#Sure it looks less like it is made of copper and more like it was made of brass but hey

[lieslab]

All of this turbulence wasn't forecasted

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Jeongin X gn reader

Summary: After euthanizing your pet unexpectedly, you fall apart in front of your boyfriend as grief hits.

Genre: Comfort/hurt with angst

Word Count: 3.2K

Trigger warning: Pet loss, euthanasia, grief, guilt, anxiety, and a brief mention of attempted physical assault.

_ _ _

Guilt latched onto you like a starving dog; a starving dog with jaws locked around flesh. A starving dog who hadn’t eaten in days and was so desperate and so hungry that anything would be sufficient enough to consume, even if it was you. Guilt was a starving dog.

Usually, animals made you happy, but as you sat unexpectedly in the waiting room, each new animal that came in filled your heart with dread. Longer wait times meant more patients and less space in the waiting room. Despite the TVs on each side quietly murmuring two different shows, it didn’t make you feel any better. 

With your pet down at your feet, anxiety strummed in your stomach. Too many people came in with smiles. They happily chatted with the receptionists and the receptionists were so excited to see the animals for their usual check-ups. 

Check-ups were so simple. A quick overview of vitals and a visit from the veterinarian about anything you might be concerned about. You knew it wasn’t fair to project your feelings at other people in the room. It wasn’t their fault you were in a shitty situation. 

The room was too crowded and even though you were in your own seat in a small section, you still felt suffocated. The german shepherd on the other side of the room was barking so loud. The deep guttural noise seemed to pierce your sensitive ears like needles. Not to mention, you knew it was stirring up stress for your own pet. 

Other pets in the area looked just as anxious. The shaking yorkie stayed close to the elderly woman holding the other end of the leash. With a coral colored collar around its neck, it didn’t leave the woman’s side. 

A small kitten in a black plastic carrier couldn’t have been much more than a month old. Small meows mixed into the melody of faint murmuring humans. The room smelled like an antiseptic and the fear from pets afraid of the place was too obvious. 

There was only one dog who seemed happy to be there. Some sort of medium mixed breed and speckled fur with cream and copper. The elongated snout seemed to be smiling. A bright pink tongue lolled from the side of its mouth. A wagging tail and the cheery owner drilled dread into your own heart. 

As you glanced back down to your feet, you couldn’t help, but ponder the fate of your own pet. The sickness was so unexpected and with every minute that passed, you knew it was another minute of their suffering. You were drowning in your own guilt. 

Why hadn’t you just checked on them earlier? Maybe when they seemed to be picking at their food instead of eating it normally, you should have known something was wrong. Tears threatened to prick at your eyes and all you could do was swallow your guilt and endure it all. Reaching down to stroke the top of their head, you whispered comforting words of reassurance, but you weren’t sure if they were able to understand it or not. 

The room was too noisy. The dogs were getting loose fur everywhere. In another section and on top of a leathered seat, another cat was hissing. When a young man stuck his finger into the metal grate to comfort it, a paw full of claws swung. The guy hissed in pain before pulling out his hand and shaking it. 

The tears were welling up more. You hated this. You hated waiting with no answers. You hated waiting and not knowing the fate of your pet. You hated vets and the overpowering antiseptic. The stupid swirly cursive handwritten sign above a well stocked coffee bar with a smiley face. 

Two pots for water, a stack of to-go cups with lids, and even bags of tea. Further back, a vending machine lit up with lights. As the sun set and the outdoors grew darker, the inside and fluorescent white lights grew brighter. Veterinary assistants came out to gather histories of pets with bright colored scrubs. Photos of healthy pets lined the walls. 

Where was the sympathy? Why couldn’t anyone understand what was happening? It was a goddamn emergency, your pet was suffering, so why did it seem like nobody cared? The animals were too loud. The staff was too friendly. Animals were going back to be treated and checked up on, but not one of them was yours.  

Just when you were on the brink of tears, their name was finally called. You quickly got up and struggled to gather your thoughts. Your steps were wobbly. You weren’t even back there yet, hadn’t received a diagnosis, but something inside of you knew. You just knew deep down that you weren’t leaving this place like you wanted to. 

You wanted to go into the warmth of your home with your pet. You wanted to lay down tonight and be reassured that it was all okay. You wanted your pet back in tip-top shape. You wanted to go back home with both of you safe and sound, but… 

“I’m sorry, but I think our best option at this point is euthanasia.” 

You knew it was coming, but it still stung. It was a bullet to the heart. As you stared at the sympathetic look on the vet’s face, tears pricked your eyes again. You forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat as you looked down at the creature on the cool metal table. 

What had you done to end up here? Was it something you did? Could they have been saved? What if, what if, what if, what if. It was a collision of thoughts that were never-ending. Why did this have to happen to you? 

You were good at being a pet parent. You prided yourself on going out of your way to buy the healthier food. Giving them the occasional treat because you thought they deserved it. Was it something in the food? Had a bag of treats expired and you just didn’t realize it? 

Your bottom lip curled into your mouth. The teeth piercing the soft skin hurt, but what your pet was going through hurt so much worse. Maybe you deserved to feel the pain after this. 

It took everything within you not to fall apart as you stayed by their side. You tried to soothe them through a hoarse voice, but it didn’t seem to do much. They were so lethargic, could they understand what was happening? Through the plethora of strangers, headache-inducing scents, and the whining of animals, did they understand you were just trying to help them? 

You didn’t mean for the metal table to feel this cold against their skin. The piercing prick of medicine for sedation wasn’t supposed to hurt that much. Were they afraid? Did they know the end was near? Would they ever forgive you for this? 

It was a miracle that you managed to stay up on your legs. The rest of your time was a blur. Payment plans, the sympathy from the staff, the cold and lonely feeling was burrowing in your bones. It swelled when the cardboard coffin was placed into the back of your car. 

The name of your pet had been written neatly in tiny print. Someone drew a small tiny heart next to the name. Even by strangers, your pet had been loved up until the very end, but it didn’t feel like it. 

As you stood in the darkness and stared at the box in the back of the car, you didn’t dare open it up. You didn’t want the lasting imprint of your pet to be one where they weren’t moving. You didn’t want to hold the weight of your emotional instability. Sometimes love was three pounds and other times, it was nearly a hundred. 

The drive home was too quiet. Venturing through the darkness felt like a funeral procession. Knowing your deceased pet was in the trunk and it’d never be the same, it was a heavy weight to process. These things took time, but right now you felt numb. 

You didn’t remember turning on your turn signal or switching lanes. You didn’t remember driving all the way home, but you did. One moment, you were zoned out on the highway, the next you were putting the car in park and glancing up at your front door. 

The porch light was on and your heart sank even more. Your boyfriend was home, but you didn’t have it in yourself to greet him. You didn’t want anything to do with him or anyone right now. Right now, you wanted to be entirely alone and weep. 

The kisses from your boyfriend would be bitter. Being kissed hello felt like a death sentence. After everything you went through with your pet, it didn’t feel right to get to greet the love of your life. Everything went head over heels and it was all wrong. 

You should have been able to bring them home alive and they’d be fine. You shouldn’t have had to put them down. You weren’t meant for this type of grief, no one was. 

You weren’t excited to see the flowers adorning the porch. Dread lined your stomach as you approached the door. Knowing Jeongin, he’d have the door open for you. He knew you were taking your animal to the vet, but you hadn’t told him it was for emergency purposes. You felt like you bothered him too much and you had hope in the beginning. You wanted it to go so much better than it had. 

The moment you opened the screen door and the brass knob turned, the scent of food clouded your senses. You had barely eaten anything all day, but the idea of eating right now made you nauseous. Death clung to you and the ghost of your pet was everywhere. 

From the fur on the floor to the food and water bowls staring at you. Half-consumed food remained untouched. The cold water shifted to room temperature. The food would never be consumed again. The water would never be spilled as your pet tried to lap it up. 

“Hey, there you are.” Jeongin leaned his torso out of the kitchen doorway with a shy smile. “I’ve missed you. How did the appointment go?” 

Your heart shattered in your chest. The lump cemented the back of your throat again. You struggled to breathe and the image of your boyfriend blurred. You didn’t get to see his face fall, not with all of your tears. 

“Are you okay?” Footsteps creaked closer as he moved towards you. An outstretched hand was ready to grasp your shoulder. When it landed, you swatted it away as if it was an annoying bug. 

“Don’t,” you weakly uttered, “just don’t. I don’t want to be touched right now. Please just-” your voice cut off and you squeezed your watery eyes shut. “Don’t.” 

“What happened?” His hand lingered, but he did as you wished. Not once did he try to touch you again. “Where is-” 

“Gone. They’re gone. They’re gone and they’re never coming back.” 

Confusion wiped across his face. He tried to conjure up the meaning by scanning your body, but he couldn’t make sense of it. That would mean that they…no way. He didn’t want to believe it. 

“What happened?” 

“They had to be put down, okay? Something happened and they got sick. The vet said it was better to put them out of their misery, so I did. They’re gone and I’m here and life goes on.” 

“But the-” 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. They didn’t suffer for that long. I have to figure out where to bury them because this wasn’t supposed to happen. One moment they were fine and the next-” You cut off as you wiped your eyes. Even just talking about it was emotionally exhausting. 

Jeongin frowned while watching you. He knew you didn’t like to be around people when you were struggling, but he wasn’t going to leave you alone. Not when you were like this. The food frying on a skillet back in the kitchen was the least of his worries. 

“Okay,” he finally uttered, “we don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Thank you.” 

His heart twisted in his chest. He dropped his arm back down to his side. He wanted nothing more than to console you, but you wouldn’t let him. It was pointless to ask because he knew he’d be rejected. 

“I’m making dinner.” 

“You should leave.” 

His head jerked straight up as he looked at you. “I should do what? You want me…you just want me to leave?” 

“I think it’s best if you do. I can’t deal with this right now. Look at me!” You gestured back to yourself. Exhaustion was stamped beneath your eyes in the form of brown bags. Your hair wasn’t neatly combed like it usually was. Your eyes were bloodshot and the apples of your cheeks were lined with tear streaks. 

“But you probably haven’t eaten properly and you need to eat something.” 

“Get out.” 

“Sweetheart…” “Get out!” Your sharp voice raised. “Just get out! Go away! Leave me alone!” The nearest object at your disposal was a beige pillow on the couch. You couldn’t stop it as anger ignited in your veins. You grabbed the pillow and chucked it at his head. 

It fell flat before it even reached his body. A sense of sadness began to well up inside of Jeongin. Not because you told him to leave, but because he knew you were grieving. He couldn’t imagine what you were internally going through right now. 

You had that pet for quite a while. If he would have known a situation like this was happening, he would have been there for you. He would have been right by your side at the vet. He would have held your hand while you consoled your pet. 

He would have driven you home and let you cope. He would have done whatever it took to ease the pain and suffering. He thought it was just a check-up. He thought the two of you would come home like normal and everything would be okay. He had no idea the true extent of your shattered reality. 

“Why are you still there? Get out! Go away! I said leave!” You gestured to the door. “So leave! I don’t want you here anymore. I’ll call the goddamn cops.” 

“No, you won’t. I’m not going anywhere. You can yell at me if it makes me feel better. You can scream until your lungs give out. Hit me if it’ll make you feel any better, but I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your bottom lip began to quiver. Tears silently crept down your cheeks again. At this moment, you hated him. You hated him for sticking around and watching you become so vulnerable. You hated this so much. You just wanted the grief and the pain to stop, but it was everywhere. 

It was the picture of your pet on your wall. The fur floating off the pillow you threw at him. It was the softness of their fur still ingrained in your head. The way they made you laugh on your worst days and were there to fuel your fire on your best. 

The memories were like fire and they wouldn’t stop spreading. Everywhere you looked, memories were there. The couch where they used to lay. The kitchen where they begged for a bite of your food. No matter where you turned, it wouldn’t stop. You were suffocating in the smoke of it all and there was nothing available to distinguish it. 

“I’m not going anywhere because I love you.” 

“Then stop loving me.” 

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen. You don’t have to pretend to be strong here. You don’t have to pretend to be okay and you don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not. No matter how much you cry, even if it’s enough tears to drown me, I’ll still love you.” 

You didn’t utter another word as he opened his arms out to you. A loving gesture, even after the bitter words you spat and the pillow you threw. Most people would have given up and walked out, but not Jeongin. 

He didn’t let up. He stood there with his arms up and waited for you to approach him. He knew you were on the verge of bursting into sobs. You were desperately trying to hold them back, but you couldn’t stop the whimper from climbing out of the back of your throat. 

“Honey, you’re not okay and that’s okay.” 

That’s all it took before a sob burst through your lips. Your knees buckled and down you went towards the floor. Jeongin rushed forward and tugged you into his arms by the cotton of your shirt. He sunk down with you onto the floor as sobs reverberated through your chest. 

Everything you held back came pouring out. You gasped for air and struggled to suck in air through tears, but it wasn’t enough. In pure desperation, your fingers clung to Jeongin’s shirt. There was nothing to save you from this inner turmoil of pain. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Go ahead and let it all out.” 

Your cries got louder and louder. The familiar scent of his baby powder shampoo crept into your nose. You clung to him like a life preserver. Your lungs were perfectly intact, but it felt like they had been sliced. The flesh responsible for controlling your oxygen seemed unresponsive. 

Your head sat over his shoulder. Your limbs wrapped around him like a koala, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind that your heart rapidly thumped against his own chest. In fact, he welcomed it. 

You would never be too much for him. This grief was not the monster you thought it was. It would rear its ugly head and it would buck, attempting to puncture his heart, but it would never scare him away. Your words, no matter how sharp, he knew you’d never speak to him like that unless you were hurting. 

Grief is hard and we’re just humans, stardust trapped in bodies and given souls to experience humanity; the good and the bad. He stood by you at your best times and he’d continue to do it at your worst. 

Minutes passed by or maybe hours. You didn’t know, you lost track of it as your eyes drooped. Soft hiccups filtered through steady breaths and your eyes shut. Exhaustion from the day’s events were finally catching up to your weary soul. Jeongin’s hand never once stopped rubbing your back. 

