eddie… don’t forget how you fell for it more than once…” Volt’s blushing, having Eddie’s hands on him again after so long, still with that award winning smirk plastered on his face. 

It’s just a moment later the slick sounds of their palms sound out again, hips thrusting upwards to the rhythm of one another. 

When Eddie’s hips stutter, he covers Volt’s hand with the release of all the day’s stress and frustration towards his male counterpart. He groans, his chest heaving as Volt’s hips mirror his, towering over a bit closer to him upon reaching the same high. 

Both their black pants were ruined, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing. There’s no doubt in your mind yours are ruined as well, for getting to witness that glorious moment of making up in just minutes was too much to bear. 

“Feel better, boys?” 

Both heads turn to you, and suddenly you feel much too clothed. 

Eddie speaks, voice low in the hot room. 

“Yeah, live wire. Your turn.”

[munchiei]

HAIKYUU! Boys;

♡ You Fall asleep on them for the first time

Part; 1/?

Includes;

Kageyama, Tsukishima, Hinata, Kenma, Kuroo, Bokuto, Oikawa

♡ Kageyama Tobio;

Setting: Studying at his place. You drift off mid-notes, head tipping against his shoulder.

Kageyama is hyper-focused on the textbook in front of him— until he feels a weight slump against his arm. At first, he thinks maybe you dropped something. Then he hears it: the soft, steady breath of someone completely out cold.

He turns his head slowly. Your face is tilted toward him, eyelashes fluttering in your sleep, mouth parted just slightly. His heart stutters.

What do I do?

He stares ahead, tense as a drawn bowstring. He doesn’t move a millimeter.

There are a hundred thoughts racing in his brain, but the loudest one is:

You fell asleep. On him. Willingly. Trustingly.

He’s never been good at emotions, but something about this moment makes him want to freeze time. His ears are red. His heartbeat is insane.

After a few minutes, he carefully reaches for the corner of a blanket and drapes it over your shoulders. His hand lingers a second longer than it should.

He doesn’t study another word. He just sits there, still as stone, quietly hoping you won’t wake up too soon.

♡ Tsukishima Kei;

Setting: Movie night at your place. You knock out halfway through the film.

You’re on the couch beside him, wrapped in your own blanket, feet curled under you. Tsukishima’s half-watching the screen, half-rolling his eyes at the cheesy dialogue.

Then your head slips softly against his bicep.

He stiffens.

“...Seriously?” he mutters.

You don’t reply. You’re completely out. Breathing slow, peaceful, drooling just slightly (cute, unfortunately).

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. His brain short-circuits for a full five seconds before it kicks back in with full snark:

This is ridiculous. I didn’t sign up for this. Why would they—ugh.

But his gaze softens despite himself. You trusted him enough to fall asleep next to him. He’s not used to people being that... unguarded with him. It makes his chest ache in a weird, annoying way.

After a moment, he adjusts your blanket—gently—and glares at the screen like it owes him money.

Still, he struggles to keep down the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe I’ll stay a little longer.

♡ Hinata Shoyo;

Setting: Park bench after a long walk. You lean against him without thinking.

The sun is warm, and you’ve been chatting and laughing for hours. It’s late afternoon, the kind of day that makes your limbs heavy. You’re mid-sentence when your head drifts sideways and lands softly on his shoulder.

Hinata freezes.

He physically freezes. Like statue-level, wide-eyed, jaw-hanging-open kind of still.

You. Are. Sleeping. On. Him.

Cue internal screaming.

“What do I do?! Do I move?! Is this a dream?! Why is my heart doing that thing—OH GOD.”

But somehow, despite the panic, he doesn’t move a muscle. Instead, he looks down at you. Your face is relaxed. Peaceful.

His whole chest melts.

“I must be doing something right,” he whispers to no one.

Hinata sits perfectly still, grinning softly to himself, until his arm goes numb and he nearly passes out trying not to disturb you.

♡ Kenma Kozume;

Setting: Playing video games together on the floor. You fall asleep mid-match, curled against his side.

Kenma doesn’t notice right away. He’s deep in focus, thumbs moving quickly, eyes locked on the screen. He’s saying something— asking if you want to switch controllers— when he glances over and sees your head slumped onto his arm.

Your eyes are closed. Your breath is slow. You’re out.

He stares.

“...Oh. I see.”

His first instinct is to pause the game, not because he’s freaking out (he is), but because suddenly nothing else feels important. Your head is warm where it touches him. You trust him— him— enough to fall asleep like this.

He adjusts his posture so you’re more comfortable. Then he sits quietly, letting your hand rest against his thigh. The room is so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat, and maybe, just maybe, he leans his head slightly toward yours.

No one’s ever made him feel this calm and this nervous at the same time.

♡ Kuroo Tetsurou;

Setting: Library study session. You doze off at the table and slump onto his shoulder.

Kuroo’s mid-sentence, whispering something about mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell, when your head tilts and lands on him with a soft, sleepy thud.

He pauses.

Glances down.

Sees your face—peaceful, cheek squished against his shoulder, lips parted slightly.

And melts.

Internally, he’s a puddle. Externally, he smirks.

“Well... didn’t know I was that boring, but I’ll take it,” he murmurs.

He adjusts his arm so you don’t strain your neck. There’s a tenderness in his eyes that few get to see.

You’re asleep—on him. Which means he can look at you as long as he wants.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers gentle. “You really shouldn’t fall asleep next to guys who like you this much,” he whispers, voice almost reverent.

He doesn’t move until you wake up— and when you do, he just grins and says, “Enjoy your nap? You drooled a little. It was adorable.”

♡ Bokuto Koutarou;

Setting: Sitting beside him in the gym bleachers. You drift off against his arm.

You’ve been watching him run drills, tired from the long day, head bobbing slightly with each blink. Eventually, without meaning to, you lean against him and fall fast asleep.

Bokuto stops stretching mid-arm raise when he notices. He blinks down at you. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then:

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god— Y/N fell asleep on me???”

He’s elated. He’s blessed. He feels like someone handed him the moon and said “hold this.”

His voice drops to a whisper when he talks to the others. “Guys. Guys. Look. Look at them.” He’s grinning so big it hurts.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t yell. He just lets you sleep, heart bursting in his chest, cheeks pink with happiness.

He gently— so gently— lowers his arm around your back so you don’t slide off.

“You can sleep on me anytime,” he whispers, his usual exuberance softened by something tender.

♡ Oikawa Tooru

Setting: His living room couch, post-practice hangout. You fall asleep against his shoulder.

He’s used to being the one who steals hearts, not the one whose heart skips like this.

One second you’re scrolling through your phone, head bobbing with exhaustion. The next, your body leans into him and you’re out— warm, soft, trusting.

Oikawa glances down, mouth parted, stunned.

And then the most absurd thing happens: he blushes.

He actually blushes.

“Oh...” he whispers. “You’re so cute like this.”

He adjusts his position with slow, almost reverent movements. If someone saw him now, they wouldn’t recognize the dramatic Oikawa they know. There’s something quiet in his expression now—affection, wonder.

He doesn’t take a single selfie. He just... looks at you.

This is what he wants, he realizes. Not the attention. Not the compliments.

This: someone safe beside him. Trusting enough to sleep against him.

He reaches for the blanket with one hand, careful not to wake you, and tucks you in.

“You really did me in, didn’t you?” he whispers, more to himself than you.

Aaaah! First post done!

Thank you so much for reading! Part 2 coming soon, my requests are open!! Love you all!

[demothers-empty-blog]

Du bist Perfekt

I recently got this ask stating they’ve been feeling quite insecure about their body as of late. That’s okay. We all have off days, we are our harshest judges. The best thing we can do when the going gets tough is reach out and try to see things from a different perspective. Hopefully, this way, you might see yourself in a better light.

I love you, and you are loved.

The dress you’ve been eyeing doesn’t fit again. God, what would it take for you to gain a little bit of weight? Not much, just enough for the fabric to stop hanging off your shoulders, maybe give it something to cling on.