“Just get some sleep, honey. Don’t worry, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

You couldn’t resist the urge to shut your eyes anymore. Life was hard and losing a beloved pet made it ten times harder. With your cheek pressed into the side of his shoulder, you knew sleep would likely bring a nightmare. If not, you’d wake up to one. 

Jeongin knew that too, but he also knew that with him being here, you’d find the comfort you needed from him. He wasn’t perfect, but he was still the better alternative than you being alone. Every good love story was laced with loss and vulnerability, but also hope. Hope; for a new beginning, for peace, for understanding, and for love.

There’s no point in loving without hope. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

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[softgrungeprophet]

me designing characters: turquoise! purple! black! red and gold!

[art-from-the-pantry]

I am insanely in Love with this drawing. Tumblr likes to botch the resolution tho, so if you want to see it in its full glory please click it (or open it in another tab, that also works)

[your-averagewriter]

"Only for you, darlin'"

Summary: Cooper heads into town in search for some RadAway for you when he stumbles upon a cute gift (Cooper Howard x fem!reader).

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: needles, kissing (slightly ig)

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Stalking through the desert, he heads towards the town in search of some RadAway for you, the radiation reaching too high of a level for Cooper to be comfortable with, especially in his presence.

His boots echo through the makeshift tunnel made of old tubing before sunlight peaks out of the other end, exposing the market on the other side, countless signs decorating the stalls. He pulls his hat down slightly in order to cover his irradiated face more, less because some people find it unsettling and more so people don’t recognise he’s a ghoul.

He walks along the stalls, searching for any RadAway and some other supplies that need topping up. 

Signs stick out to him yet none offer what he needs until he reaches a store with various niche medical supplies as well as bandages and the like. Walking up to the store, he looks over the small bottles and pills decorating the side but doesn't see anything Stimpaks or RadAway.

“Ay,” He gets the attention of the store owner. “You got any RadAway?” He asks, looking up at the man covered in shredded clothes. He shakes his head before looking down at what looks like an old graphic novel. “You sure? I got plenty of caps.”

“How many?” He asks, accent showing he’s not from around here.

“Plenty.” He reinterrates, shaking his bag causing the rattling of the caps and the man puts the graphic novel down, heading further into the shop before returning with a pouch of liquid with a strip of duct tape on, scraggly writing on it.

“I keep it in the back, people nick this stuff the most. 50 caps.” 

Cooper scoffs. “50?” He asks, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice. “30.”

“45.” He counters. “And I’ll throw in a Stimpak.”

“Fine” Cooper counters and the seller sighs before pushing it towards him whilst Copper pushes the caps on the side. “And you got the good deal there, you should feel lucky I’m willing to pay for this.” He snatches it from the side, rolling his eyes before moving on to finding other items but glad he’s got what he came for.

Strolling through the town, he looks in the store windows, something catching his eye in a junk store. He pushes open the door, a bell ringing making him wonder if it’s a trap but why would there be a trap when someone is trying to sell junk?

“Hey darlin’, feel free to take a look around.” An old woman says, crazy hair covering most of her face making him feel uneasy that he can barely see her eyes. He nods before heading towards the window display, boots hitting the wooden planks underfoot noisily as they creak.

A toy rabbit sits in the window, no more than a foot tall with fluffy ears and a cute nose. He swipes at it, examining it and dusting it off before looking for some sort of price label.

“How much for this?” He turns to face the woman who pushes her glasses up, scrunching her nose as she squints at the item.

“8 caps, but for you 4. Who’s this for?” He pulls out another five caps and drops them on the table before carefully putting the bunny in his bag, making sure it’s tucked in and the clasp is shut properly. He pulls on the latch, checking its security. Secure. 

“My girl, she loves bunnies. Thanks.” He grumbles, walking out the store and off to the base again.

He walks back through the desert, kicking the sand as he goes, mumbling to himself and even whistling slightly. He lifts his hand to keep the sun out of his face as the base appears in his field of vision. Base is a strong word for a couple of broken down buildings just by the trees that are more secure than you would think. It provides cover and hides flames when it gets cold.

He can’t help the edges of his lips quirking up at the sight of the base and his girl.

Under an hour later, he returns to the base, stepping through the ‘door’. “Sweetheart?” He yells through the base.

“Cooper, that you?” You ask, sweet voice ringing through the walls.

“‘Course it’s me.” He grins to himself, following your voice.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me come with you.” You say before being interrupted by a cough. After moments of coughing, Cooper rubs your back and once you start speaking, he reaches into his bag.

“Did you get a Stim-” You start but he passes it to you with a brief kiss to the cheek. “Thanks.” You smile before looking down at the Stimpak wrapped in a cloth. Taking it out, your eyes are immediately on the needle, you take a pause and deep breath before injecting it into your thigh.

Letting out a breath, you drop the used Stimpak and look back to Cooper who wears a smirk, holding back a laugh.

“What are you laughing about?” You cock an eyebrow.

“You ain’t scared of no mutants, no raiders, nothing but needles.” He chuckles, his accent prominent. “It’s cute.” He says before remembering the bunny toy in his bag. “I got you something in town.” He says, rootling through his bag.

“More RadAway?” You ask, knowing his paranoia about you getting too much radiation when being around him. 

“Yeah, but I got you something else too.” He pulls the bunny out of his bag. “Now I know it ain’t much, but I saw it and thought you’d like it…” He presents the bunny, quickly brushing off some of the sand from the journey.

“Aww.” You can help but coo at the cute bunny, taking it off of him and holding it gently, picking up one of the ears and letting it flop back down. “You didn’t spend too much on it, did you?” You look back over to him.

“Y’know it’s rude to ask about someone’s finances, sweetheart.” He teases. “Besides, the lady gave it to me for cheap, probably knew I was getting it for my girl.”

“Probably knew you were a softie.” You tease.

“Only for you, darlin’.” He picks up your hand and leans down, kissing it playfully.

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AN: I can't believe I haven't posted anything for over three months… sorry I've had exams and extra and it's just been stressful so hopefully I can get a bit more on track.

I hope you enjoyed reading!

[leonsdolly]

Tammy Faye

Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Synopsis: In which you love Leon so much, you'd do anything for him.

CW: nsfw 18+, angst, obsession, depictions of murder, subby Leon, oral (m receiving)

WC: 4.4k

A/N: inspired by Tammy Faye by Nicole Dollanganger !

Red, black, red, black! Your hands are painted with the brilliant scarlet hue as you scrub them vigorously under the freezing tap water. You glance up at the filthy mirror to catch a glimpse of yourself. Black streaks of mascara trickle down your cheeks, mixing with the blood splattered across them like unholy rouge on a Venetian mask. You force a smile through the cracked exterior. Pierrot gone rogue. If he’d stabbed Harlequin eighteen times in a truckstop bathroom less than ten miles from Raccoon City and made sure to pose him all special for a handsome cop to find.

It’s as if all you see these days are red and black. How you long to catch a glimpse of the blue that swirls your lover’s eyes. The faint baby blue shadow you had applied that morning was a poor substitute. You screw your eyes shut and try to picture the particular shade of cerulean that you live for. His lovely face is overtaken by the gut-wrenching smell of copper and mildew as you open your eyes and continue scrubbing at your flesh. No matter, you’ll see him soon. For now, you focus on washing away all evidence of your inundating love. You scrub harder and harder and harder. Jesus, how much blood could a girl hold?

After what feels like eons under the flickering fluorescent light, you turn the rusty faucet off and smile widely at your reflection again. If Leon were to see you now, would he be enraptured by the way your thick mascara coated lashes frame your teary eyes like a doll that’s been trapped in an unopened box, forced to watch the most heartbreaking scenes play out through the unrelenting acetate sheet? You shake your head forcefully, expelling those thoughts out. The cops will be here soon. A twinge of giddiness zaps through your heart at the thought. He’ll be here soon.

You reapply a fresh coat of red lipstick - Dior, of course, before taking one last look around the dingy restroom. It’s filthy, but it was your personal respite for the past few hours. You wrinkle your nose at the row of grotesque urinals lined up against the dirt encrusted wall. They were filled with mysterious liquids that made your stomach churn. Thick reddish-brown goop that lay still with unidentifiable objects submerged within like a bog in Hell. Who would even think of doing something as disgusting as sticking their hand in? You turn away and push the door open to be greeted by the warm summer air. The night sky looms over you, a black sheet covered in stars that twink and blink and wink down at you as if to say “your secret’s safe with us.”

While this truckstop is gross, its beauty lies in the fact that it’s tiny and desolate as hell. Sure, the city is less than ten miles away, but the dense forestry surrounding the Arklay Mountains provides some coverage along the highway, shielding this particular stop from careless eyes. If you weren’t careful, you could miss it altogether unless you paid close attention to the fading signs. And because this was in the middle of nowhere, there weren’t any workers manning the facility at night. You wink back up at the stars and circle around the bathroom towards the gaggle of deserted semi-trucks, towards the one with its back door unlatched and open for all to see, towards her. 

She sits up unnaturally, thanks to the crate you had propped up against her back. The emptiness of the semi’s trailer looks as if it’s about to swallow her for all that she’s got like a black hole. The shadows of moths fluttering against the lights dance over her, contrasting the stillness of her features. You tilt your head as you cross your arms and glare up at her. You’re still prettier, right? Her skin has taken on a sallow tone that appears even more unflattering in the harsh fluorescent light. Her hair is tangled and matted with blood. The black blouse she wears is torn and looks even darker with the stains covering it. You gently smack your lips, feeling the satisfaction of freshly applied lipstick. The whore got what was coming. 

Gone were the nights of crying on the kitchen floor as Tammy Wynette played from another room. Gone were the days of having to excuse yourself in the staff restroom at the station to wipe the raven smudges away from your eyes. Gone were the moments of sheer exasperation and disgust as you watched her touch his uniform clad shoulders and lean in close to let him brush his lips over her own.

You pull your dainty white lace-trimmed gloves out of your pocket and slip them on before padding over to the lonesome payphone. You deposit a quarter before carefully dialing the three digits that would summon your lover like Beatrice descending from Paradise.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’d like to report a dead body at the old truckstop about ten miles south of Raccoon City.” Click.

You put the inky black phone back on the receiver before smiling uncontrollably. Butterflies erupt in your stomach as the anticipation of seeing him very soon washes over you. You love him so madly, you’re convinced the only way out of it is 500 mg of midazolam, 100 mg of vecuronium bromide, and 240 mEq of good ol’ potassium chloride.

The dense forest behind the truckstop beckons you with open arms, and you oblige. You skip over to a spot that will allow you to have a front row view of what’s about to transpire while keeping you hidden among the foliage. From here, you can see the girl sitting up with deadweight limbs like a marionette being forced upright with invisible strings. The strings are in your hands, but you were forced to seize control of them from her. Who knows what her influence would have done to Leon?

A bat of her clumpy lashes here, a hand on his firm shoulder there, and your Leon voluntarily hooked himself onto the strings, dancing to the tune she hums from her spot in the dingy break room. You suppose you can't fault him entirely; it's in his nature to grin bashfully and gaze at a woman who fawns over him with lovesick eyes. After all, that's what you love about your sweet rookie cop. Sweeter than candy floss, tantalizing in every aspect like a perfect little peach ready to be plucked from Eden. He just needs to realize that you had always been leaning against the counter of that break room, observing the two with astute grace.

“Excuse me, could you point me in the direction of the chief’s office?” You dissolved.

The first words he had ever uttered to you solidified that you wanted all his words, and you would give him yours. You can’t even remember what you had responded with, lost in the tranquility of his eyes and splendor of his smile. You didn’t miss the way those eyes softly ran over your cream silk blouse, caressing and thumbing over the first few buttons for a peek of something more, something buried deep within your soul. Those lips pulled back to beam at you, beckoning you to press every part of you onto them until you shed black tears from a warmth you weren’t accustomed to.

You hear the sirens approaching from your protected spot, silently thanking nature for watching over you while the love of your life approaches.

“Come get your gift, sweetheart,” you murmur. “It's all for you, everything I do…”

Your heart thumps faster as the sirens scream louder and louder until they reach the truckstop. The slam of car doors echo throughout the otherwise silent night air as the officers’ frantic voices jumble over each other. You hold your breath as you identify your darling's voice among the two; your heart is about to blast off for the moon, leaving a red heart-shaped chemtrail behind it for all to see.

Some tinkering with flashlights and crackle of walkie-talkies, and there he is.

Leon rounds the corner to face the semi’s trailer, face going slack as he takes in the stage you set for him. He stands transfixed before her, immobilized like he’s now the one behind the acetate sheet. A pretty Ken doll, waiting for someone to tug at his strings.

His partner, Officer Redfield, flanks the semi as he joins Leon. “Fuck.”

Officer Redfield wastes no time in flinging open the car door and jamming his button to radio dispatch while his partner pales in the moonlight. You can't really make out what he's saying to dispatch but the terms “DOA” and “requesting units” and her name float over to you. When dispatch has confirmed that backup is on the way, Officer Redfield walks over to Leon and hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Kennedy.”

Leon shakes his head, a little dazed, a little frantic, but pretty just the same, and your thighs clench together. “How could this have happened again, Chris?”

Officer Redfield sighs heavily as he gazes up at the displayed corpse with unease. “I don't know. Goddamn it…”

He says something about how great of a colleague she was and how the entire station would miss her, but you can scarcely hear him over the blood roaring in your ears. Your beloved had asked how something like this could have happened again. Again. He knew. He was at least putting the pieces together. Your cheeks hurt from beaming in the shadows of the foliage; he was acknowledging the gifts you had bestowed upon him. A girl from a coffee shop whose smile drew him in like a shrimp to an anglerfish. A brute of a man who dared to connect his fist to such a lovely cheek during a drunken brawl at a bar. Both posed for his lovely eyes only, their last moments entombed in the polaroids tucked away in your desk drawer.

I’ve done it again, you silently mouth to him. I’ve done it again.

He doesn’t show up to work the next day. Or the day after that and the day after that and the day after that, and your organs fail.