You hate this sticky feeling in your chest. Staring in the mirror provided in the stall, you try to make it work. Maybe if you pin this here… no, no, that won’t do. Maybe like this? Or like that?

You pinch the ends of the dress, making it tighter around your waist and chest area, but you’re left unsatisfied with the outcome.

A sigh leaves your lips, frustration is such an ugly feeling. You don’t want to cry but it’s coming, those burning tears. It doesn’t stem from sadness, doesn’t feel as relieving. It’s blunt, you feel stuck, like nothing’s changing.

You yearn for natural curves, something to add to your figure, maybe you wouldn’t feel as invisible.

Envy is an evil little worm, the thought that pops in your head is an unwelcome guest.

“Intrusive thoughts are not you,” you affirm, quickly wiping away the few tears that managed to slip halfway down your cheeks.

You’re tired of baggy hoodies and jeans that need belts or else you’ll be flashing every passing soul on the street with your pants around your ankles.

“Schatz?” You hear a voice calling from beyond the stall.

You must’ve taken too long. König’s sense of timing is, well, jarring sometimes.

You swing the dress over the door, “It doesn’t fit…” you mutter, voice almost undetectable. König doesn’t miss the disappointment in your lowered tone.

Your pain is his, he’s disappointed with you and it chips away at his heart. König wants you to shine like he knows you can.

Today was an unsuccessful trip for clothes but your boyfriend did not allow the day to end with a frown on your face. He guides you out of the store and to your surprise, he actually managed to find his way past the many stores scattered throughout the mall.

And found the ice cream place.

A little treat wouldn’t hurt. He presses a kiss to your cheek and your lips automatically curl up into a smile. “There’s my girl,” he says with a pleasant rumble in his chest.

Once home, König lets you settle yourself on his lap while he lets some show drone on in the background. Neither of you are really listening.

“I really liked that dress…” you finally say, not realizing you’d voiced your thoughts out loud until König responded.

“Couldn’t get it?” He asks, cautious. You give a shake of your head.

“…didn’t fit.”

König laughs and you shoot him a mean glare. His eyes widen exactly like he does when there’s been a misunderstanding.

“Nein—Nein, my love. I am not making fun,” he’s quick to say, hastily pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I am simply… erm, was ist das Wort? Relating.”

You feel him shift awkwardly on the couch and you fall further into his lap. König rests his head over yours, wrapping his arms around you tight. It’s lovely, this warm feeling. He engulfs you in this hug and you’ve never felt safer.

He just wishes he can protect you from your mind too, because who better to relate than the anxious king himself?

“Don’t overthink,” you hear him say from above. “We can struggle to find clothes together.”

There is a brief pause in the conversation, both of you needing time to gather your thoughts.

“…do you like you?” He asks.

“I like me.” You answer, “I just… wish I was a bit different is all.”

It was his turn to let out a sigh. It’s another beat of silence before he speaks again. “I suppose, it depends on how you feel, mein Schatz. Do you want to bulk, we can start a meal plan?”

The thought of eating more than you should makes you a smidge nauseous. You want to enjoy your meals, not eat as a chore.

“Burgh… no thank you.”

The conversation fizzles out and you two end up watching a bit of the show. It was okay, it’d be better if you didn’t hear commentary from yours truly every five minutes.

It’s a damn lie that König doesn’t like to yap or keep things short, that man is passionate about his rambling.

When he opens his mouth again, you cringe internally and brace yourself for another rant but instead, König was still thinking about your earlier conversation.

“You know that I love you?” He starts, making sure you’re listening carefully by tilting your head up to meet his face full of concern and a deep love words fail to describe.

“Ich liebe dich. Doesn’t matter when, or what size you come in. Won’t change the fact that I love you. I don’t want you being uncomfortable with yourself. I want you to thrive. The way I see it… you have to lean into your strengths. You are nimble, elusive… graceful. I can never be able to disappear into a crowd or squeeze myself in and out of tight spots.”

He almost seemed like he longed to be like you, be invisible for once. For him, it was a good thing. No attention, no eyes on him, no judgment.

But comparison is the thief of joy.

König is glad you are different. The world would be quite dull if we were all the same.

“Be you, Schatz. It’s who I fell for.”

[shedelulululu]

melfrank w/ 11 or 14?

11. things you said when you were drunk (full list here)

angst | Mel had a lot of wine :( | infidelity | 890 on ao3 here

It has barely cooled despite the sun disappearing over 2 hours ago. The humidity robbing her of the relief of the gentle breeze — she feels disgusting, hours old sweat clinging to her skin, and somehow the inside of her apartment was worse. She swishes the wine around in her glass, her 3rd? 5th? She had lost count. It was a vinho verde, some Portuguese thing or some other he brought. He wanted to try something new, it was cheap, refreshing, good for two bottles and one night.

Despite it all, she luxuriates in these moments. Curling on a cheap white plastic chair, wearing one of his impossibly soft band tees and nothing else, and his cum from earlier drying along the crease of her thigh. Frank sits in an identical chair less than a foot away, left just in his boxer briefs, one hand holding his wine glass, the other a lit cigarette. If asked, she hates the habit, has asked if he’ll stop. He’d shrug before taking a drag, it’s not benzos. The truth was she found comfort in the smell, it reminded her of home; a wraparound porch in Baldwin, Michigan, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents, chattering, ignoring Mel and Becca sat further into the backyard, pointedly avoiding their bad habits. It was also true what they said, smoking does unfortunately look very sexy.

Bone tired, satiated, for a moment, she can feel happy. She doesn’t want him to leave, but she can see the cigarette disappearing like time.

“I guess you can’t stay tonight?” she looks up at him, brown eyes magnified by her glasses, pleading for something she knows he can’t— won’t give.

“Uh — no not tonight, Abby needs —” he stumbles over his excuse, she interrupts him, not really interested in hearing the details.

“In another life, then.” the softness disappearing from her voice. Usually she’d nod, the ever understanding mistress, the one who understood her place even if it left lacerations every time she had to leave their bubble.

“No c’mon, Mel, don’t be like that, things are just complicated —”

She rolled her eyes, really she wanted to strangle him. Complicated was when he was in rehab and she could only send him letters, complicated was when he was in his first year of sobriety and needed stability so they were strictly friends, complicated was when the kids weren’t in school yet and Abby was with them 24/7 and didn’t have her own career. It’s been nearly a year, and still.

She cuts him off, “I’m tired Frank. I’ve been waiting, and what am I even waiting for anymore? You’re not gonna leave her.” She laughs mirthlessly to herself, pouring another glass, pushing her luck. Her own words hit her like a freight train, mumbling over and over that he won’t leave her, like a sick mantra. She had to have been crazy, to ever think he would. “Why would you? You get to have your polished suburban family, beautiful wife,” the wife he swore he rarely got along with, that he only married out of obligation in the first place, that he hadn’t been intimate with since the birth of Jasmine, “and the naive fucked up orphan girl will still open her legs for you, let you cry for hours on her couch after a bad shift so the kids don’t have to see. You don’t have to commit to her, you can show up last minute, you can derail her entire day, and she’s a real cheap date too.” Tears started streaming down her face at some point, “oh my god, I’m so pathetic, I’m 31, and I’m crying because I really thought you’d eventually pick me.”

She stands, hands gripping the metal separating her from a 12 storey fall. She’s crying still, she wants to vomit, she wants to jump, she wants and wants and wants. “I’m done” she whispers into the wind. It’s fine. She was used to never getting what she wanted.

He fiddles with his ring. Still loose, and yet he never lost it. She had tried hiding it once, sliding it in the pocket of his discarded hoodie. She thought he’d be amused. He was frantic. He looked so disappointed when she revealed it’s location. That should’ve been her first sign.

“Melissa…”

“Don’t.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, how can I make you happy?” she turns her head, he looks so small in his chair, she was never sure how it was possible for such a tall man to resemble a terrified child but he perfected it. She almost feels bad for the hysterical laughter that flows out of mouth.

“Leave.” She says, “and don’t you dare think of knocking on my door, calling me over, or even sending me a text until there are signed divorce papers in you hand.”

“It’s not that easy Mel,” he’s begging.

She levels him a blank stare “then don’t do it. But I’m not allowing you to fuck me up more.” He winces at her words, a scabbed over wound opening. He nods finally. He might be crying —she doesn’t want to know.

He makes his way to leave. Pulling her into a hug she doesn’t reciprocate, just barely receiving. He places a kiss to the top of her head — a final act of torment.

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

"You look tired"

Xaden: Well, the torment is relentless and the horrors never cease.

"You look tired"

Violet (Fourth Wing): I’m always tired what’s new.

Violet (Iron Flame): Yes, well I happen to live in a never ending paradox starting with “I am in pain so I cannot sleep” & “I cannot sleep so I am in more pain” & ending with… oh gods it’s never-ending…

Violet (Onyx Storm): If only I could find five-seconds without someone dying or trying to kill me, but wait when I do I dream of it, and I recently learned those AREN’T “just dreams” and someone could ACTUALLY kill me for it!

Violet (Empyrean 4): YES. I am also LOOKING FOR XADEN! I know "I look tired" it’s because I AM TIRED!! I WONDER WHY?!! No… really… I can’t remember? … When was the last time I even slept?? … How did I get here again???

"You look tired"

Dain: Looks can be deceiving!

"Oh, so you’re not tired?"

Dain: No, of course I’m tired… I’m a wing-leader in their third-year which means we’re being shipped off to a centuries-old-war that never-ends only to return to try & rangle a hundred mostly-homicidal teenagers alive in a place designed to kill them.

"You look tired"

Bodhi: Yes, yes I do. Even crazier—I feel tired—Shocking, I know! *looks to Xaden’s door* If only my cousin would STOP being an idiot, MAYBE one of us could rest once in a while! *pounds on wall* Or AT least stop spending our time putting all the gods-damned trees out!! *takes deep breath & smile/grimaces* But alas, such dreams elude me…

"You look tired"

Ridoc: Thanks! …Do you wanna look tired too? —Cause I’ve got a few ways to keep you up at night —EYO— *high-fives Aotrom’s tail*

"You look tired"

Rhiannon: And you sound stupid.

"You look tired"

Imogen: And you look like the next person who’s ass I’m going to kick. So, unless you’d also like to feel tired; I’d stop commenting on a woman’s appearance.

"You look tired"

Sawyer: Yes, well, if two months leave won’t fix it nothing ever will.

"You look tired"

Sloane: Your mom looks—Nope! …Too soon…

"You look tired"

Aaric: I had a dream that I slept once… I wasn’t asleep… that’s the weird part. — On second thought, I may be hallucinating? *laughs to himself* cause there’s no way there’s a future where I’m well-rested at Basgiath!

Tairn: I’m tired too! If anyone ever bothered to ask!! I’m the one flying all fucking day and night trying to keep all of you idiots alive!!!

Andarna: I was asleep for like… 3 months… now I’m ready to party!!!

[dioslesbianwife]

Can i request a platonic team bucciarati with reader who came back as a zombie or a frankenstein's monster kinda thing? They just casually show up as if nothing happened.

sure, hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <333

Bucciarati

He literally stops breathing.

“...No. No, that’s impossible. We buried you. I closed your eyes.”

Touches your face like he’s making sure you’re real- and flinches when he feels the unnatural cold of your undead skin.

“Who did this to you?” His tone sharpens. “Who brought you back?”

But once he sees you’re still you, still warm-hearted and kind beneath the whole “stitched together corpse” thing, he lets you stay near him again.

Makes sure you’re taken care of. Keeps your bandages clean. Buys you gloves so people don’t freak out.

Still scolds you like a mother hen. “Being undead doesn’t mean you can run headfirst into danger again, Y/N. Don’t make me zip your arm back on.”

Giorno

He senses it before he sees you. A ripple in nature. Something… off.

When you appear, shambling into the hideout with your patched-up limbs and dull eyes, Giorno immediately raises Gold Experience.

“That’s impossible. You died.”

You blink at him. “Yeah but like… I got better?”

Stares at you with that thoughtful mafia prince intensity before slowly lowering his Stand.

“Fascinating. Your soul has returned, but the body- who did this to you?”

Studies you like a scientist. Pokes your stitches. Has so many questions about necromancy and cellular resurrection.

But lowkey… is relieved you’re back. Really relieved. He just doesn’t show it.

Mista

SCREAMS.

“BRO- BRO- SOMEONE GET A GUN- ”

Literally hides behind Narancia. “IS THAT A GHOST?? IS THAT YOUR GHOST??”

When you roll your eyes and flip him off with your slightly-rotting hand, he loses it.

“OH MY GOD THEY ARE BACK. AND RUDE.”

Takes a WHILE to get used to it. He pokes your stitches constantly and asks a million inappropriate questions like “So like, do you still fart?” 

Eventually brags about you to strangers. “This is my bestie, they died and came back. No biggie.”

Narancia

FREEZES when he sees you.

“Wait… no way… no way…”

Runs over and hugs you so tight your arm pops off. 

“AHHHHHHHH I BROKE THEM- ”

Apologizes a hundred times and then refuses to let you out of his sight.

100% treats you the same as before, even if you have to sew your leg back on mid-conversation.

“So like, are you still hungry? Do you eat brains? Can I give you my pudding cup?”

If anyone stares at you funny in public, he yells “WHAT YOU LOOKIN’ AT, HUH?! THAT’S MY FRIEND YOU FREAK.”

Trish

At first: screaming. Then: silent horror.

“...This is a prank, right? A Stand illusion?”

When she realizes it’s really you, she bursts into angry tears. “You DIED. You DIED and no one could fix it.”

And now you’re just standing there. With stitches. With cold hands. But the same smile.

“You absolute idiot,” she sobs, hugging you.

Immediately becomes your undead stylist. “You might be a zombie but that doesn’t mean you can’t SERVE LOOKS.”

Buys you custom arm warmers and makeup to hide the decay. “If you’re gonna cheat death, you better do it fabulously.”

Abbacchio

“...You’re dead.”

“Yeah,” you say. “But I got better.”

“Tch.”

Refuses to believe you’re real for days.

“It’s a trick. It’s Moody Blues showing me something I want to see.”

Won’t talk to you. Won’t look at you. Then one day, when you patch up a wound of his and smile, he just sighs.

“Only you would come back from the dead and still boss me around.”

Quietly watches over you. You catch him looking every now and then, like he’s still waiting for you to vanish again.

Secretly grateful you came back. Will never say it. But he brings you hot cocoa sometimes and mutters “Don’t lose another limb.”

Fugo

PANIC.

“No. No, this isn’t right. This isn’t NATURAL.”

Tries to push you away at first- afraid you’re some twisted trap, or worse, a puppet.

“What if this is hurting you? What if your soul’s trapped?”

But when you touch his hand- cold and shaky- and say “I missed you,” he just crumbles.

“...You dumbass,” he whispers, eyes wet. “You shouldn’t be here. But I’m so glad you are.”

Becomes the one constantly reminding you to rest and take care of your gross undead body. Packs you little first-aid kits and spare thread “just in case.”

[nqrancia]

no thoughts, head empty, i think it’d be hilarious to call some of the jjba character your “current” boyfriend just to fuck with them. so could i get Rohan, Mista and Diego react to reader calling them that? thank youuu ❤️

“𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.”

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : rohan kishibe, guido mista, diego brando

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : how does your bf react to being referred to as your current boyfriend

𝐚/𝐧 : this one was fun to write, tsym for requesting diego! i’ve been brainrotting over him recently :)

𝐑𝐎𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐊

He’s not mad, he’s just disappointed.

Rohan is more than familiar with the trends of today, and is also more than aware of their stupidity. At least, that’s what he believes them to be. It’s not the initial statement that bothers him, it’s the notion that you thought he would be dumb enough to fall for the little trick you attempted to pull on him.