An entire week passes, leaving your heart to writhe in agony from his absence. You stare forlornly at his empty desk from your own, shuffling papers mindlessly and feeling your hand twitch towards the letter opener whenever Chief Irons walks by - the bastard was the one who granted your darling “time off” to “process his emotions.”

A feeling of solemnity looms over the entire station as it whispers in hushed tones about who could’ve ripped away its beloved receptionist, a young woman who was in the prime of her life. The collective mourning is enough to make you want to vomit all over her desk, covering the slab of wood in your spite. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

You skim your fingers over the mahogany surface of Leon’s desk, feeling every crevice he feels as he hastily writes up reports and laughs at the other officers’ jokes like an angel breathing life into humans formed from dust. You long to see his splendorous face again, long to hear the stumbling of his words as his superiors tease him, long to inhale his reassuring scent as you brush past him to heat up your food in the break room. 

“You friends with him or something?” Officer Redfield’s voice shatters you out of your reverie with a jolt. 

“Oh, um, kinda…” Your voice softens at the question. Were you friends? Absolutely not. You were something better.

“Well, a few of us are gonna take him out tonight. Try to cheer him up after everything that’s been going on. Hell, we all need to cheer up. That last one hit way too close to home, especially for Kennedy.” His expression grows solemn. Three unsolved murders in such a short amount of time doesn’t necessarily boast confidence in the local police department. “You should come.”

You’re hesitant to respond. While your instincts are screaming at you to politely decline the invitation and instead observe the gathering from afar, a part of you realizes that you’ll get to be close to him. The thought makes you flutter like a little lacy thing in the wind that’s been pinned to a clothesline for as long as it can remember.

“I’d like that, thanks for inviting me.” You beam up at Officer Redfield. “You’ve all worked so hard. You deserve to relax as much as possible.”

“I don’t know about that.” A heavy sigh escapes his lips, and it looks like he wants nothing more than to tip his head back and let the whiskey slide down his throat, burning and clawing and gnawing at his esophagus until his vision turns black. “That’s three families who are cryin’ themselves to sleep, wonderin’ why this is happening to them.”

“Right.” Your eyebrows raise together in a display of faux sympathy, and your lovely mouth twists in a way that one could interpret as a pout of sorrow.

Where was the collective empathy when you were crying yourself to sleep every night while he was undoubtedly hugging her to his chest as they slept peacefully without a care in the world? Where was the justice in forcing yourself to be satisfied by your own fingers knowing it was a poor substitute for the heavenly cock filling her up? Where was the sense in any of it?

You slip back into an easy grin. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Raucous laughter and clinking of glasses and billiard balls missing their shots surround you as you enter a bar that’s rather homely in its own way. Your nerves are powerful enough to puncture flesh as you had primped and fussed over your appearance beforehand. This is your first outing with Leon, and you know that looking like anything less than Aphrodite’s descendant is not an option.

You see him before anyone else, just the way it’s always been. A modern-day Adonis standing unsuspectingly among the mediocre. His beauty wafts over to you like the aroma of honey and vanilla and brown sugar brewing on a stove, sweet and utterly tantalizing. It wraps itself around you, commanding you to drink it in until you relinquish all control. You’ve already given it all up for him. Gazing at him like he’s your cult leader, ready to usher you into the New World where it’s just you and him and no one else. You’ll do anything to preserve that world.

You make your way over to the group, greeting them and exchanging pleasantries before ordering your own drink. He’s leaning haphazardly on the edge of a pool table, and you casually stand by him, gripping onto your glass with trembling fingers.

He looks rather exhausted. Faint shadows encircle his eyes, and his blonde hair is a little mussed. His clothes are slightly rumpled, and he looks glumly at the tequila in his hand. His cheeks are painted with a subtle flush from the alcohol. You try not to reveal the utter state of adoration he’s put you in as you speak up.

“How are you, Officer Kennedy?”

He throws you a sidelong glance, and you catch it with bambi eyes. “I’m… hanging in there, I guess. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

You feel as though he’s taken an ax to every single appendage as you giggle softly and tell him your name.

He gives you a small smile as he nods at you. “I see you in the breakroom a lot.” His smile heals the bloody mess he just made, regenerating your wounds until you feel whole again.

“I do too. I’m really sorry about what you’re going through. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.” You tilt your head sympathetically to show him you really care about his well-being. The angle also shows off your good side.

“Thanks,” he sighs. “I don’t know how something like this could’ve happened to her. Been beating myself up all this time wondering what I could’ve done to prevent this from happening. I don’t know. Sounds kinda crazy, but the other two cases we had felt pretty c-close to me too… You think I’m being real self-centered for that or something? It’s only my first year on the force, and I-I’m trying to process all of this. S’a shitty feeling…” His lets his drunken ramble fade away.

“I think you’re a good and kind person who is just trying to make sense of some horrible events that have happened.” You gently touch his arm as a way of offering comfort, and the feeling of his skin underneath your fingertips evokes an overwhelming surge in between your legs. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Officer Kennedy. You can’t blame yourself for anything.”

He blinks back tears that are starting to brim along his heavenly lashes, and your clit throbs underneath your dress. 

“I really appreciate that.” He smiles at you again which brings forth another wave of sticky arousal in your panties. “And Leon’s fine. Don’t need to do any of that ‘Officer’ stuff with me.”

“Leon.” Your favorite word in the world rolls off your tongue with practiced grace. He doesn’t need to know that you cling to the two syllables every night with frenzied cries as you try desperately to make yourself cum.

“Leon, what do you say we find somewhere a little more quiet? It can get pretty rambunctious and overwhelming in these places…” You lean in closer to gaze up at him underneath your pretty lashes, allowing your carefully selected fragrance to pull him under the depths of your desire, a siren calling out to the shipwrecked prince.

He lets out a stutter as the alcohol-induced blush dusted over his nose and cheeks intensifies further. It’s enough to put a Botticelli painting to shame.

“S-somewhere quiet would be good.”

You give his arm a gentle pat before leading him outside where the crisp night air kisses your faces, giving two lovers a proper welcome. The back of the bar is relatively secluded, and there is a small wooden bench that you promptly perch yourselves on. For the next minute or so, the two of you sit in silence. Your heart is about to blast off towards the moon as the realization that he’s here with his thigh pressed against yours hits you hard.

“Thanks for listening to me back there,” he finally murmurs with his eyes cast downwards. “I don't really want to get into that with the others.”

“Why not? They care about you, and want to make sure you’re okay.” I’m the only one you need, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.

“To be honest… I don't want them to think that I can’t handle myself. That I’m still just a stupid weak rookie who can’t compartmentalize his emotions like a real man.”

“Oh, Leon…” Darling, sweetheart, baby. “You don't have to prove anything to anyone. You’re a talented cop and a great person. You feel everything the way you want to feel. No one’s judging you or looking down on you for it. Trust me on that.”

You’re so caught up in reassuring him that you don’t realize your hand has floated up to cup his cheek until he stammers something unintelligible. You let your thumb rub soothing circles on his soft skin as you continue.

“I mean, anyone can tell how kind and sweet and smart and skilled you are. You have the respect of everyone at work, including mine…”

His flustered expression causes your breath to hitch as you gently brush his bottom lip with your thumb. You could write poetry inspired by the way his lips curve into a shy smile, pulling his faint dimples out of their slumber and letting sweet nothings be whispered to them under the moonlight.

“You want me to make everything better, baby?” You let your murmur be as soothing as possible, an elixir that promises to heal the broken man before you.

He nods bashfully as your forehead touches his. You let your hand fall from his face, and he whines softly at the loss of warmth, and as much as you’d love to mentally record the sound so that it’s playing over and over in your brain for those unfulfilling nights on the kitchen floor, you swallow it up with your own lips.

Your first kiss is what people go to war for. As your lips move together in tandem, you’re overcome with nostalgia for a time when the aroma of freshly baked apple pie wafts through the home and neighbors wave to each other over their white picket fences and Leon comes home with a twinkle in his eyes as he kisses you and the bundle in your arms.

This is why you did what you did.

He whimpers into your mouth as the kiss grows deeper. His hands roam down to your waist, squeezing gently at your sides as you let your tongue intertwine with his. You move your lips south, along his jaw and towards his neck where you set up camp. He lets out a whine as you press your lips particularly hard against the sensitive spot by his throat, taking care to pay attention to the two little moles peeking back up at you.

“P-please…” He gasps at another scrape of your teeth against his delicate skin.

“Just leaving a few marks to remember me by,” you coo. “Making my pretty boy even prettier.”

To your delight, his hips shift uncomfortably at your words. You lower your hand to meet his crotch, gently palming the growing bulge underneath his jeans. His head tips back, proclaiming open season on his throat to which you attack with vigor. Your thighs squeeze together as your lover pants towards the moon. You’re so focused on making your pretty boy feel good with your soft rubs and passionate kisses that you’ve scarcely paid any attention to the soaking gusset of your panties.

You slowly but surely lower yourself to the ground, internally cringing at the feeling of dirt on your knees. Oh well, it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever gotten on you. You perch yourself in between his legs and fumble with his belt buckle. His head returns to its original position as he gazes down at you with flushed cheeks and hooded eyes.

“Y-you don’t have to.”

“I want to, baby. I said I’d make everything better, right?”

“Mmm, yeah.” 

He sighs as you successfully unclasp his buckle and shimmy his hardened cock out of his boxers. You preen at the sight - it’s pretty, just like the rest of him, and weeping for your attention. You gingerly take it in your hands, marveling at the girth as you stroke it up and down with slow movements. He whimpers at the feeling and involuntarily bucks his hips up so that he fucks into your hand. You let him do this a few times before deciding enough is enough.

“What do you want me to do, sweet boy? Tell me, I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Your m-mouth,” he whispers.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you,” you tease as you hover your lips over the head.

“Want you to put your mouth on it,” he says, sounding more brave. How cute.

You hum in approval as you plant a kiss on the flushed tip of his cock which elicits the sexiest moan you’ve heard from him all night. Your hips roll against nothing, seeking pleasure for the ache in your cunt, but you force yourself to ignore it. You can’t be selfish tonight.

You softly lick at the sides before working on enveloping his length with your warm mouth. You bob your head up and down, relishing in the heavenly noises escaping his lips. You savor the taste of him as you slowly lift your head off to suckle at the tip before diving back in again, letting each inch tease against your throat. Your cheeks hollow out as you gaze up at him through your mascara covered lashes, letting your eyes go hazy with pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he heaves as he grips onto the hem of his shirt for an anchor. It’s all too much - your puffy lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth, the black tears trickling down your cheeks as you take him in for everything he’s got, the way you’re massaging his balls to heighten his pleasure. “I’m gonna-”

You pull all the way off, and you swear he almost cries.

“P-please, keep going. Please make me cum, I was almost there…” Tears bead along his lash line, and he desperately reaches for you. Your heart swells as you feel your emotions crash over you at the sight of the man you love crying for you to make him orgasm. How far you’ve come since those melancholy nights on the kitchen floor.Their sacrifices weren’t in vain after all. 

You smile up at him and proceed to pleasure him in the way you can - the way he deserves. The lewd slurping sounds you make fill the air, and he tries not to thrust harshly into your mouth, but it’s all too overwhelming when you’re sucking his cock like it’s your favorite thing to do in the world.

He throws his head back and lets out a high-pitched moan as he bursts into your waiting mouth. You swallow his load, savoring the taste of his cum and trying to commit the feeling of it all into your memory. You pull off of his softening cock and press kisses to his twitching thighs as you observe his blissful state. His chest heaves as he attempts to catch his breath. His cheeks are as flushed as ever and a bit of drool has escaped onto his chin. 

“Th-thank you,” he breathes.

“The pleasure was all mine.” You help him get fully dressed again and capture his lips in one more kiss.

“Do you maybe want to come over tonight? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to… I-I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.” His eyes are begging, and who are you to deprive them of their desires?

“I’d love to.” You smile sweetly at him and take his hand to lead him to the car, winking up at the stars as you do.

[lilacxquartz]

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 1 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • part 2 >>

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

themes: two parts, angels au, yandere, smut (next part), dark, dead dove, described violence, alternate universe

Part 1: Prayer

Initially, you were on your way home.

You were so tired from such exhaustive work for very little gain. The back-breaking labour for mere copper; to just barely afford another day in your uneventful existence.

Then again, this was just how it was for mortals.

To simply just… exist until the end.

You drifted through the radiating vibrancy of the capital adorned by the glowing cherry blossoms that lit up the streets; petals that both bloomed and glowed like rosy lanterns. Every step that you took through the wobbly cobblestone would bruise a soft glow per footprint, making you feel not quite as alone as you would have liked.

Tokyo was more so of a unique settlement in these parts; angels, demons and mortals alike, more or less co-existed although some strayed from their assigned alignments. The cold, silky mist that encased the country was especially strong in this particular region and allowed certain sorts of creatures to exist within the region.

Seeping waves of steam would continuously roll out and bless those who were known as the ‘chosen’, allowing them to harness the power of the gods. The locals called them cursed blessings; gifts from a higher power that nobody could quite describe nor understand. Should a ‘chosen’ abuse their power though, they’d become corrupt and morph into a caricature of their own selfish desires—twisted, disgusting beings, mirroring each and every single negative quality found in their very being.

Ordinary people like you though?

Why, those in particular had nothing truly special going on. That was just the way it was though and for good reason. Just the regular mortals were essential for balance to keep the world in order.

Or however it was that the sacred texts described it. Personally, you didn’t fully get it.

See, the chosen could properly defend themselves against the demons as well as the corrupt beings, however regular mortals could not. Maybe you were just bitter, though. It was against those vile things that you were left orphaned; forced to watch your family be reduced to guts spilled on the blood-soaked floorboards, their life essence stolen to build their power.

(Something about an uncorrupt soul, the texts claimed.)

The demons had a saying, after all:

In order to brew chaos; you had to take away from the balance—and that was exactly what they fed on.

Slowly, as you walked home, you found yourself drifting towards one of the many temples scattered over the city, wanting to test your chances against the order of fate. You heard it all before; angels taking pity on humans who had led tough lives and blessing them with a dosage of their power, not quite ascending them into the likes of the chosen, but close enough.

In some ways, you needed this. Demons ate your family when you were very young, leaving you to fend for yourself ever since then. The locals, while they did try to do their best to assist in your growing up, retired from their responsibility as soon as you were capable enough.

It hurt to grow up so lonely.

There was also the part that by being targeted by demons in the past, attached a negative social stigma towards you. Demons carried a more potent form of cursed energy, making them closer known to cursed spirits and being a survivor of such an attack was often seen as a bad omen.

So before you knew it, you were an outcast by association.

The elders made sure of it, at least.

Pressing on, you weren’t honestly looking for a certain temple in particular. It wasn’t as though you were starved for choice. A lot of temples existed within the city, after all. Different structures supported different things and sometimes not even the angels, even though their proof was highly abundant. Sometimes, people worshipped the simpler deities or just natural disasters as a concept.

You didn’t mind too much wherever you’d ended up. Maybe subconsciously you wanted to be noticed by an angel so that’s why you ended up at one of the flashier temples instead of the simpler ones.

Slowly, you climbed up the stairs; each bricked slab feeling somehow wider and wider with each and every single attempt to pull yourself up. You stared upwards with a certain degree of unease, the distant glow of candles not doing much to warm your worries.

You cautiously padded your way inside, finding that the flames collectively dimmed and were replaced with blue light in a flash. Each step lit up the wicks with a bursting blue flame as you approached the shrine up ahead.

Such a feeling was unsettling.

Almost as if you were being watched.

Gulping the unsettling feeling down and focusing on the shrine, you realised that you didn’t actually have that much to give. This particular temple gave the deity a whole collection of curated blue items from jewels to painted pottery, from woven cloth to scriptures written in colourful ink.

Feeling desperate however, you weren’t about to give up and so, you fell to your knees instead.

With a cautious whisper, you begged the shrine for change, “P-please, I’ll give a-anything, j-just…”

The flames reduced as you spoke; from vibrant blue to a soothing yellow once again.

“I’ll give anything… everything…!”

But nothing happened. You weren’t the lucky type of mortal. You weren’t born into riches and you didn’t have anything physical to offer and by the time the temple returned to its deceptive welcoming regular orange glow, all of your remaining hope had burned away.

Sighing as a result, you finally decided it was time to go home.

Not at all noticing the face of who exactly was watching you from the shadows.

His glowing blue eyes should have been a giveaway, but he kept himself very hidden and instead decided to take a chance on the girl who simply wanted an escape from this cruel routine.

However, just because he was an angel, it didn’t mean that he was going to give you a blessing.

No, he had something much, much worse in store for you.

But you did pray for it.