“I’m a bit offended you thought that would work on me.”

He won’t admit it, but he does think about that moment more than he wants to.

───

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐎 𝐌.

Appalled, offended, incredulous. Any negative word that could be used to describe the look of betrayal on Mista’s face was the only way to properly read it. He almost immediately thinks he’s done something to wrong you, which he hasn’t, but he doesn’t know that! The man almost felt his soul leave his body. “What do you mean “current boyfriend”?!”

“Babe, did I do something wrong?”

Even his Sex Pistols are freaking out, thinking you’re leaving him. They need their snack distributor, and it has to be you. You always have exactly what they’re craving.

“Mista says he’s sorry for whatever he did wrong!”

As soon as you tell him it was just a small prank, he lets out the biggest sigh of relief he could muster. A weight was just taken off his shoulders, and he’s even more relieved that you aren’t leaving him. “Thank god! I thought this was your own messed up way of telling me you were breaking up with me!”

You have to promise that you won’t call him that again, or he thinks next time he will actually die.

“Never call me your “current boyfriend” ever again, I am your boyfriend for life!”

“I would hope at that point you’d be my husband instead, Guido.”

“Details.”

───

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐁.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you were doomed. Though his face was kept in a calm expression for your audience, he was internally setting everything in the vicinity on fire. “Current boyfriend”? What exactly did the phrasing of those words mean? Were you trying to insinuate that in the near future you were going to break up with him? To his knowledge, he hadn’t done anything to anger you. But your words gave him a sense of an internal panic.

After your entourage of reporters had come to interview the both of you, he immediately turned to look at you and scoffed. “Current boyfriend”? I see how it is.”

He is not taking this little prank so well. His feeling of betrayal is expressed in harsher words and blunt statements, and will act this way until you apologize properly to him. To others, his actions might seem childish, but you understood why he reacted this way. Diego wasn’t one to care what was lost as long as he didn’t need it or didn’t see a reason for its use, but you were different. He didn’t like humans, yet you were “tolerable” enough to be allowed to be his. He had found trust in you, yet his heart was still fragile.

Which was exactly why he turned to teasing to mess with you, to convince you to fold and ask for his forgiveness.

“Yes, my “current significant other” loves to watch me race. They come to every event just to watch me achieve victory. Cute, isn’t it?”

Diego won’t stop until you apologize, and you have to be as honest and concise as possible with it as well. He won’t accept a half-hearted, shell of a reason. You have to be clear with him and express your want for forgiveness. If you word your sentences correctly, you might just get him to crack a small smile.

“If there is a next time, I won’t be so nice about my teasing.”

@𝐧𝐪𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 ݁₊˚⊹☆ - please do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[oftenwantedafton]

contact | arnold/dispatch

chapter 2

Explicit content, 4.7k words, new 6/24/25

ao3 link

Arnie’s mouth tastes like metal.

Bleeding from somewhere. He’d really taken a sharp knock there on that last trip back to the security office. Another grim souvenir from MCM, he thinks bitterly, adjusting the rearview mirror and peering anxiously at the scenery behind him. Nothing. No pursuing homicidal endoskeleton. The factory stands tall and proud against the predawn sky, looking deceptively innocent and normal. He’s accomplished his mission, and better still, he’s escaped. Sure, he’s covered in cuts and bruises and his coveralls are singed and torn in several places, but he’s alive. And God damn does that feel amazing right now.

He cranks the driver’s side window down, inhaling deeply. He’s desperate for something to drink. A long shower. And then he’s going to sleep, hoping the living nightmares he’s just witnessed won’t be pursuing him into the dreamworld.

A burst of static interrupts his thoughts.

“Arnold? Arnold, are you there?”

“Yes, yes I’m here.” He allows himself a grim smile of satisfaction. Dispatch had kept it professional throughout his time at Murray’s, and he’d done the same, far too preoccupied with the dangerous task at hand to even consider anything inappropriate regarding the man on the other end of the line.

But now it’s over, and even if he’s not exactly in the mood at the moment, he’s not opposed to a little more praise before he heads home. He’s a bit disappointed he’s switched from the nickname back to his full name, though.

“What happened? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Where were you?”

Arnie frowns. “What do you mean? I just spoke with you a few minutes ago. The job’s finished. You said I can go home.”

“Arnold, I haven’t spoken to you for several hours.”

A chill licks along the technician’s spine, and it has nothing to do with the open window beside him. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I lost contact with you after you arrived at MCM.”

He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion wrapped around him. “No, that’s not…you guided me through the facility. I secured the blueprints and the Data Diver like you instructed me to.”

“I never told you to do that. Arnold, where are the schematics? Where is the device?”

“I put them right where you told me to,” he repeats, baffled. Perhaps he isn’t coherent. The fatigue must be disrupting his words.

“Are you telling me they’re still inside the building?”

“No, of course not. They got sent right where they were supposed to go. That’s what you told me would happen when I placed them in the inventory compartment. They got transferred…” His voice trails off, a feeling of unease creeping over him. “You told me to do it,” he repeats again, almost pleading.

“You admit you failed to retrieve the schematics, then? That you abandoned the tech that was entrusted to you?”

“No! No, I didn’t…” The cold, dispassionate tone of the dispatcher stings more than the laceration still intermittently weeping blood on his arm.

“Arnie,” Dispatch says, and the nickname’s appearance at last nearly makes him want to weep, “there will be repercussions for this. Serious repercussions.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Willful misuse and destruction of Fazbear Entertainment’s property are grounds for immediate termination.”

“Willful misuse and destruction?” He repeats, the bark of mirthless laughter coming out as a feeble cough. He’d inhaled some nasty things inside that place. Probably quite toxic. “I risked my life in there, do you realize that? I almost got killed!”

“Poor job performance is not an excuse. I advise you don’t use that as your defense when you’re in the courtroom.”

“Courtroom? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ll be receiving a phone call from HR shortly. I suggest you remain awake to answer it. You’ll also need to return the van and any other assets from the company.”

“This is crazy.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “None of what you’re saying makes any sense. I did what you asked me to do.”

“You’ve been given your instructions.” A pause. Dispatch’s voice softens slightly. “My hands are tied, Arnie. There’s nothing I can do to help you.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps. “You know I would never do any of those things. There must be a mixup somewhere. You know me,” he says again, well aware of the raw ache in his voice.

Silence. Then the sharp click as the call is terminated. He slams his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration. This can’t be happening. After everything he went through tonight…

He needs to talk to Dispatch face to face. That’s what he needs to do. Explain what happened, even though he doesn’t relish the thought of reliving that hellish experience again. It’s the only way.

He checks the time on his wristwatch which is still functioning despite the cracked face. The shift is almost over. He can wait for him in the parking garage, now that he knows what section of HQ he works in. He’d go inside to speak to him in person, but he doesn’t have the correct security clearance and he isn’t entirely certain he won’t be carted off to jail the minute he steps foot indoors. It’s risky just going to the garage, but he has to chance it. Because to accept defeat now…

He’ll lose everything. Every last thing he has. He can’t afford legal fees, especially if he’s no longer getting paid a salary. He’ll have to find another job. Transportation. The rent is almost due. He’ll lose the roof over his head if he can’t make payments.

He strikes the steering wheel again. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? He’d done his best, and considering he’d done it on no sleep, he’d thought he’d done a solid job. To be told otherwise…

He pulls into the garage bay marked with the number twelve a short time later, finding it much better illluminated now. He waits inside the van for a few moments, half expecting a security detail to surround him, but nothing happens. So he exits the vehicle, walking forward until he has a clear view of the door leading inside the building, then leans back against a cement post to wait. Not the one Dispatch had shoved him against, surely; they must have been further away than this.

You don’t even know what he looks like. How are you going to identify him?

He’s beginning to realize just how half-baked this plan is. His brain is just addled mush at this point. He’s never felt so confused. So lost. So helpless.

His head lifts every time employees begin filtering from the entrance, but he dismisses each one as a plausible candidate. The workers barely spare him a glance, or if they do, they keep walking by hurriedly. He can only imagine how horrific he looks. Good. It will further prove his case.

The minutes drag. He shuffles his feet, trying to redistribute his weight. His eyes are growing heavy again. Maybe he should just go home.

The door opens, and his eyes skim by, prepared to dismiss another employee, then quickly slide back again.

It’s him.

He can’t say precisely what it is about the man that distinguishes him from any of the others; he’s just another person in business casual attire. But he knows. He knows it’s Dispatch, and at that same moment the man’s gaze meets his, his footsteps abruptly halting, eyes widening slightly at his appearance.

“Arnie.” It’s whispered softly, but there’s an echo in the garage. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice firmer. Cooler. He’s recovered already. Not surprising, given his job position. He has to keep calm no matter what situations arise.

“We need to talk.”

“There are cameras,” he says, his teeth slightly gritted. “You’re lucky they haven’t dragged you out of here already.”

“You wanted the van back. So here.” He digs into his pocket, the one without the hole, and tosses it towards the dispatcher. They land with a jingle beside his polished Oxfords. “And now I need a ride home.”

“Not my problem.” His eyes flick down to the keys, then back to the technician’s face. He bends to retrieve them and tosses them back. Arnie actually manages to catch them. “Leave, while you still can voluntarily.”

“You threatening me? Going to call the cops?”

“I should.” He frowns. “Walk with me.”

Arnie pushes away from the cement post, moving towards the other man. He resumes walking just as the technician reaches him.

“I need to talk to you about what happened.”

“You should be telling it to a lawyer.”

“We both know I can’t afford one, so cut the crap. Do I look like someone that’s been out gallivanting, stealing from the company?”

“You look like shit,” Dispatch replies.

“Yeah? You try working over forty hours straight and tell me how good you look.” The other man snickers. “You look good,” he says softly, unable to prevent the admission from slipping past his lips. Even now, even after everything…

Dispatch pauses beside a sleek looking sedan, something Arnie knows he couldn’t afford in a million years. “Get in.”

“Giving me a ride after all? You sure you want me dirtying up this pretty car?”

“Get in,” he growls, and the technician hastens to obey, walking to the passenger door that the owner pops open after sliding behind the wheel.

Real leather seats. He can smell it; hear it creak as he sinks down into it.

“Company’s been paying you well. No wonder you don’t mind sending men to their deaths.”

“I don’t do that,” he replies, jabbing the key in the ignition.

“Yeah, you do. I found bodies inside that building. Stuffed inside those gross costumes. How many men did you send in there before me?”

“It wasn’t me. My orders come from above. You know that.” He starts the engine. A quiet purr. Nothing like the van.

“But you knew they’d gotten killed.”

“Unconfirmed.”

“Confirmed now,” he snaps. “I saw them. You knew, and you sent me in to get killed anyway.”

“I sent you in to succeed. You’re the best we have.”

“Oh, spare me the flattery. You’re off the clock now. You don’t have to keep lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he says tightly.

“Neither am I,” Arnie replies. “I did my job exactly as instructed.”

Dispatch reaches for the garage door opener on the sun visor. The technician keeps half expecting someone to intervene, preventing him from leaving, but nothing happens as the driver pulls out of the bay and turns towards the exit.

“What did happen in there?”

“Oh, now you want to know?” He asks, his query dripping sarcasm. He’s never been this curt with the dispatcher before. Never once talked back. But he can’t stop himself from continuing to do it. He’s too weary.

“Why do you think you’re in my car?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“I’m taking you to my place, so we can talk.”

The technician starts at that, lurching forward a little in his seat. “You are?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He eases back, running his thumb over the armrest. “Your place as nice as this car?”

“It’s decent.”

“That’s a yes if I ever heard one.”

A faint smile ghosts the driver’s lips. Attractive, like everything else about this man. He hates how weak in the knees he still makes him; how fluttery his stomach has been this entire morning. He should hate him, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

They don’t speak again for the remainder of the journey. He’s brought to another parking garage. Dispatch lives on the nice side of town, right smack in the middle of it, in a multistory apartment building with scenic views. The guest gives a low whistle as he enters, watching the owner drop his keys on a table by the door, then bend down to unlace his shoes. Arnie toes off his work boots. They’re already half unlaced already. It’s been a hell of a shift.

“I’ll let you take a shower first. I’m sure you want to get cleaned up. I’ll get some clothes for you. Should fit well enough.”

“Thanks.” He follows him into a bathroom that’s larger than his bedroom. Everything is so pristine. Gleaming. He nods when Dispatch retrieves a spare toothbrush from the mirrored medicine cabinet and sets in on the counter for him. Again when he returns with a folded undershirt and briefs.

“Those are fresh towels.” He points to the rack beside the shower.

“Okay.”

The dispatcher rests a hand on the doorknob, hesitating. “I didn’t tell the Uppers yet.”

“What?”

“That you failed. Or…whatever happened. I said you were still working on it. Waiting to hear back.”

“You lied?”

“Yes. I bought you some more time.”

“But what was all that about me getting fired and being sued?”

“That’s what’s going to happen if you don’t do this job, Arnie. I can’t stress that enough. You never would have made it into that garage today if they knew the truth. I put myself at great risk for you. I hope you realize that.”

“You put yourself at risk?! What about me?”

Dispatch holds up his hands. “Calm down,” he instructs, his voice soothing.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. You have no idea what I’ve just been through.”

“You’re right. I don’t. So get cleaned up and then come talk to me. I’ll be in the living room. I’ll try to patch up some of those wounds of yours too. Basic first aid is a requirement for us, of course.” He swallows, and Arnie’s eyes linger on the movement of his Adam’s apple straining against the shirt collar. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, his voice hoarse, then he exits the room and shuts the door behind him.

***

Arnie brushes his teeth twice, unable to detect where that metallic taste had come from earlier. At least it’s gone now.

He spends a great deal of time in the shower, remaining under the hot spray long after he’s washed the grime away. He towels off slowly once he exits, trying to think about what he should say to Dispatch, how best to plead his case. He supposes he should just tell him everything outright, leaving out no details. He swipes a forearm across the foggy mirror, regarding his reflection in the damp looking glass. His undereyes are deep purple. His scraggly facial hair is shifting towards a fuller beard. He hardly recognizes himself.

He likes the scent of the clothing he pulls on. Dryer sheets. Fabric softener. The garments feel nice against his skin after being in those tattered coveralls for so long. He doesn’t know where to leave his clothes, so he keeps them folded on top of the laundry hamper for now.

He finds Dispatch seated on a plush looking couch in the living room as promised, his tie loosened, his gaze seemingly fixed on the television screen in front of him, the volume turned down low.

Arnie sinks down onto the cushion beside him.

“How was the shower?” He hands him a glass of cold water and he gulps it down eagerly.

“Oh, I needed that. Good. I left my clothes on top of the hamper. I didn’t know…”

“That’s fine. Let’s have a look at your injuries. That one on your arm is bleeding again,” he observes.

The technician hastily folds back the shirt sleeve, curling it over his shoulder while the other man examines the laceration.

“Too shallow to need stitches, but these will definitely help. I think it’s the position on your arm. You’re moving it around too much. That’s what keeps reopening it.” He rummages inside a case lying open on the coffee table, applying a row of sterile strips across the edges of the cut, then covering it with a dressing. “Where else did you get hurt?”

“Uh…” Arnie begins pointing out the various cuts and bruises he’d acquired, allowing the other man to examine and treat them as needed. “You still think I’m crazy, making stuff up?” He asks softly.

“I never said you were crazy.”

“But you don’t believe me. I’ve been thinking about it over and over again, and the only conclusion I can come to is that that damn endo copied your voice somehow. That must be who I was talking to all along.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a technician, remember?”

“Anything else I missed?” He reaches for his chin, gently turning his face towards his.