So perhaps you should have been more careful what you wished for.

~~~

The night was oddly calm at home, at least for a while. You had a dreamless sleep until you didn’t, waking up to what you thought initially to be a nightmare until you realised that there was actual movement going on within your home.

With a cautious ear, you listened in as the front door to your house creaked open and as heavy footsteps walked inside.

Demons were otherwise light on their feet so it couldn’t have been one of those, but they weren’t the only wrong in the world.

(Humans could harm too.)

A familiar feeling of being watched from before surfaced as you sank further into your blanket, hoping that the woollen sheet would somehow protect you as a barrier from impending danger.

You just barely managed to peek out from above your blanket, just barely managing to make out the person in your room. You had an oil lantern lit up on a nearby table but it had been steadily dimming all night, so the range of visibility was quite low.

With an almost exploratory approach, a man with a snowy complexion and frosted hair walked inside; his back carried spearing beams of blue crystalline light that resembled wings, similar to his icy blue gaze. If you focused your sights on other parts of his body, more eyes would appear before disappearing as soon as you redirected your focus.

Was this an angel?

As he approached closer, he reached out a hand to pinch your chin and point it towards his stare, “Do you really promise to give me everything?”

His question caught you off guard and you were left unable to form a coherent response just yet.

He reached out his other hand to press over your heart, his voice adopting an almost playful tone, “Worry not, I’ll… ‘bless’ you.”

“R-really?” you finally managed to blurt out, the next question coming out as a mere whisper. “But why?”

The angel smiled, “Because everything is a lot. Besides, you’re so fragile, so human. That's why you need someone like me.”

Within a flash, you woke up the next day in complete daylight wearing a cold sweat that enveloped your body.

Thinking that it was a dream, you tried to move on and continue your life as normal despite something seeming… different.

Somehow, the world seemed somehow more vibrant?

And as weeks continued to pass you by, demons seemed to almost avoid the area entirely. Better harvests were collected by the locals and less crops suffered from drought. Life also improved for you socially, finding that you got on quite well with someone new who moved into your village just under a week ago.

He was quite similar to you as well. A survivor of a cursed attack not too different than the one you had to endure. His personality was kind too and simply put; you both got along.

However just as things progressed, one night, you heard a thud right outside of your door and upon opening it up in the dead of night, you found him freshly massacred, almost as if professionally butchered in fact—precise, almost delicate cuttings against his flesh—bled him clean out on your doorstep.

Stumbling backwards, you cupped a palm over your mouth and almost wretched in a sickening nausea that overfilled your stomach.

However, just like before, a flash sparked before your very eyes and you were back in bed and it was just a regular morning.

Cautiously walking over to your front door, you opened it up hoping that it was just a vivid nightmare and that he was actually alive, safe and sound. Instead however, was a haunting reminder of what you promised was carved into the stone instead.

“Everything,” it reminded you. “Nobody else can compare like I can.”

So if that was real, then what exactly did you offer?

And to who?

(Or what?)

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[sorrowsofsilence]

Cymbal-ism • Folio

Pairing: Nick Folio x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: smut 18+ (unprotected pnv, pls wrap it b4 u tap it; male!recieving, slight degrading, rough!folio) enemies to lovers, arguing/bickering

Prompt: You're the new bad omens drum tech, and Nick Folio sure does get on your nerves. Is he a pain in the ass? Or is it the fact you two have some un-discussed sexual tension? Sent via anon

Author note: its hella late, ive had three margaritas, and this is not proofread lol

THIS IS A FANFIC USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THAT THIS PERSON WOULD DO THIS IRL OR ACT LIKE THIS! ITS FICTION!

“You’re fucking insufferable,” you muttered under your breath as you brushed passed the short-haired brunette, shoulders knocking against him.

He scoffed, his golden brows narrowing as he hollered after you down the hallway, “Huh? What did you say?”

You glanced his way, flashing him the middle finger with a sarcastic smile while you opened the studio door, before slamming it loudly behind you in frustration.

Nick fucking Folio.

You two got off on the wrong foot the first day you met him two weeks ago. You had bought coffee for the team as a kind gesture, hoping to make a great first impression since you would be with them around Europe for two months.

However, shit hit the fan when you and Folio collided in the hallway as you got off the elevator, spilling the drinks all over him, and immediately giving him a childish vendetta.

To him, if his new drum tech was that clumsy, this tour would be the longest two months of his life. But to you, he was the one who entered the elevator looking down at his phone, not paying attention.

And even though you two barely knew each other, he already made your blood boil.

Perhaps it was the fact he was always trying to nit-pick every little thing you did or the way his attitude was always witty, having a sarcastic retort for everything you said.

It’s also possible it was the way Jolly, your childhood best friend and how you landed the job in the first place, was constantly teasing you about the sexual tension budding between you and Folio.

Or deep down, you thought that maybe it was the way Nick’s annoyingly perfect hair slicked back so effortlessly, or how flawless his ochre eyes were when he glared at you, the deep abyss titillating every time his brows furrowed in your direction.

Everything about him, and to do with him, pissed you off.

But it made you even more mad that you found him extremely attractive, his presence making your heart pound with anger and infatuation.

Nick stormed into the room, kicking the door closed with his foot, “If you’re going to insult me just do it to my face, you coward.”

“Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings,” you said, kneeling next to the drum kit, loosening bolts on the boom stand.

Folio hovered over you, analyzing your movements as you adjusted the cymbals, taking them down one by one to place them in their cases. There was less than an hour until sound check, and none of the drum gear was moved from the studio room to the stage- thanks to somebody.

Groaning, you stopped to look up at him in annoyance, “I’m glad you think I’m pretty Folio, but maybe you can take your eyes off me and help? Instead of ogling?”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he started sliding the copper off of the loosened bars, “I’m just making sure you’re not fucking up my set.”

“Sure buddy,” you said, standing up and starting to unscrew the kick drum.

The two of you worked in tense silence, the air thick as miffed glances were shared taking apart the kit.

You tried not to watch the way his arms would flex as he twisted the rack tom, tattoos glistening slightly as the room heated.

You averted your eyes for a final time when they met his once again, stacking the cases onto the trolly to wheel it out to the stage.

Folio pushed passed you to grab the handles, ready to cart it down the hall even though it was your job.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” You asked as you trailed way too closely behind him, just to push his buttons. The smell of his faint cologne and slight musk of weed on his tanktop left your heart picking up pace.

“Of course I do,” He mumbled, about to walk past the stage entrance.

“To the left- the left-” you shook your head, staring at him with disdain, as he completely ignored you and continued walking, “Oh my god- Folio! it was left!”

You heard a chuckle behind you as Jolly and Ruffilo walked down the hall, stopping at the backstage door as they watched you humorously.

Rolling your head back you gave them an exasperated look, sighing audibly.

“You two ok?” Jolly smiled, folding his arms.

Shaking your head in frustration you bitterly laughed, “He is the biggest pain in my ass. I’m seriously debating quitting the industry as a whole.”

Ruffilo snickered, glancing at Jolly and then Folio, “He only does that because he thinks you’re cute.”

“Excuse me-” Nick interjected, shaking his head in disagreement, “I’d rather kiss a wall for five hours. At least it would be quiet.”

Shooting them a pointed look you walked passed the boys as they chuckled, letting Folio follow you onto the stage.

It only took about ten minutes to set the kit back up before you sat on the stool, practicing a few solos to test the position.

Nick watched in irritation from the side, but what you didn’t know was under all that show, was an immense amount of admiration. The brunette loved watching you play. He was always impressed with your coordination and keen ear, the ability for you to instantly stop playing and slightly adjust a drum before falling right back into a quick rhythm, breathtaking.

He’d never want to admit how good you are; but he would always be biting back a smile as he watched you test out his kit for him, making sure it was set and tuned to perfection.

You sighed once you finished your adjustments, before tossing Nick the sticks.

“All yours pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” He huffed, before looking at the kit, “Also, your dumb ass forgot the hi-hat.”

Not believing him at first you glanced at the drums before swiftly swearing to yourself.

He was right.

Getting up you pushed past Nick, but he followed you back down to the studio, an annoyed murmuring coming from your mouth. As you entered through the door Folio closed it behind you, locking it.

“Nick seriously what-” You began, but were cut off by the brunette.

“God, do you ever shut that annoying fucking mouth of yours?” He said, standing close to you as he leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

“If it’s so annoying to you, make me,” You scoffed, tilting your head to the side.

The proximity of Nick subconsciously began to make your face warm as you backed up from him, but he was right on your trail.

You hit the soft padded wall of the studio, Folio’s body millimetres from pinning yours against the surface.

The tension grew as you both stared at each other with hatred.

“Fuck, you.” Nick spat, false venom dripping off his words.

Without hesitating you sneered, “You wouldn’t, pussy.”

It took all of two seconds before his auburn eyes flicked to your lips, a greedy hand reaching up and gripping your jaw as his mouth attached to yours.

It didn’t take long before you melted into Nick’s touch, angry at how good his tongue felt swiping against yours, the grip on your face tightening as his other hand reached to grip a fist full of your hair at the back of your head.

Fury, hatred, and lust fueled the fire between you two as your fingers gripped his belt loops, tugging his hips toward you as you began rutting against him.

You wanted nothing more than to claw down his skin, begging to dig your nails across the ivory and ink, embedding your mark. You wanted him to wince in a mix of pain and pleasure as your imprint but decided that grazing your teeth along his lips would have to do.

Nick moaned into you, quite literally ready to tear your shirt off, tempted to rip the cloth from its seam and destroy the fabric; but he withheld himself, aware that the two of you were hallways away from the exit to the tour bus.

The two of you pulled away panting, catching your breath.

“What the hell are we-”

Nick stared into your eyes, attempting to shift his desire into a glare as he leaned down to bite against your neck, nipping and kissing down the skin, “Just shut up, for five minutes. Please.”

A small whimper escaped you as his tongue grazed your collarbone, Folio’s fingers fiddling with the button on your jeans. You shimmed the fabric down your legs, kicking it off as you tugged at his tanktop, pulling it over his head.

His fingers gripped your hips, pulling them toward his own as he rubbed against your underwear, the bulge and stiffened desire evidence of how badly he wanted this. Reaching for the bottom of your shirt you tore it off your torso, exposing your chest.

Folio pushed your hips into the wall as his fingers danced along the hem of the thong you wore, threatening to dip lower to where you wanted him most.

“Please,” You whispered, desperation falling from your tone.

Folio shook his head, almost throwing his head back in humour, “We need to do something about your mouth.”

He pushed your shoulders, beckoning you to the ground before pulling his belt from the clasp. Freeing himself from his jeans, you watched hungrily as he gripped the back of your head, lining up his hardened desire to your lips.

“Open. Now.”

You obeyed, too turned on to fight back his commands. Wrapping around him you began to suck along the skin, closing your eyes as you relished in the feeling of how hard he was, all for this.

You reached up to stroke the base but he gripped your wrist, holding you in place as his hips thrust forward. He took complete control of how fast and how deep he went, using you to his desire.

“Your whore mouth exists for me to fuck,” Nick swore, his other hand holding the base of your neck as if feeling for himself through your skin, “All that backtalk can be shoved right down your pretty throat.”

Moaning at his words you closed your eyes, gagging on Nick’s thrusts as you took your free hand between your thighs, allowing yourself to slide past your panties to trace small circles against the skin.

Your arousal coated your fingers as your hips rutted against your hand, Nick’s fingers leaving your wrist to grip the back of your head. He pushed you down further on him, your eyes watering as he forced you to gag along his cock.

Air dissipated from your lungs, your body shuddering from the lack of oxygen momentarily before Nick pulled you away, causing you to cough.

“Fuck,” he groaned, almost chuckling.

You licked and sucked against him for a moment longer, before he pulled you up, gripping your hips. He kissed you desperately again for a few more minutes as his cock pressed against your thigh, before you pulled away, a hand against his chest.

“Are you going to just kiss me, or fuck me like you said you would?” You pushed, your hand gripping his erection, fingers dancing across his skin.

Nick moaned into your lips again before taking his hand between your thighs, slipping his fingers between your folds as he prepared your body for his, “Don’t make it a challenge, or you won’t be able to walk after.”

The brunette lifted your leg, gripping underneath your thigh as he hoisted it up to his hip, positioning himself against your arousal. It was a matter of seconds before he slid between you, your body taking him eagerly as your head fell back, mouth agape at the sensation.

He filled you fully, satiating the hunger you always had for the drummer as he began to thrust into your core, pounding senselessly. The angle gave him access to where you wanted him most, soft cries heaving from your chest as your brows furrowed.

Frustration dissipated into pleasure as Nick gave you everything, fucking you with complete adoration and need. Your nails gripped his shoulders, digging into the skin with haste as you rested your forehead against his neck.

“I hate how gorgeous I think you are,” Nick mumbled into your ear, soft groans escaping him.

Your laugh turned into a moan as his fingers trailed to stimulate you while he thrust, your body convulsing from the bliss, “I hate your perfect laugh, and how you have a lopsided smile.”

“I hate how talented you are.”

“I hate the way your eyes light up when you’re happy.”

“I hate how you walk with a skip when you’re excited.”

Your eyes lidded as Nick gripped the back of your head, forcing you to watch him as he spit on himself, lubricating your combined story as you pushed into him to meet his hips.

His thrusts began to waver as you clenched around him, the stimulation from his cock and fingers causing your legs to shake. Nick was close himself, trying to push you to the edge first before allowing himself release.

“I h-hate how-” You tried to get out your words as complete bliss took over, but Folio’s lips attached to yours once again, his pace never ceasing through your orgasm. Your walls engulfed him as Nick succumbed to you, his breathing staggered and haste as his chest vibrated in contentment.

His hips jerked into you as he allowed himself relief, taking over your body.

You watched him for a moment before his eyes met yours, lips agape in a pant.

The brunette shook his head as his fingers squeezed the skin along your torso, “We have two minutes till sound check.”

“Of course, you’re making us late,” you frowned.

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

Tags: @sammyjoeee @spicywhenspeaking @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86 @whenthesummerdies @foliosgirl @thatchickwiththecamera @blackveilomens @xserenax-13

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Why Me? || D. Targaryn x oc (Dear Motherhood Series)

GIF by me :) pls give cred if used DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: When a heated argument between Leyla and her father lead to something more worse than she could have ever imagined.

a/n: ngl this one made me so sad for my girl Leyla 😭 she doesn’t deserve this

Dear Motherhood Series Masterlist

“Give me the respect that I deserve!” Otto yells, standing up from his seat behind his desk. “You forget yourself sometimes Leyla. It is I who I arranged this union between you and Prince. Without me, you would have been nothing!” His hand makes contact with the table causing a loud banging noise.

“I never asked for any of this! I was just a pawn in your sick game I never asked to be a part of,” Leyla spat. “And yet here you are, expecting another child from the Prince.” He glances at her swollen belly. Leyla’s hands protectively move to her stomach. The audacity Otto had to say such a thing when he in-fact pressured her for more children.

Leyla furrowed her eyebrows, “You pressured me into giving the Prince more children-“ Otto interrupts her with a chuckle, “I did no such thing daughter, it is you who pressured yourself.” He stares her down as Leyla felt sick to her stomach. “Why are you doing this to me!” She screamed, salty tears streaming down her face.

“Ever since I came back to court when mother died, you have done nothing but treat me as an outcast, an object for your little games!” She sobbed as Otto sat back and stared at her. This was the first time she had really ever spoken back in such a manner to her father.

All her pent up emotions were finally spilling. “I will never, forgive you for what you put me through when I was ten-and-five. I fucking hate you!” She grabs the closest object near her, a vase, and throws it in the direction of her father.

Otto was quick to his feet and dodged it, shards flying everywhere. “I think it’s best you leave, Leyla. When word of this comes out, you better hope they don’t think of you as mad.” He steps towards her, taking ahold of her shoulders but Leyla shoves him off of her. “Don’t touch me,” She snaps before leaving the room.

The young Hightower was hyperventilating the whole way back to her bedchambers. Pregnancy sure as hell did amplify hormones. She quickly walked into the room and was glad to not see Daemon in sight.

She paced infront of the firepit as she picked on her nails, an old habit she had picked up from her older sister. Leyla couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down her face. She was hyperventilating bad.

She attempted to calm herself down but it only intensified when she felt something dampening her small-cloths and eventually, running down her leg. Leyla quickly reached up her skirts; she was horrified as she looked down at her hand that was covered in blood.

A loud scream emitted from her lips as she fell to the ground. All the way from his study doom down the hallway, Daemon rushed into their shared bedchambers to see Leyla on the ground, her dress darkened in a shade of red and the carpet beneath her.

Her face red and wet from crying and her hair disheveled. “W-w-why is there so much b-blood Daemon?” She said through sobs as she looked up, teary eyed at her Husband.

Daemon quickly moved to his wife and took her in his arms, rocking her slowly as he kissed her forehead and whispered “You’re okay” over and over. The room smelt of copper. Daemon couldn’t care less if he was covered in blood himself either. He focused on Leyla and only her.

“Just let it happen, Leyla. Everything will be okay,” He held her tighter as he felt a tear roll down his own cheek. He might have seemed composed on the outside, but deep down, he was fucking terrified. He’s never had to handle anything like this and he knew that Leyla was equally terrified. She sobbed loudly in Daemon’s chest as they both grieved their unborn child. Her wails woke everyone in the castle.

Not even a few seconds later, a few footsteps could be heard before they halted infront of the door. Alicent, Otto, and a few other maids and knights had came to see what the commotion was about.

Alicent let out a horrified gasp as her eyes take in the scene before burying her head into her father’s chest. Who only looks blankly at her youngest daughter being comforted by her husband.

Leyla slowly turned her head to the direction of the door where a small crowd began to form. She then made eye contact with her father as another wave of tears fall down her cheeks. The young girl couldn’t bare looking at her father so she turned her bead back around. “Leave us!” Daemon yells as he rubs Leyla’s back in comfort.

“I’m sorry. I failed to give you another heir,” Leyla quietly spoke as her tears calmed down and the only thing she could hear was Daemon’s heartbeat and the crackling of the fire. His heart broke seeing Leyla so broken in his arms. “As long as you are okay, sweet girl.” Daemon said against her hair.

[satoruhour]

THE JUST JANUS-FACED

a/n: please PLEASE read the warnings this is darker than what i usually write. this spiralled from me thinking about geto having a blood kink and then me being on my period and then me word vomiting into whatever this is / tagging only @getousex and @papersirens bc i feel like they will maybe like something like this? not sure if my other moots like dark content like this aahh

wc: 2.3k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, DUB-CON, descriptive piece, cult leader!geto, slight coercion, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, idolising, reader is mute for a bit, reader has a fucked up perception of love, christian religious references / parallels, corruption but reader is NOT a virgin, pet names, mentions of murder, clit stimulation, fingering, oral / cunnilingus, blood kink (?), power play, cum eating, size kink, period sex and oral, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

cult leader!geto who unfortunately has had to kill fellow sorcerers before just for opposing his cause, so he knows what sorcerers’ blood smell like. it doesn’t make sense anatomically: how there’s less of a copper smell, sweet and more tangy, not that he’s tasted it before. but the memory of satoru’s dried blood had been seared into his brain, a crystal clear vision of him carrying riko’s body; one of the drives that leads him to change the world of jujutsu.

so why can’t geto get his mind off you and your terrified state, bleeding from your torso after you’ve been ripped from your village? he acts like he hadn’t just ordered his followers to rip the place to shreds, to banish any and every trace of non-sorcerers. he crouches down to look at your pathetic state, swiping a thumb over your bleeding lip, putting it into his mouth.

that’s the first time he recoils at the taste of non-sorcerer blood — after all, it’s your beauty that entrances him.

geto’s not too sure why he kept you, either, locked up in shackles so tight they make dents on your wrists, wound left to be tended only bit by bit every time suguru finishes his sermon for the day and comes back to his office.

the second time is after a terribly stressful day. his contacts were falling behind on collecting money, there were followers stepping out of line, nanako and mimiko unfortunately bothering him at the wrong timings. he loved his girls, but sometimes he needed time alone.

what better way than to spend it with his pet?

the gag around your mouth is growing increasingly saggy, weighing down from the saliva and geto bestows some mercy on you, removing the cloth and throwing it somewhere in the room. at least your senses were still there, hearing the loud plop! of the fabric on tatami mats, but you could only whimper when geto asks you a question.

god, you looked so dumb and stupid, geto could’ve just killed you easily, but he still hasn’t found out why you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. he would send you to hell after that, but for now he’d keep you until he knows.

geto coos at the whimper.

“what is it, sweetheart? spit it out.”

your brows furrow as you uncover the hand cupping your core. it was fairly red, a strong iron smell filling the place. it wasn’t from your terribly treated wound, no — you were so concerned with this you hadn’t realised it’s fully healed, “magically” — but rather, coming from your vagina.

you were menstruating. geto sighs, flicking his sleeves before heading out, and you think that’s the end of it. he was going to leave you bleeding out on the floor while your womb contracted and expanded uncomfortably? your thoughts are quelled a minute later when he returns and tosses you a sanitary product.

“go.”

but before you can run to the bathroom in the big temple he seizes your hand, licking a stripe up your palm. there’s obvious shock on your face, from the clear line on your palm made by his tongue and the way your blood smears on his lips. geto hums, and lets you go.

it’s not too bad.

the third is when you’re sleeping soundly on the floor, still in shackles that are visibly loosened. this is the next month where blood is being shed again, made less harrowing by the products geto swears he hates getting you, “reluctantly” refilling for you after nanako asked him not to take from her stash.

by now, you’ve mellowed, but you still rather have a tough time talking and articulating speech. he knew — it wasn’t hidden that your village was built on strong men, which also led to lesser people being oppressed, silenced. only speak when you spoken to, only leave when given permission. you weren’t a stranger to the harsh slaps that landed on your face.

it was only lucky that geto had already got such an obedient little plaything. you knew your place, having learned your place before, and you think maybe he might be your saviour, because the way he spoke was nothing like the men in your village. it was done with a lilt of the voice, a lyrical, melodic quality to it. his touches are gentle but firm, never rough and abrupt.

geto-sama knew how to treat lesser people like you.

that’s why when you’re whimpering again, geto knows just the right thing to get you to shut up (although, your cute sounds are maybe just what he might be looking for. should he kill you after he gets his keep? should he slit your throat? should he—)

he brings you to your feet a little forcefully, dispelling a curse to unlock your shackles and he pushes you onto the bed. you’re the centre of attention, suddenly, not used to being in such a big space: laid out on the silk sheets of the tatami bed. you felt dirty, tainted. you didn’t deserve to be on white, didn’t deserve to have your feet planted onto ivory, to have been cleaned time and time again by his workers. you didn’t even feel like you deserved to be kept in such a sacred place as geto-sama’s temple.

and yet, when you watch your saviour’s approaching, looming form, you can’t help think of how he’s taken care of you. the love he showed you was the closest thing you’ve ever gotten, maybe a little morbid by normal standards, but who are you to question your saviour? paired with that melodic, smooth voice and the cast of his hair down his back, maybe you were even attracted to your saviour.

that was a possibility, right? you can’t tell right from wrong any more but it doesn’t matter when geto slams his lips onto yours, kissing him back clumsily that he chuckles at your inexperience. even when you’re bleeding, you can feel your cunt throb and the feeling in your stomach increase — it was oh, so delicious, the same thing felt whenever he entered a room with that sick smile.

geto nudges you to remove your clothing, touches leaving blazing fires along your skin. he sighs when your breasts are on display, taking a nipple and swirling a tongue around it. so foreign, so good that you grab his other hand and he stops. ah, yes, you were still a monkey after all, no speaking when not spoken to — that translates to actions as well.

the lord resumes his ministrations, other hand reaching for your tits to massage the other, moaning into your chest before he kisses down your body. you panic, because aren’t you dirty? aren’t you bloody?

“let me relieve you, doll,” geto-sama was well deserving of being geto-sama. like how a lord should be, he is observant in seeing how your hand clutches your stomach on the first two days of your menstruation. what qualities of a lover— lord that is.

he coaxes you into removing your bottoms (“but geto-sama, my blood—”, “nonsense, leave it.”), peeling your underwear off you and the smell hits him almost immediately. the smell he’s friends with, that metallic tinge that hits his nose so disgustingly when he sees yet another act of unjust done by the weak, and yet when geto sees you spreading his legs for him, this hit of odour is nothing like the terrible scenes he’s caused.

no, he thinks that this is right and just, this is in the fates, this was the moment of justifiable pleasure received by a weak, lesser monkey only he could satisfy. he was your saviour after all.

but when geto’s tongue makes first contact with your cunt, he thinks maybe he was on the other side of the picture — him, as weak as a non-sorcerer, sentenced to the giving of pleasure to you.

geto moans when he first tastes blood, and then your slick, the combination more angelic than holy communion. he sucks on your clit and your grip could draw blood from how tight you clutched onto the sheets but you make sure your nails don’t dig in and bleed. geto-sama wouldn’t want that.

he flicks his tongue on your nub, large hands spreading your thighs apart with ease as the abuse on your clit is merciless. geto hums into your cunt, the lewd sounds of your blood mixed in with arousal just staining the room with a pungent smell of copper and sex.

geto gives no warning as he shoves a finger into you, your blood giving him easy access and in an instant the uncomfortable cramp in your stomach starts to subside. he was a god, you know, he’s your god, you think, but you aren’t sure if you’re stingy and self-centred enough to cage him for yourself.

a loud moan leaves you when he starts to thrust, not stopping the stubborn movements of his tongue.

“oh, what pretty noises,” geto drawls, mumbling into your cunt, “your little pussy is being real loud as well, huh?”

you whimper at the lewd language, always being brutally and cruelly targeted towards you in your village, and yet when they’re spoken so filthily and intently to you — you can’t help but nod.

“need you to tell me how bad you want it, pet.” geto teases, knowing you hardly speak, but it’s an invitation, right?

your saviour adds a second finger and a mewl escapes your mouth, incoherent babbles that sounded like gibberish. oh, you really were too cute.

“that feel good, ain’t it?” he whispers, licking his lips and spreading the taste of your blood around his mouth. he smiles at your second nod.

“then tell me. what. you. want.” the command is straight, now, and if it weren’t for geto going back to suckle on your clit alongside his two fingers pumping in and out of you, you’d cower.

“want—” you moan, the squelching noises of your pussy increase in volume and the sound of his palm making contact with his chin is sinful, dirty, exactly what you were.

geto loved dirty.

“want your cock in me, geto-sama.” so, you did know the words, heart pounding so loud it resonates in your head; you wonder how you manage to even say it so clearly, so confidently. where did those words come from?

“want you to fuck me, and use me, please, geto-sama.”

your god’s smile widens into a grin and he wastes no time removing his gojo-gesa, his robes, fishing his cock out from his underwear with one hand while the other continues to lazily move in and out of you. you stare like a dumb little dog, excitement obvious by how you clench around his fingers and bite your lip.

all monkeys were so fucking predictable. your village, your parents, yo—

geto is proven wrong again when he first slips in, blood spilling from your cunt that he doesn’t exactly care if it’s because of your menstruation or your tight little pussy being stretched so far to accommodate his fat, heavy cock, but the warmness of your cunt is just so goddamn divine, he has to take a deep breath to brace himself.

“feel better already?” he fawns over you, over the bulge showing in your stomach. it showed how deep he was in you, in your womb, and you clench again at the feeling of being filled up. geto’s hips start to set a pace, rocking into you with groans of his own.

“s-so much better, geto-sama,” the smile you give him is drunk, horridly in love with your saviour who did nothing but manipulate, but you could hardly care for the morals of this world when his pre-cum filled cock hits your spots so well. his pubes and hips that meet yours are coated with blood, the scent of it increasing the longer he uses your body like a fucktoy, a reverberating pap! pap! pap! of his balls slamming into your ass.

“pussy so fucking good—” geto cums first with a loud groan, filling your womb with his seed that’s viscous and hot, and the heat of your cunt doesn’t stop him from moving, flipping the two of you over and you’re screaming in the process, body jolting from the sudden orgasm. geto grunts as he feels you spasm around his dick, switching to a violent ram up into your pussy — you’re atop him now and you suffer the pussy drunk thrusts he gives you, one after the other into your dripping hole.

it’s so messy, so dirty and so fucking revolting, your bleeding cunt mixed with his cum forming strings that connect your pelvis to his, the soiled sheets of red and translucent below you — your god’s hips falter and still, cumming for a second time so quickly geto has to make sure he’s still the right person after this.

your eyes are way back in your skull, head tipped backwards onto his shoulder and outstretched for all gods to see, and yet, geto suguru was your one and only definition of divinity. a man of wisdom, charm. you’re jerking and gasping when you feel his cum spill out of you and you’re reaching that intoxicating high all over again, geto-sama, geto-sama, geto-sama, like a chant on your lips.

it was like worship in the common room, and yet this was different, entirely, because you were getting purified and corrupted all in one sitting, by geto-sama’s cock.

geto grins and smothers himself in your cunt once you’re climaxing and eats the blood and cum out of your pussy, oozing out right onto his tongue and the mixture of it is like a sick little concoction of sin and virtue — exactly what the two of you were.

good and evil, blessing and curse, god and devil. except, geto suguru wasn’t sure what title he fell under, any more.

oh, no, not when he had you.

pls, pls tell me if i missed any warnings! ty for reading ♡

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Dead Horse

summary: santi brings you back to reality.

pairing: fem!black!reader x santi garcia

contents: angst & fluff— happy ending, canon typical violence, blood, gore, ptsd, depression, feelings of hopelessness, friends to lovers, kissing

wc: 2,419

an: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now bc of nerves, but always wanted to write Santi with a black love interest. planning to dip my toe into that pool more in the future 🥰

oscar issac characters masterlist

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here like this. It could be minutes, hours, even days. In these four walls beneath the shower’s spray, there is nothing that matters. Not even you, not anymore. And while you’re usually the first to be cheery, to tell each of the guys that the work they do— the work you all do together— doesn’t compromise the goodness you see in their hearts, you’re having a hard time believing that right now.

Not with what you’d done. It was to survive, and while you’ve come to terms with how scary you could be in the past you thought it stayed there.

In the past.

Tonight had proven to you that you could always access that piece of you. That terrifying piece that was a killing machine. The emphasis doesn’t lie in efficiency, but in ruthlessness. You had shown no mercy, the switch for empathy and compassion turned off as soon as your hindbrain decided that it was fight or flight. Dormantly thirsty, lurking in the shadows waiting for its time, it chose to fight. But you had gone a step too far—like always— because of your lack of control.

You were messy, enjoying the cutting of thick flesh, the warmth of the blood as it sprayed you. The copper smell, so familiar and embarrassingly comforting, though you didn’t have the mind to think that now, not when you were exposing the pink underbelly of a corpse.

Santi’s been pacing the hallway since you all made it back to the safe house. He’d tried to chat you up on the way home with no success. You wouldn’t meet his eye, and when he drew nearer to catch your gaze it was empty. It chilled his blood. He wasn’t sure of what exactly happened in that room you’d gotten ambushed in but he’d seen the aftermath. Recalling the image of standing over one too many dead bodies, a gleam in your eye had made his stomach curl. He’d smoothed his hand over your knee and left it at that, trying his best to banish all the red and pink and white.

It’s been an hour since you’d stumbled into the bathroom. He can hear the shower still going when he puts his ear to the door and sighs, a mix of frustrated and concerned. He’s not sure what to do– he’s never had to take care of you before. He’s always been grateful for that given all the fondness he has for you bubbling just beneath. Any acknowledgement could jeopardize too much– missions, the dynamic of the team, and most importantly your friendship.

“You alright in there?” He calls softly through the door.

He’s met with silence. He rolls his neck, cursing beneath his breath as his mind goes back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

“Just go in there and check on her,” Frankie says from behind him, causing the other man to flinch. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Santi assures Frankie, leaning against the wall to face the man. He nods at the door. “She could be naked.”

Frankie snorts, shrugging. “She’s seen all of us at least half naked and well, Benny—“

Santi quickly cuts him off, trying to keep the sour jealousy out of his voice. He knows that there’s nothing going on between you and Benny, that Benny is as much of a flirt as he is but sillier and less concerned with his image. “But we haven’t seen her. I don’t— I’m a dog but I’m a respectful one.”

“If she’s gonna get help from anybody on this it’d be you. She trusts you man.”

Santi looks at him like he’s grown two heads but feels a little warm, “She trusts all of us, kind of a prerequisite of living and working with a group of men.”

“It's different with you. You should hear the way she talks about you when you’re not around.”

Santi almost lets himself think about it. Almost lets himself dream a little. Almost.

“Or see the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. Like a lost fucking puppy,” Benny pipes in, breezing down through the hallway between the two of them.

“Don’t sound so concerned, Benjamin,” Santi calls after the man, mouth quirking into a grin.

“Don’t look so smug, Santiago,” Frankie teases.

“I’m not smug,” He denies. He decides to go in, okay with being kicked out by you if it means that Frankie will be gone, done poking and prodding at what the man must know is his heart.

“Good luck.”

Santi murmurs a quiet thanks before slowly entering the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stands, frozen in place for several moments as he digests the sight of you. It's heartbreaking. His chest goes tight, and he curses softly again. What could he do for you? He’d do anything, but he’s just not sure what. He feels helpless seeing you like this. He could burn this entire city, burn anyone who would look at you wrong. Hell, he’d burn the entire world if it meant some warmth would come back into your eyes.