“I tasted metal earlier. I don’t know—”

He’s interrupted by Dispatch suddenly leaning forward to kiss his mouth.

Arnie groans, a surge of heat instantly pooling in his groin. Despite his exhaustion, his body reacts to the kiss like a match being struck. His lips are licked apart, the other man’s tongue thrusting to meet his.

“I don’t taste metal,” the dispatcher pants, now sucking his bottom lip. “Just toothpaste.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should check again.”

An amused little hum vibrates across his jaw. “Are you questioning the quality of my work?”

“No, but I’m more than a little tired of you questioning mine.”

Arnie regrets the words as soon as he utters them. The mood sobering, Dispatch pulls away. “I need to know what happened. And as much as you deserve to sleep, we simply don’t have the time to spare. I can’t stall the Uppers forever. So tell me everything. Start from the very beginning.”

So he does. Right from when he’d had to find another way inside the building, the main entrance barred shut. The animatronic performance for investors. The security office. Upgrading the Data Diver for the first time. Switching on the power. The first encounter with the Mimic, possessing one of the costumes. Discovering the other team member inside another one. Being pursued by the Jackie in a Box. Finding the Big Top showroom. Another pursuit.

At this point the technician pauses to eat the meal he’s presented with, surprised by how much of an appetite he suddenly has. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice. It’s heaven on earth.

Another wave of fatigue drags against his eyelids, but he forces himself continue his tale, recounting the necessary steps to construct a springlock suit, another pursuit in the doll hospital, the harried journey to the administration wing where he’d had to avoid encountering a roller skating chicken animatronic, the flight from the terrifying tiger animatronic in the darkness. Securing the blueprints at last. Returning the Data Diver to the inventory compartment. His instruction to go home.

Dispatch’s face remains impassive throughout the story. Arnie has no idea what the other man is thinking, and when he still doesn’t receive a response, he flat out asks for one. “Well? What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” The dispatcher stands and stretches, beckoning him towards a bedroom. Queen sized bed at least. Maybe King. Certainly bigger than his own.

“What now?”

“Sleep.” He flips back the comforter, gesturing for him to get into the bed.

“But you said we only have a short amount of time. What are we…?”

“You need to sleep, and so do I. Don’t argue, Arnie.” He begins undressing, leaving an undershirt and briefs on, his work clothes folded nearly over the dresser.

The technician climbs onto the mattress, scooting over when the other man waves his hand, gesturing for him to shift positions. He watches as he closes the blinds, then sinks down beside him.

“Sleep,” he says again, turning on his side, one arm casually draping over his chest.

Arnie swallows thickly, forcing his eyes to shut. He’s been dying for a bed for hours, but now that he’s in one, sleep is the furthest thing from his mind.

Luckily his body knows better, ushering him there before he can dwell on the situation any longer.

***

It’s dark in the bedroom now. No more sunlight peeking around the blinds.

Arnie tentatively settles a hand over the one still clasping his ribs.

“Awake?” Dispatch murmurs drowsily. The sleepy tone makes his voice more sultry and the technician’s cock twitches with interest.

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“Good.”

“Hmmm.” His hands slips free of Arnie’s, skimming now beneath the hem of his loaned shirt. “It occurs to me that I didn’t examine all of you this morning.” He no longer sounds tired, his voice as clear as it is over the line.

“Oh, it’s fine there,” he murmurs awkwardly as fingers caress his abdomen.

“Really? What about here?” He shoves beneath the waistband of his briefs and strokes his erection.

“Um…”

“I think this bears further investigation, don’t you?”

“What about…uuuuh…what we talked about earlier…mmmm...time limit thing…” It’s difficult to get the words out when the other man keeps stroking him so perfectly.

The mattress creaks as the dispatcher shifts, planting a sloppy kiss on his mouth. “You want to talk or you want me to suck your cock?”

“Fuck.”

“That’s what I thought.” More creaking. The waistband of his briefs are roughly jerked down. He raises his hips to allow them to be pulled further along his thighs. A kiss on each hip. His fingers stutter through the man’s hair.

“God,” he hisses when he feels the head of his cock engulfed in warm wetness. Suction. A tongue teasing his slit, lapping at the precum spilling from it.

“There you go, Arnie. Delicious.” His head bobs up and down a few times, then his fingers curl around the spit slickened flesh, sliding along it, eliciting juicy, wet sounds to accompany his gasps and moans.

“Please…uhhh…”

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Suck it. Please, suck it.”

“Then I can’t talk to you. I thought you liked my voice,” he teases.

“I love it. But I need…”

“You want me to suck your cock?”

“Yes.”

“Until you cum?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Should I swallow it all down?”

Arnie grabs a handful of the man’s silky hair and lifts his hips, shoving his cock through his lips. A startled little moan greets the invader, then a pleased hum, his mouth working much more fervently now, sliding down to the base, gagging and sucking and driving him straight to climax.

“Jesus,” he gasps when the dispatcher finally releases his dick. He wishes he could see his face just then; watch him swallow that creamy load down.

“I’d no idea you were so…religious,” Dispatch says, climbing back up to kiss him. Arnie tastes his release, the bitter remnants clinging to the corners of his mouth.

“I want to do the same for you.”

“I certainly won’t protest.”

They trade positions, moving a bit awkwardly in the dark. Arnie kisses a path down the dispatcher’s chest, planting one outside his briefs before he extracts his cock, swirling the tip of his tongue over the head.

“Mmmm…that’s nice.”

It is nice; nice tasting him, and nice hearing that pleasant voice crooning, praising as he begins sucking and stroking his dick.

“Arnie…I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” he murmurs, drunk with lust.

Dispatch’s hips lift and shove a little further, tapping the back of his throat. He feels a hand sink into his hair, holding his head there. “You’re so good, Arnie…”

His nostrils flare for more air but he holds the position until he’s finally released, gasping for a deep breath as his mouth pops off of his slick cock.

“That’s why I need you. Because you’re the best…”

A slight warning bell goes off in the recesses of his mind, but he ignores it, too caught up in pleasuring the other man with his mouth.

“That’s why…just like that, good boy, Arnie…” The hand in his hair tightens again. “That’s why I need you to do me one favor. Just one, Arnie…”

He wants to tell him he will, but he’s got his entire mouth and part of his throat stuffed full.

“That’s it, Arnie…choke on that cock…I’m going to cum down your throat…” He delivers on his promise, spilling his seed. The technician’s throat convulses, milking the remaining cum from his cock. His next bid for air when he’s finally granted freedom whines shrilly. His jaw aches and his throat is burning as he flops down beside his partner, immediately reaching for him, pulling his body closer.

Dispatch kisses his cheek softly. “You need to shave.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll do it later.” He sighs contentedly. He thinks he’s going to sleep a little more now.

“So…about that favor.”

“Hmmm? Didn’t I just do it?”

“Not quite.” The dispatcher licks his ear, then tucks his lips beside it. “I want you to go back in and get those schematics and the Data Diver back.”

Arnie’s blood runs cold. He stiffens, sitting up, suddenly alert, pushing the other man away. “What?”

“You heard me. That’s how you’re going to fix this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. It should be even easier now that you know the lay of the land.”

“Did you not hear anything I said? There’s something in there killing people! And you want me to go back in and get you the plans to make more of those things!”

“The Uppers want that, Arnie. I’m just following their orders. Now you need to follow yours.”

“No.”

“No?” He feels the mattress shift as the other man climbs off of it, switching the bedside lamp on. “Are you refusing a direct command from your superior?”

“We’re not on company time,” Arnie replies through gritted teeth. “And there’s nothing you can say or do to get me to go back inside that building.”

“I beg to differ. You will go back in. And you will finish that job. Because if you don’t, Arnie,” he warns, leaning to grab a handful of his hair, wrenching his head back, “then you lose everything. And I lose everything. I’m not going to lie for you again. And I’m not going to give up everything I’ve worked for. So do your job. After you get cleaned up,” he adds, relaxing his grip. “You’re getting blood all over my sheets.”

The technician barely spares a glance to verify this claim. “I can’t believe this.”

“What did you think was going to happen, Arnie? We were going to ride off into the sunset together? This is the real world.”

“You don’t give a shit about me at all. You’re just using me.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet.

“I’m doing what needs to be done. Now it’s your turn.”

“Why did you even bother with any of this? Why not just send me back in immediately?”

“Because you’re of no use to me if you collapse from exhaustion.”

“Why did you ever start this with me?” He repeats, stepping forward. “You know I would have done it anyway.”

“I didn’t know for certain. Thought it was better to sweeten the deal.”

“This is my life you’re playing with! Mine and everyone’s that came before me!” He grabs a handful of the dispatcher’s shirt and shoves him back against the door.

“It’s good you’ve got your energy back again. Use that when you’re in Murray’s.”

“You son of a—”

Dispatch shoves at his injured arm, distracting him long enough to move away from the door and pin him against it instead. He tries to move but the thumb is digging painfully into his wound. He can feel the blood trickling down anew, warm and sticky.

“Go back in, Arnie,” he pants, his eyes flashing.

“And then what?”

“And maybe I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, if you still want me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Do you still want me, Arnie?” He releases his arm and crushes his mouth with his.

“No,” he spits, trying to turn his face away.

“Now who’s lying?” He grasps his chin and tips it forward again. “Do this for me Arnie. For us.”

He whimpers at the sound of that word. Us. Real, or an illusion? Just another manipulation tactic?

He thinks about what will happen if he disobeys. He’s trapped between a rock and a hard place. Over a barrel, and this man damn well knows it.

But what choice does he have, really? At least if he takes the risk there’s a chance. He’ll get to keep his job. His van. His apartment. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll get a little more time with this devil standing across from him.

“I’ll go back,” he croaks.

“I knew I could count on you, Arnie. You’re the best.” He plants a kiss that feels far too tender on his forehead. “Now go get ready. I’ll find something for you to wear and get that arm patched up again before I drop you off back at the van. We can make an exception for the uniform requirements this time. Go on, now. You know the way.”

Yes, he does.

[nottellingofname]

Suguru Geto Tries Not To Die

Reason 9 - Passport ⋆⭒˚.⋆

“I guess I have one more day, huh?” you whispered.

The two of you were lying in an abandoned cornfield, long deserted by some farmer years ago. The dry hay scratched Suguru’s neck and made him itch, but he didn’t complain.

Not when you were beside him. Your shoulders barely touched as both of you stared up at the sun, golden and indifferent above you.

“I guess so,” Suguru muttered. He hadn’t been thinking about the deal much these past few days. Had it really been nine days already?

A cold chill prickled along his spine. He glanced sideways at you—your face unreadable, somewhere between defeated and determined.

He licked his dry lips, the question heavy in his chest. Why hadn’t you run yet? Nine days with him—most people would’ve bolted after one.

“Days went by a lot quicker than I thought they would,” you said, so softly he almost missed it.

Suguru let out a dry laugh. “They did, didn’t they?”

“I wish they hadn’t, though.” You sighed.

He turned toward you, his body shifting to face yours. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

You looked uneasy, like your words were still forming. Your hand went to the back of your neck, scratching nervously.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I mean, I actually had a lot of fun these past few days. I never wanted it to end. So what happens to me when you decide to leave? I’m going to spend the rest of my life wondering what I could’ve done better to save you.”

Suguru felt something drop inside his stomach. It was like his emotions couldn’t choose a direction—too many of them all crashing in at once: guilt, warmth, sadness, and something else he didn’t dare name.

You let out a soft laugh—bitter and hollow, and it didn’t reach your eyes.

“I can tell you’re not happy, just from the way you’re looking at me.”

You smiled faintly and reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You did that a lot now. Suguru had grown to look forward to it.

“Don’t blame yourself, okay? I got myself into this, remember?”

Suguru’s mind flashed back to the cliff—that cliff—when he was just an inch from falling.

Later that evening, you cycled both of you back to school. It was already half past nine, and the halls were silent. Everyone was probably asleep. Suguru had missed dinner—Yaga was definitely going to scold him in the morning.

"Let me give you ten reasons to live."

"And if I fail, you can come back here and jump. I won’t stop you next time."

But just as you stepped through the entrance, Shoko came running toward him, a large manila envelope clutched tightly in her hands.

“Suguru!” she beamed. “I’ve been waiting for you all night! Where have you been?”

He frowned at her excitement. “I was just out with Y/N, that’s all.”

You waved at her and grinned. “Great! More people to celebrate with!”

“Celebrate what?” Suguru asked, utterly confused.

Shoko shoved the envelope toward him. He caught it mid-air and stared. It was addressed to him—from the Japanese Ministry of Justice. His eyes widened, checking the name again just to be sure.

“Is that your passport?” you asked, a smile stretching across your lips. “Open it, Suguru!”

He hesitated, then tore the envelope open carefully, trying not to rip whatever was inside.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Shoko snapped. “The suspense is killing me!”

Suguru laughed and gave in, tearing it with one swift rip. The envelope fluttered to the ground as he clutched the packet inside.

“Dear Suguru Geto,” he skimmed quickly, “we are proud to inform you that you have successfully applied for a passport—”

Shoko screamed.

Suguru couldn’t stop smiling.

Shoko wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he felt the dampness of her happy tears seeping through his shirt.

“Oh, Suguru! We can really travel now! I’m so happy for you!”

He pulled away gently, wiping at his own eyes before they could fully spill. He scanned the letter, excitement bubbling in his chest. “Shoko—oh my God—look! We can go to Malaysia with Nanami!”

Shoko squealed again, this time slapping a hand over her mouth to contain the noise. “I need to tell the others! I’ll be right back!”

She spun on her heel and bolted up the stairs, her voice echoing: “GOJO! NANAMI! WE HAVE NEWS!”

Suguru laughed, still in disbelief, and turned back toward you.

You were quiet.

You hadn’t said a single word since the letter was opened.

He smiled. “Y/N? Can you believe it? We can go explore the world together!”

Still, you didn’t speak. Your smile was faint, almost sad. Suguru’s expression faltered.

“Y/N?” he asked again, softer now. “Is there something wro—”

Before he could finish, you had thrown your arms around him.

Your hug was tight—bone-crushing—but protective. Your chin rested gently on his shoulder. Suguru could barely breathe.

And still… everything felt right.

“You have such a whole life ahead of you,” you whispered, breath warm against his ear. “I want to watch you grow.”

Save Suguru Geto?

taglist:

@crims0nova @levifiance

[writingjourney]

How do you think a Rook x Emmrich romance would have been different if she had been one of his students?

Oh boy. Put on your seatbelts for this one (also… mild 18+)

I think, first of all, it depends a little on how directly involved he was in her teaching. Just a lecture here and there? Hm, not good, no, but it’s doubtful anyone would care in the long run. But we know Emmrich is INVOLVED in his teaching. In the game he talks about how important close supervision is, how he prefers smaller groups so that he can cater more individually to his students, and now, hear me out, if Rook was someone that he’d been working so closely with this man would have the most intense existential crisis to ever exist. Full on meltdown wondering about his own sanity at this point. What man of his academic caliber would ever fall for one of his students?

Sure, this attraction to her should not matter in the grand scheme of things, not when the Gods threaten to destroy life as he’s known it. Rook has been working with Varric instead of taking her classes and who knows if she’d ever go back to any of those he’s involved with. They could definitely find a way for this not to happen, he’s got the connection, could get her under supervision from someone else. And he can calm his doubts insofar as to remind himself that he was not into her before all this, not before he got to know her so closely, there was nothing untoward. But then, is this true?

Every interaction with Rook – or, just Ingellvar at the time – would be viewed through a different lens. Is it true that he never noticed the intensity of her gaze, the specific colour in her eyes? The beauty of her smile when she directs it at him? The way her fingertips dance across the pages of a book when she’s so focused on reading, the materials he presented her with? Memories flicker in his mind, of her visiting him during his office hours, how their eyes met across the lecture hall, the way she’d linger with other students after class and how he’d nod at her to say his goodbyes, the smile she met him with. Nothing feels quite so innocent anymore, in retrospect, and he wonders if anyone ever noticed, if his colleagues or the other students already think him perverted.