You’re curled up, your arms resting atop your knees, head resting to stare forward. Your curly hair that usually frames your face is completely soaked like the rest of you, flat and sticking to your face in various places. He knows that your eyes are unseeing, that you’re so incredibly removed from yourself because you make no indication that he’s stepped into the room.

“I’m gonna come sit beside you, okay? That’s it. No words,” Despite his words he stays where he is for a handful of seconds, hoping to get some sort of answer from you. You don’t speak a word, don’t utter or sound or so much as look in his direction. But you do shift slowly, making more room for him underneath the water.

“Fuck, it’s freezing,” He grits out, drawing close enough to you that your shoulders rest flush against each other.

He gazes over at you, noticing the way the water glimmers on your brown skin. The way its collected on your dark eyelashes. If these were different circumstances maybe for just a handful of seconds he’d let himself get lost in your beauty. But then you acknowledge him– sort of. You hum softly and the leaning of your head on his shoulder. It's a good sign and he relaxes beside you.

“Do you want me to shut it off?” He asks gently, reaching out to take your hands into his. Your fingers are cold as ice, and he rubs at them in a futile attempt to generate some heat.

“No, please. No,” You beg hoarsely, suddenly springing to life. You grip at his hands desperately, eyes wide with panic as you finally meet his gaze.

“Alright, hush, cariño, I’ve got you. C’mere, baby,” He shushes you, pulling you into his arms and flush against him.

At little more present in the moment, you feel the chill registering. You curl up, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. There’s still some warmth in his skin and you press into it, letting the sound of his steady breath lull you back into a dissociative state.

Santi holds you for an undetermined amount of time. He runs his hands up your back, over the crown of your hair, feeling the difference of how your curls feel when wet. His hand drifts to your chin, and he leans away, tipping your head up.

“Honey, you’ve gotta talk to me,” He whispers.

Your dark eyes have a little more life to them, but that’s only amplified the sadness they hold. “Santi, I can’t. I can’t. Don’t make me, please.”

“I have to, you can’t stay like this. We’ve got to get it out in the open.”

“Like you do?” You challenge– your voice distinctly unkind, harder than he’s ever heard it before. His brow furrows and guilt blossoms inside of you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. This just fucking sucks, Santiago. Its all wrong again.”

“Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it.”

“There’s no way we can fix it. I’m just broken. I’ll always be haunted by her. She’ll always be here, waiting for an opportunity for that.”

“You preach that shit to me and the guys. Day in and day out. Every mission, and you don’t believe it?”

“I do— I did. I believe it for you. For them. You’re good people, Santi. Good men, all of you. You take care of me.”

“You take care of us, honey. Fish hangs on your every word. Will too. Benny is well— Benjamin.”

“And you?”

He shrugs, “You know I gave into this a long time ago. Before we even met. No other way for me to be.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I try to. I want to. There are parts of me too that I don’t like. I want them gone. I rip them up and bury them but they always come back to haunt me. I don’t think that means I’m not trying to be better, but it means I’ll never be the man I want to be.”

You frown at him, concerned, “Santi—“

“It’s okay. I accepted that after the first tour. Sometimes you gotta let the horse be dead.”

“Do you think my horse is dead?”

There’s no room for his ego, no room for hiding when he hears the blatant fear in your question.

He rests his head back against the wall, murmuring, “I think you’re the sweetest thing this earth has to offer.”

“You think so?”

“Bouncing around with your curls, and your sweet little smile. Kicking Benny’s ass with grace while you’ve got a cake in the oven. You should see yourself with Frankie’s little girl.”

“Seems like you watch me a lot,” You suggest softly.

“I watch you all the time,” He admits, but there’s no shame in his voice. In fact you can see resolve in his eyes, and possessiveness. A chill runs down your spine and it’s not from the water. Santi mistakes it for that anyway. “Let me turn this off for us?”

He’s still asking. Still checking in with you though there’s much more light in your eyes.

“Yeah, okay.”

Santi leans up and turns off the shower, letting out a sigh of relief. He runs his hands over your wet curls, pushing them away from your forehead. His thumbs swipe your cold cheeks, brushing away some of the water droplets.

Without that steady sound of the shower, sheets cascading down on you, you both are feeling a little more exposed.

“I came in here to make sure you were alright, not spill my fucking guts. I just had to take care of you,” He says, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“You can always take it back,” You say teasingly, though most of you expect him to bite at your offer.

He’s said much more in these last few minutes than he ever has to you— Santi’s a sweet guy under all his charm, but he never lets you see below the surface. Not until now, when letting you in seemed like the only way to get you out.

It takes more effort than he expects to pull himself away from you. He leans back against the shower wall, nimble fingers lacing together in his lap. “And lose you?”

“You could never lose me, Santi,” You murmur, reaching out to grab one of his hands.

Your eyes roam him, a little in disbelief at what’s happening right now. But yes, it is Santiago Garcia sitting next to you. With his dark brown eyes, his sharp jaw dappled with stubble, his salt and pepper hair looking much darker and curlier than usual due to the water.

“Yeah?” Santi asks, eyes glued to where yours sits atop his. He traces slowly over the sight of you two linked together, admiring how soft and rich your skin looks even after sitting in a shower for so long.

He’s a goner isn’t he?

“Yeah.”

There are butterflies in his stomach. Butterflies, sweat slicking his palms despite the fact that he’s soaked through his clothes and down to the bone. He realizes in this moment that he’s not just a goner. No— he loves you. He knew that he was harboring some kind of feelings for you, but when your eyes meet his— earnest and tender— he can only think one thing: I love you.

His eyes hungrily drop to your full mouth, and another shiver runs down your spine. “Let me kiss you.”

You nod, squeezing his hand that’s still in yours.

“I need to hear you say it. You have to say it for me, so I can believe it.”

“I want you to kiss me, Santiago. Please.”

He’s on you then. All over you. His hands move quickly, guiding you back into his lap before one loops around your torso and holds you close. The other cups your jaw, angling it back so that he can press his mouth to yours. You’re breathless before the space between you is closed, chest heaving at how sure and firm his hands are. He kisses you. Kisses and kisses you, like his life depends on it. Like you’re lost and the only thing that will guide you home is his insistent tongue.

Your hands slip and slide against the fabric of his wet shirt before you give up, raising them to tentatively cup his face so that you can have leverage.

“That’s it honey, kiss me back. Take what you want to. Whatever you need,” He encourages between kisses.

Take you do. You squirm in his lap until he lets you shift and straddle him. It had started with him leading you, consuming you but now it’s your turn to surround him. Santi gives in, sighing into your mouth as your tongue goes on the hunt for his. You kiss him. Kiss him and kiss him until your mouth aches. When you pull away his is flushed pink, newly wet. You run your thumb over his lips before wiping your own mouth.

He looks up at you like hang the moon. His eyes are soft and hazy, pink mouth pulling up into a smirk. There’s the Santi you know. The Santi you love. But even now, he’s softer and sweeter, gathering you close again.

“What do you need now, sweetheart? What can I do to make it better?”

“You.”

“I’m yours.”

santi taglist: @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @tanzthompson, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @missdictatorme, @whatthefishh

[abarbaricyalp]

Too Sweet

I finally finished it AO3 Link

November

"Don't sulk. And stop chewing on your nails," Rhodey said, appearing in the chair beside Bucky with a frankly uncanny quiet.

Bucky looked away from where his gaze was drilling into Sam and the man he was dancing with. "I'm older than you," Bucky pointed out. "You can't order me around."

"I outrank you too," Rhodey pointed out with a smirk. 

"You and most of the army. Tweety outranks me." He nodded off towards Joaquin, who was not watching Sam the way he normally did. Instead, he was three people deep into an animated story and an adoring crowd.

"It's not going to last," Rhodey continued. He usually had some remark about how Joaquin was a 'good kid' or something, but clearly he had a mission today.

Bucky took in a steadying breath as he dragged his eyes away from Sam again. "Have you met Winston? Even I like him. He was practically gift-wrap-made for Sam. Sam's crazy about him."

"Sam likes him," Rhodey accepted. "And they're pretty cute. But it's not going to last," he repeated. 

"Why do you say that?"

Since beginning to spend more time with Sam--and following him around like a shadow when he could--he'd learned that Sam and Rhodey had become close friends, despite all of the bullshit that tried to get between them. Rhodey was the kind of noble that Bucky thought only existed in fairytales, so it made sense him and Sam found camaraderie in each other. There was some super-secret Air Force bond that Sam wouldn't tell Bucky about, too. Bucky liked Rhodey. He thought he was level-headed and no-nonsense, which Bucky was appreciating more as he realized how rare it was nowadays. 

Still, Rhodey could be nosy when it came to Sam. Could be as bad as all the old folks down in Louisiana, who were the reason Sam was slow dancing and laughing with Winston now. Bucky always had a suspicious side-eye ready when Rhodey brought up Sam in a less than professional context.

Like talking about his relationship not lasting.

Bucky gnawed on his cuticle again and watched Sam get spun around in a dizzying turn combo. He watched him catch himself on Winston's chest and hide his laugh against Winston's shoulder.

"Because I saw the way Winston reacted to Sam getting home last weekend."

Bucky bit down on the side of his finger too hard and tasted copper instantly. "He came all the way to DC to see Sam?"

Rhodey shrugged. "Sure, but he was freaking out about it. We were a day late, comms were out of the question. Winston was losing it."

Bucky shot him a strangled sort of look. "You're complaining that he's a concerned partner?"

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Sam wasn't even hurt. Imagine how he's gonna react the first time Sam winds up in a hospital or a fall is caught in HD and plays on the news for a week straight."

"I get pissed off about things like that," Bucky pointed out.

"But you stick through it. I'm just saying, a lot of soldiers lose partners who can't handle the danger of the job. Imagine dating a superhero."

Bucky couldn't imagine it. Being best friends with one was exhausting enough and he was one himself. All of the people who kept his bed warm were hardly interested in his long-term wellbeing. It's not something he thought about often.

"Sam's always alright," he said. "He's the last guy someone would have to worry about. He's smart out there."

Rhodey leveled him with a skeptical look. "Isn't there a 'Days since last self sacrifice' countdown on your fridge?"

Bucky shrugged. "That one's got a money-pool attached to it. We have to pay up when we're the one who resets it."

Bucky looked away when Rhodey didn't. He could feel his gaze heavy on the side of Bucky's face. There was always something slightly appraising about him. He was a Colonel through and through, even on his easy days.  He never told Bucky what he was thinking about, which drove Bucky nuts. But he also never asked Bucky either, which was a blessing, so Bucky kept his irritation to himself.

Sam and Winston had stopped dancing--the song had moved onto something more up-tempo--and they were engaged in some inane conversation. Bucky could tell because Winston's eyes kept darting around for an out. But Sam was ever the professional. He was engaged and responsive, was making that lady feel like the center of the whole world. Bucky knew the feeling. His arm was around Winston's waist, thumb brushing over his side, just out of sight of their audience.

Bucky wanted to be sick with jealousy. He started to chew on the side of his thumb nail again. Rhodey swatted at his hand once but gave up and went to impart either wisdom or exaggerated stories on someone else.

. . .

January

Two months after the gala, Bucky was laying on the couch early one morning because he couldn't sleep. He had a marathon of sci-fi B-movies playing with the volume only on the first dial. It was enough to keep his ears distracted, but not enough to really keep him from falling asleep if he could trick his brain into it.

It had been a rough couple of days. A mission had gone sideways and Sam had ended up in the hospital. Bucky accused Rhodey of speaking it into existence, but he hadn’t fared well himself either. The parade of faces had followed, people Bucky knew and didn’t know. Mostly people he didn’t know. They had been in DC, so everyone from Delacroix had been absent. Sam had even convinced Sarah not to make the trek up. It wasn’t that bad, he lied, save your miles for something better.

Okay, maybe it hadn’t been a terrible injury. Lied was a strong word. Bucky was overreacting just a little because he’d lost comms with Sam and hadn’t been the one to assess him on the field. He hated it when it shook out like that. All of the anxiety about Sam’s condition got about sixty-five times worse when he couldn’t make his own call. Bucky’s bad mood also hadn’t been helped by the way Sam had perked up every time the door opened, only for the person on the other side not to be his boyfriend. Bucky also blamed Rhodey for this.

They’d only been back in Louisiana for a week and Bucky had kept a pretty intense eye on Sam for that whole time, but he’d relented recently, gave Sam space, which he used to hang out with everyone who’d been worried about him earlier. Bucky hadn’t kept an ear out for his comings-and-goings, but he’d expected Sam was out and about because the house had been quiet since dinner.

So he was surprised when someone stepped over the back of the couch and sat down next to him.

“You should absolutely not do that with those stitches,” Bucky scolded.

Sam rolled his eyes, Bucky assumed, and nudged him in the ribs. “I won’t tell you what I was doing at the docks then.”

Bucky glared at him, which delighted Sam, as it usually did. He existed to test the serum, see if he could make a super soldier need blood pressure medication. “I thought you’d be out tonight. Date night? Just some alone time?” he eventually offered as a bridge to a more relaxed conversation.

“I saw Winston,” Sam agreed. He shifted so he was against the arm of the couch and could shove his toes under Bucky’s thigh. “We, uh… We decided to end things.”

Bucky’s brain fuzzed out for a few seconds. “What?” he asked. “Why? You like him.”

Sam breathed out a sad, frustrated little huff. “Yeah. He’s just…not ready for this kind of thing. It takes someone specific to put up with it, y’know?”

Bucky wondered if he was stuck in a timeloop. Was he having the same conversation he’d had with Rhodey? Had the timeline shifted a little to the left, so now he was having it with Sam instead?

“He’s soft, y’know. Real gentle. I didn’t wanna hurt him by making him stay in this relationship where he’d be worried all the time. He didn’t wanna be hurt.”

Bucky found himself holding Sam’s ankle, which didn’t seem to have surprised Sam the way it surprised Bucky. “You’re worth worrying over,” he said seriously.

Sam nudged his ankle against Bucky’s hand. “Yeah, that’s why I have you,” he said. “You’ve got it covered for the whole rest of the world.”

“I don’t give you half of what you deserve,” Bucky scoffed, then heard the words ringing back in his head. He prayed Sam didn’t clock how sincere he actually was.

Here’s the thing. Bucky had known he was in love with Sam for probably the better part of a decade (give or take five years that didn’t count, though he imagined even while he didn’t exist, he loved Sam). And the thing about loving Sam Wilson was that Bucky never wanted anything less than the best for Sam and Bucky Barnes was definitely not the best thing for him. Sure, in the heat of battle, there was no one better to be on Sam’s six, and Sam had chosen him as roommate for some reason that Bucky couldn’t comprehend. Bucky was great as a friend and a partner. No one was going to protect him more than Bucky. But as a life partner? Sam deserved the sun, the stars, the moon, the whole entire sky, and all the universe beyond it. He deserved someone as stable and strong as him, as giving and free, as happy and earnest. Bucky was never going to be that person. He wasn’t sweet. He wasn’t the boy next door anymore. No storybook prince.

And he’d made his peace with that before the world had ended a few times and he was finally back in America. He could be this for Sam. He could give Sam all of him from a distance and make sure Sam found only the perfect love for himself.

He could sit on a couch and get angry at a guy he had actually liked because they decided Sam wasn’t worth the hurt. Bucky would live in a world of nothing but hurt if it meant Sam was part of his life. 

If Sam read any of that in Bucky’s words, he didn’t react. He just kind of screwed his mouth to the side in a deprecating half smile and picked at a snag in the upholstery. He didn’t say anything as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

“I was probably gonna be up for a while,” Bucky offered. “You want some popcorn and latte creamer?”

Sam made a face. “That sounds disgusting. But, yeah.”

Bucky snorted and squeezed Sam’s ankle again before standing and heading to the kitchen. “M&Ms in the popcorn?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Do we have any?”

“Yeah, the boys left a bunch of tubes of minis last time they were here.”

“You bought them everything they said they wanted,” Sam corrected with a laugh. “Don’t you know kids’ eyes are bigger than their stomachs?”

“Yeah, but not bigger than mine,” Bucky shot back. He threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave and grabbed the fake latte drink from the fridge, along with two mugs, which he brought back to Sam. “Anything you wanna watch? This is a replay from earlier in the week.”

“Yeah, I remember you bitching about the officiating in it,” Sam teased. “Let’s put on some horror movie. It’s been a while since I’ve had running commentary about how implausible every death and gore scene is.”

Bucky took the ribbing in stride, passing the remote over and settling next to Sam, closer this time, pulling Sam’s legs over his own lap. “It’s not my fault no one ever gets the spillage right.”

“You’re so gross,” Sam laughed, digging his heel into the outside of Bucky’s thigh and pulling him closer in the same move.

Read the rest on AO3

[pillowspace]

Ok ok, important questions

What colour do Sun, Moon, Sunna, and Meno blush? Is it a darker version of their skin colour? Is it red? Is it actually just whatever colour their blood is but like set to multiply mode (that's what I do with blush, so it looks more like it's under the skin)?

Also also, are all the gods blood gold or do they have different colours? If they do, is it random or is it based on some sort of ststem? Possibly the higher ranking gods having more precious materials for blood colour? So like gold, silver, bronze, copper, etc.

Lol I just really like learning these things

Oh oh, do the gods have like similar internal anatomy to humans or do they have different wacky bone structures and organs? I mean, obvs their heads have gotta be different but is there anything else that's different? Are Sun's rays made of like cartilage so they can bend and stuff or are they something else? Sksksj I really like learning about anatomy