Naturally, he vows to never act on these new-found feelings, lest anyone ever finds out.

But oh, Rook does not share the same hesitations. When you’re on a death mission, really, why care about propriety? Or, has she ever really cared? And no, at first she doesn’t notice how he’s fighting with himself every time they touch, how he’s half-mad with want and half-mad with disgust whenever she flirts and he flusters like a teenage boy. The worst, however, is that he can see that his hesitation is hurting her, how her interest in him seems to go beyond superficial flattery for a teacher in hopes of a good grade.

No, she confirms their connection is genuine, that her interest is genuine, and he’s tempted to push it just a little farther, take her back to the Necropolis under almost-false pretence, show her around the memorial gardens, careful to avoid anyone they know. Just… out of curiosity, of course, and because it is her home as well. It won’t hurt if he introduces her to his parents, an eager student who he gets along with. It’s only after that outing that he notices he’s in way over his head. The way she’d reacted to his opening himself up about his fears was everything he’d ever hoped for, the way she never flinched back, put her hand on his arm to squeeze in comfort without knowing just how welcome her touch was.

From then on, he can’t stop thinking about her and these thoughts are sometimes so inappropriate that he’s shaking whenever he tries to suppress them. It spirals, then, the oh i should not and the oh but i want to. and he’s touching himself to the thought of her, not even purposely, but the image of her mouth just so happens to pop into his head and he comes so hard he almost blacks out. Only for then to have a proper meltdown, tears involved, until Manfred hears him in despair and fetches Rook because he’s so worried. Emmrich snaps out of it so fast but he’s mortified to even attempt touching himself from then on.

And Rook? Well, he doesn’t tell her and he’s not going to indulge his need for her reassurance. But it’s harder and harder to stay in control of it and he does not want to lie to her, not when his forced distance is already causing her brow to crease in that sad way every single time he pulls back. So when she touches him the next time he lets it happen, when she compliments him he smiles with a little more charm, and it’s a bit of dance to keep it hidden until he knows that it’s working out (not to anyone but them, really, they ALL know). This could be an academic suicide if he's not careful and despite it all he is still scared of his mortality, of their age difference and the fact that this could be such a fleeting thing, but holding her hand is healing something inside of him and every hour they spend together makes him feel a little more like himself. How can any of that be so bad?

So, yes, eventually he can’t resist taking her on a date, though he won’t call it that, and he can’t resist kissing her, showering her in gold and compliments and love. And through it all he gets protective of her in completely new ways. Because if anything, this is his burden and he never wants her to be the subject of rumours and whisper and gossip. He does not want her to think he’s ashamed of what he feels for her or that he does not want people to know, so I do not think, once they actually move forward, beat the Gods and commit to each other, that he’d keep it secret.

No, at this point, it is a selfish thing and he's assured enough that their love transcends any such obstacles. I think he’d be very firm on standing his ground, making sure that, if she wants to continue her education, it will be with a safe professional distance from him, and if not? Even better, he’ll support her in whatever else she’s set her mind to. But under no circumstances will he let anyone sully their relationship by painting it as dirty, inappropriate or worse. Because no matter what happened before, Rook is his now, his to love, his to please, his to show off – and he takes that very seriously.

[conelluwrites]

Poly Thangyu (Thanos/Nam-gyu) x Unspecified Reader

Warnings: Raw sex, Nam-gyu degrades you and Thanos

Other: Rewatching s1 rn, I miss you long haired Gi-hun, my beloved. I had to rewrite these cause Tumblr shit the bed. I obviously have a lot of thoughts on these two x reader

Words: 890

Requests open

Nam-gyu loves nothing more than to see you and Thanos worshipping his thick cock.  Thanos’ hand joining yours in cupping his heavy cum-filled balls.  Your lips moving up and down his shaft, tongues working in tandem around him.  His hands hold the backs of your heads, rutting himself between your lips.  Fuck he doesn’t want to cum, not yet, not like a damn idiot!  But he can’t hold back, not when you both look like a buncha sluts for him.  His cock pulses hard as his covers your faces in his thick cum while he smooshes your faces together in front of him.  God forbid you make out afterwards, swapping his cum back and forth.  It’s enough to make him hard again, er…  wish he could get hard again.  C’mon, don’t judge him!  He has a refractory period and-

Thanos is the glue that holds you three together.  He’s the one who brought it up to Nam-gyu, he’s the one who brought it up to you, and hell- he’s the one who dissolves disagreements!  He loves you both so much it sets his damn soul on fire!  You’re both his muse- his reason for sleeping and shitting and rapping.  He makes it obvious to people when you’re out public that he’s with the two of you, an arm over your shoulder or around your waist while slinging one over Nam-gyu.  It’s sweet, living like this.

He loves matching shirts, but it’s so hard to find one's for poly relationships!  He makes his own, no sweat.  He buys white shirts and dyes them himself in your favorite colors.  He writes on them with his shitty handwriting in puffy paint.  It’s hard to read, with him unable to erase the paint he just decides to cover up the writing by smearing puffy paint and trying again in a new color.  It’s not the prettiest, but he made it out of love!  Nam-gyu swears he won’t ever wear his, but he does.  He loves nothing more than to rub his fingers over the 3d paint while smoking.

Nam-gyu takes a bit to warm up to you, not that he hates you!  No, he could never, he’s had a crush on you for months now and now you’re a part of… of this!  He just hates the feeling of inadequacy.  He already hated the way men and women would gawk and fawn over Thanos, now he has to watch as men and women flock to you too- goddammit- it’s enough to make him angry enough to grab you both and drag you back home and remind you who you both belong to.  He’s never done it before, but he has definitely dragged Thanos away from a guy who was obnoxiously hitting on him and has sloppily made out with you to interrupt some woman who thought she had a chance with you- what a fucking joke.

When he does finally warm up to you, he’s like a damn puppy.  When Thanos is out of the house, it’s impossible to get away from him.  It would be annoying if it weren’t so damn cute.  His arms tight around your waist, walking step, step, step behind you.  His arm slung over your shoulder to hold you close to his body as you watch some dumb shit on the TV.  Anything to remind him that you’re here, you’re real, you’re not going anywhere.  When you and Thanos are both home together, oh man, he’s a real cutie.  While cuddling in bed he might prefer to be on the right or left, but just being on the couch he wants to be in the middle.  Wants to feel his beloveds so close to him.

Sex with both of them focused on you is always extremely passionate.  Clumsy hands at first from everyone, figuring out what feels the best for all of you at the same time.  It takes a few times, it doesn’t come together all at once.  But when you guys all get a hang of things?  Oh shit is it perfect.  Thanos cooing sweet nothings into the room while Nam-gyu grunts out rough degradation that sounds more like praise.  

“Tell us how much you like this, cariño, tell us how much you love us.”

“Yeah, you whore, tell us.  I- We need to hear it.”

Thanos loves seeing his precious loves spread out before him like a goddamn feast.  Both of you spread for him on the bed, whimpering and begging for his cock, his tongue, his fingers, his anything.  He can’t choose what he wants to do most, he’s a greedy, greedy man and if he could he’d do all three.  He knows he doesn’t have it in him though, it’s not possible with the way his cock is already throbbing just seeing the way Nam-gyu’s face is turning red in frustration and embarrassment and the way your eyes are practically begging for him to so much as brush your cheek.  When he finally decides what he wants- to taste you while he fucks Nam-gyu- he grunts while manuevering you two.  It’s annoying, but hey, he likes his loves to be spread like a porn.  He doesn’t care about holding back, how can he when Nam-gyu’s ass is squeezing his cock perfectly and you taste so damn devine.  Rest assured, he’ll make sure you both come for him afterwards.