Anyways, that's all for now

First of all: congratulations, your ask was not eaten, but somehow sent after your second ask. Not too sure how that happened

Sun blushes a kind of darker orangey colour. Moon blushes blue. Sunna blushes a lighter red. Meno blushes yellow (this took a poll, Meno was a dilemma. Meno could also literally be blue if you wanted though idc, they were both fine)

I edited blush onto previous art of them to experiment. I did not edit the Sun one though, but he actually already has blush in the image:

Aaaaalso doodled these:

The gods have different colours of blood! Sun has golden blood. Moon has dark blue blood with purple tints similar to his wings (no stars, sowwy). Sunna has red blood (if you want to get fancy, you could compare it to a ruby-- ........). And Meno has the fun blood which is a very light blue with thin swirls of gold

Mid gods (them!) are the highest ranking to possess blood, as Higher gods don't. And before mid is demi, and demi-gods may have duller colours that don't shine (or swirl like Meno, or seem to almost consume the light around it like Moon's) in the same way mid gods' seems to

Their anatomy is very different from a human. A mid god may or may not really have proper organs. Like, I would like to imagine Sun and Moon having a lot of stone (not quite, but something like stone) in their bodies with blood between it all. I have implied that Sun breathes though, so he may have something akin to lungs. I don't know the specifics, but their bodies are more built for defense in a way. Sunna and Meno are still tough, but are softer, so I imagine less stone and more of a density if that at all makes sense. OH, I completely forgot! They all have glowing cores at the very centre of their chests past all that defense, like a heart!

Sun's rays can go from solid, to being like flames at will. From what I've written, it usually briefly loses its solid state when he's excited. I think they might not be able to bend in the solid state, but they can move when all flamey. Like shrinking back, spinning, etc

[pinknipszz]

golden girl

↷ ˊ- neteyam/metkayina reader | (i.), (ii.), (iii.), (iv.)

“cause i have walked a thousand miles for the golden girl, golden smile.”

neteyam had finished the spearhead in a matter of days. after having secured the carved bone to the end of a sturdy pole, he tried its durability against some fish, but not without whispering a few prayers beforehand. his arms had grown taut from the strain, and neteyam feels sorry for leaving you worried, even when he had apologized that he’d be missing another day’s lessons for reasons so futile.

but you, oh so beautiful you, had placed a gentle hand on his chest that spoke a thousand reassurances. the skin underneath your palm rejoiced at the contact, buzzing with delight. neteyam couldn’t even begin to recall what you had really said to him. but if you asked what beads were in your hair or what your eyes remind him of, he’d have an answer. he’d say it like gospel truth. 

after you had left, he returned to the spear. he was still a warrior at heart. 

neteyam remembers how the weight of it felt strange in one hand, and how he didn’t quite know what to do with the other. if you had been there that day to watch him, hunting fish with an aim that wouldn’t even impress a baby, you would have called him out on his tense shoulders or unsure feet. it just felt awkward, unfamiliar. his stance, his spear, the sea. but he didn’t want to call it wrong.

sure the smooth stone was too heavy for an arrow and too thin for a spear, but he would never call it wrong, a freak of nature. maybe he would have in the past, but now he knew what it really was: a little like him. carved for the forest before he changed its purpose. now the weapon was neither arrow nor spear. neither land nor sea. it lays tucked away in his family’s marui, collecting dust and dreams he dared not speak.

visiting the tidepools became a pastime, just as you predicted. it had not even been several days since neteyam last asked you to accompany him, but you didn’t mind. it made up for his recent absences. while you do adore his siblings and treat them like your own, you admit that there’s a charm in the eldest that simply could not be replicated. so when he had asked you one morning, your heart jumped eagerly.

you felt guilty the more you realized the reality of the situation. you joined the group for tuk out of the goodness in your heart, and now you yearned for her older brother. it made your stomach churn, yet a quiet, selfish part of you wondered what it would be like to stand by neteyam’s side, to call his family your own, and to have his child. you wanted a hand to slap you across the face, hard, for such thoughts. 

the sun peeked through the overgrown palms as you and neteyam followed the familiar path to the pools. it didn’t take much convincing from your parents, much less his own, as if they could see something far beyond the line of friendship. growing and taking shape. the thought left you stubborn, willing to deny and fight for your pride, but you knew that it’d be for naught. neteyam captivated you beyond recognition.

you grew shy of his advances too, if you could even call them that. his silly attempts at conversation, the looks he gave you from afar, even now, with his hand entwined in yours, as he led you to the spot. they fell under an umbrella without a label, or on a blurred line between friends and something more. you bit the inside of your cheek until it drew blood, nervously savoring its copper.

“there will be more fish today.” neteyam said almost to himself, his eyes trained forward. “the waves were high last night with fish of all sorts of colors. you will like them.” you’re not sure if that’s how it works, but you didn’t comment on it.

“then we’ll bring fish for your family.” you squeezed his hand, committing his rough calluses to memory. warm. so warm. “you’re siblings are doing much better now. i wish you had been there to see it.” you remember how lo’ak had finally beat his record of twelve minutes with a commendable sixteen. truly a magnificent feat considering it had only been a few months worth of progress.

tsireya had been the first to congratulate him, all sunshine and smiles. kiri and tuk joined right after. you were fourth, and ao’nung the reluctant fifth. the metkayina trio had decided to end the lessons on a high note by dedicating the rest of the day to “unsupervised” ilu riding. truly, lo’ak had grown spoiled. but there was the unmistakable glint of disappointment in his eyes at how neteyam had not been there to see it.

his steps slowed as if to absorb your words properly, before turning to you with a strange expression. “is that how you feel? if you had asked me to stay, i would have.” neteyam said so easily, his voice light and borderline teasing. how cheeky! you looked away first, unable to maintain eye contact for too long. 

the sea smelled stronger here at the edge of the mangroves, numbing your senses. you could only imagine how neteyam felt. the pools were closer too, and oddly enough, he had been right. the pools were higher, deeper, fuller. they reminded you of what you suggested prior. fish for his family.

“did you bring your spear with you?” you asked.

neteyam shook his head, shrugging. “left it at home.” home. you didn’t catch his slip.

he let go of your hand so you can jump off the rocks. then, he followed suit. neteyam memorized it by now, the patterns in the rock. where to step, to pause, to turn. how one had more algae than the other. he doubts he’ll ever get over the feeling of wet algae though. it nearly left him nauseous, but he won’t tell you that. “then how do you suppose we catch fish?i thought you were a hunter.” you huffed.

“a warrior,” he corrected.

“is there a difference?” 

surprised with your sudden curiosity, neteyam thought for a moment. truthfully, there wasn’t much of a difference when both hunters and warriors fought to survive. most times he felt like one or the other, other times neither. “somewhat,” he decided, choosing his next words carefully. “one hunts, the other kills. unless you plan to eat your enemies, then you could be both.” your face scrunched in disgust and you punched his shoulder.

chuckling, neteyam reached down to splash water in your direction. “i’m glad you can call yourself a hunter,” he continued. “i don’t want war to touch this place.” fish darted to and fro, and plants waved their tendrils at you. when his eyes grew distant, focusing on violent memories, you watched him quietly. never had the differences between you two been so clear, like the waters of your home. 

you were a hunter, he was a fighter. you hunted with intent to feed, he fought with weapons to kill. the cycle of life and death, just as the great mother had embedded in your psyche. like natural law. it was just as strange how two na’vi of two clans could stand so close together, so strongly juxtaposed. sometimes you wondered if this was wrong, or simply one of the many unexplainable things that ewya had intended. 

but how could you ever call it simple? even when his shade of blue was so different from yours, and how arms and legs and tail were so much thinner, you swore nothing has ever looked, felt, so right. “did you hunt in the forest?” you asked.

“often.” neteyam looked at you, so much lighter than he ever has before, at the mention of his first home falling from your pretty lips. two of the things he loves most entwined together. he fought the urge to kiss you, to feel the forest and the sea at once. “the first thing i caught was a fish.” 

“you and i aren’t so different then.” you grinned.

neteyam finally felt that, after all this time, the move had been worth it. he promises to bring the spear next time.

(masterlist)

[seaslugdisco]

nuzi is not a proship, i understand the confusion of the unclear timeline, but this is my understanding and how it places n and uzi at similar ages:

this theory has two versions, depending on the gap in the timeline of events between the core collapse and the disassembly drones arrival. first, the larger amount of time between these two events. the core of copper-9 collapses, nuclear winter ensues, all humans on the planet die, etc. etc. khan is one of the worker drones who defect from humans and begins to try to start his own life. nori, after being trapped in cavin fever labs and being experimented on and gaining the absolute solver, escapes with yeva. they meet as camp 98.7, fall in love, and move into a deserted human bunker with some other families and start a sort of civilization. they have uzi, but nori begins getting visions of the future- khans line in episode 4 about nori at the beginning, "she was always all: 'build doors against the coming sky demons!' 'the singularity awakens.' 'look at this cool s i can draw!'." nori tells khan to build doors, as in, on the existing bunker, not build the bunker.

uzi grows up to be about 19-20 when the events of the series play out, (the ages of kids her age from other bunkers on missing posters in episode 3 at the very beginning) you know the rest. this probably means that living under the ice in the bunker is just how she grew up, but the disassembly drones are a threat that appeared in her lifetime and killed her mother, presumably before she was a fully functional worker drone and still one of the smaller round baby drones (??? i dunno what to call them) this WOULD explain why she doesnt remember nori much but this always confused me because theyre robots??? they literally cannot forget unless they manually delete something from themselves??? actually thats probably a lore thing. whatever it doesnt matter for this theory. ANYWAYS, a big thing that i see people miss is that if disassembly drones have been alive long enough to kill nori, they have really barely gone through changes like the workers do as they "grow up". its understandable that they were just made to kill and didnt really need it, but this still places them at a much younger age than they look or are in the series. this means that uzi and n can be very close to the same age, even if they dont look it. im not sure if n v and j were just like actually pretty short because in the pilot opening sequence we never see the disassembly and worker drones in a same frame good enough to compare or if there was to change at all.

just really short disassembly drones is kinda a funny thought though lol

option two, which i find less likely but also more interesting, is very similar, but instead of after the core collapse, nori and khan meet BEFORE it. maybe khan defects from the company??? nori and yeva are able to escape??? idk if that could even happen or where i was going with this everything else is basically the same but uhh its a cool thought right

in conclusion: people who think nuzi is a proship what the fuck are you doing

thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[johaerys-writes]

I gotta ask about 4. Victorian Patrochilles

Basically this one is a reincarnation AU I started AGES ago... it is set in Victorian London, Achilles is the prince and in line for the throne, and Patroclus is a minor noble, and the meet at a ball and instantly feel this ConnectionTM... like it's one of the first patrochilles things I ever wrote lol, and the first chapter is actually up on AO3 in this collection over here. At first it was only going to be a oneshot but then I started thinking about it more, and I sort of came up with an outline for a full story and started writing it (I opened the file again recently and was surprised at how much I'd actually written) but I abandoned it after a while because I wasn't happy with some plot points and tbh I still haven't figure them out. But there's a lot of it that I still like, here is a small snippet:

I met him later that week. We walked the busy streets of London side by side, and the Prince didn’t seem to mind the mud that clung to his boots or the drizzle that darkened his golden hair to copper. He talked to me cheerfully- he seemed quite fond of talking, but not in the way one blabbers incessantly for the pleasure of hearing one’s own voice. He had much to share with me, and he spoke fast and with confidence, as if he could cram the information of a lifetime in just a few short hours. 

He was different when he was with me. Less aloof, less regal. He had a casual air about it him which he seemed to drop when no one was around; it made him look young, almost boyish—behind his princely facade he hid a cheerful disposition and a razor sharp intellect, as well as a knack for clever puns. 

It wasn’t long before our conversation drifted back to ancient myths and legends, as it normally did when it was just the two of us. 

“The Ancient Greeks were masters when it came to tragic stories,” he said, pushing the glass door of a tea shop open, a small and dainty one hidden in one of the side streets off Baker Street. “The most tragic of all, of course,” he sat by one of the tables, gesturing for me to sit near him, “is none other than that of Achilles and Patroclus. I recall you were quite fond of their love story.”

I self-consciously glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one near us had overheard, even though the Prince didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd about his speech. 

“We have settled, then, that they were lovers?” I asked him with a smile.

“Of course,” he said, without a hint of hesitation. “There can be no question about it. The truth is there, plain for everyone to see, regardless of what historians and scholars say. Left to their own devices, they would argue for centuries whether a tea kettle is black or simply very dark grey.” 

That was another thing about him that I’d noticed; he often spoke blunt truths without any intention to tease or gauge for a reaction. He spoke them because, frankly, that was what they were: the truth, and he had little patience for anything but. It was something I admired about him. 

Well, one of the many things I admired about him, in any case. 

“Indulge me, Your Grace,” I said, lifting the steaming cup to my lips after he had poured the tea. “What is it that you and I know, and all the scholars of the world do not?” 

[dmwrites]

It was silly to be nervous. Impulse knew that, kept repeating it the whole journey over, and yet, standing in front of Bdubs’ monolith, he felt exceedingly nervous. The diorite building (Impulse had always wondered how Bdubs had managed to make diorite look good in a build- but then again it was Bdubs, he could make anything look good) towered above him, both intimidating in stature and welcoming in its lived-in state. Impulse took the small bag out of his inventory and just kind of held it in his hand. He still felt nervous, but it didn’t stop him from walking up the worn steps and knocking on the monolith’s front door.

It took a while for Bdubs to answer the door. Impulse heard him yell “coming!” from somewhere, and then the echoing sound of cursing and muttering at Bdubs made his way from somewhere in his base. Impulse knew that Bdubs had hugely expanded his base from just the monolith, but it seemed to take a comically long time for Bdubs to get to his front door.

“Etho, I swear if it’s- oh, Impulse! Hello, hello! How are you doing, baby?”

Bdubs gave him that signature wide grin, the one that made Impulse feel like he was the only important person in the world. He was dressed in a canvas jumpsuit and leather gloves, coated in what looked like red paint and sawdust.

“Hey Bdubs, sorry to bother you… didn’t realize you were busy,” Impulse replied, still nervous, maybe even more then before.

“Never a bother when it’s you, baby,” Bdubs drawled. “Probably needed a bit of a break anyway- I’ve been doing some of my patented perfect redstone- which of course you would know because you know redstone prowess when you see it.”

“Of course,” Impulse echoed, smiling.

“So, what brings you by?” Bdubs asked, unbuttoning the top part of his jumpsuit and shrugging it off, revealing a clean white tank top underneath. He leaned against his doorframe casually, the polar opposite of how Impulse felt.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve looked at a calendar recently, I know you’ve been busy, but today is actually… well, it’s been one year since Double Life,” Impulse said.

“One year… ain’t that something,” Bdubs replied thoughtfully, eyes fixed on Impulse’s face. “Seems like only yesterday.” His face was unreadable, just that soft smile that he often seemed to have when Impulse talked to him.

Impulse let out a breath. “Yeah.. and, look, I know it’s kind of cheesy, and I keep doing it every time… but, here.” Impulse held out the bag. “For you.”

Bdubs shucked off his gloves and took the bag, brow furrowed. He gave Impulse a confused smile, then opened the bag. He pulled out the golden clock, which Impulse had polished to a perfect shine right before he’d flew over.

“Oh… Impulse…” Bdubs breathed, examining it from every angle. Impulse knew the clock like the back of his hand, had agonized over the details (much to Gem and Pearl’s chagrin, as he’d bugged them for their opinions constantly). The hand-painted day and night scenes- Bdubs’ Hermitcraft base in the sunlight, the mid-century modern house in the moonlight. The gold and copper vines decorating the outside, dotted with emerald specks for leaves. And the back, which simply read “For Bdubs- The Lover”.

“It’s… listen, I know I keep making them, and every time they mean something different, so I wanted to make a clock just to say… being soulmates with you was really awesome. You’re…” Impulse didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence, because he wasn’t quite sure that words could begin to even to describe his admiration for Bdubs, much less the whole soulmate thing.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. Bdubs stepped in and hugged him tight. Bdubs smelled like paint and wood and sweat in this world. There wasn’t that bitter taste of fear, the shaky elation of bloodlust. In this world, it wasn’t Impulse and Bdubs against the world. This was Hermitcraft, where death meant nothing but a good laugh at best and inconvenience at worst. But the games never quite left them, and Impulse held Bdubs tighter, hoping the other man understood it, all of it.

And hey, maybe he was a little too sentimental. But this was Bdubs, and Bdubs would always be special to Impulse. Maybe a little sentimentality, and a clock whose meaning kept changing, was what they both needed.

——

The obligatory one year later homewreckers fic, because impulse and bdubs are so dear to me lol