#a piece of the home he couldn't go back to

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[stargirlygirl]

Lads walkingvin on mc pleasuring themselves with sex toys they didn't know she had

star girl's initial words: thank you so much for requesting! hope you like this one. i've seen writers do this prompt before, so my apologies if i have nothing new to add. ALSO there's no raf as our relationship is tricky😔

they catch you during solo time

⭑.ᐟ caleb

i imagine you're sprawled out on your shared bed and caleb's been working a lot recently. when the colonel comes home, his sharp ears instantly pick up on your quiet gasps and moans.

he's in stealth mode as he creeps down the hallway and peers at you through the ajar bedroom door. pathetic. were you so needy you couldn't even close it? he thinks. but those thoughts fade as soon as he sets those tired sunset eyes on you.

oh, you naughty girl.

your lip is drawn between your teeth as you pump a pretty pink dildo in and out of your pussy. your slick glistens in the late afternoon light, covering your inner thighs and the lucky sex toy between them.

caleb groans low, palming his growing bulge through his too-tight trousers. he watches your back arch and hand stutter, burying the dildo deep in your cunt. the sweetest whimpers cascade from your lips, caleb's name slipping out amongst them.

he's already storming into the room before he can stop himself.

the colonel grabs your hand and wrenches it off the dildo. your eyes snap wide open, and your chest heaves.

"caleb!" you exclaim, trying to sit up, but you're still full of the toy. his other gloved hand presses the centre of your chest down, effectively pinning you to the mattress.

"what's this, pips?" letting go of your hand, he grips the base of the dildo and draws it out of your snug walls. you let out a soft moan, gnawing on your lower lip once more as you stare up at your partner.

"miss me, huh?" he asks cockily, sliding the dildo back in at an agonisingly slow pace. you nod energetically. his hand on your chest trails up, his leather-coated fingers tangling in your hair. he pushes your head up while kneeling on the bed, your foreheads touching while he fucks you with the toy.

he breathes out, "i missed you, too, honey. but this isn't fair. you can't do this without me." you whine as he pulls the drenched dildo out in one go. your arousal drips onto the bed.

caleb frowns. the dildo doesn't look anything like his cock. it's thinner and longer.

he asks, jealousy tinging his voice, "am i not good enough?"

"no!" you blurt out, reaching for the dildo, but he tosses it over his shoulder like a piece of trash.

"caleb!" you whine. but you don't have time to scold him before your massive boyfriend is climbing on top of you. shoes on the bed and everything, he cages you in.

"don't i make you feel good? are you bored of me?" he interrogates you, his eyes betraying his hurt. they look glassy in the sun's final rays.

you shake your head panically and insist, "no! that's not it, baby. i've-i've had this one for ages, i swear! n' i love how you make me feel. always make me feel so good, babe."

closing the distance between you, caleb catches your lips in a fiery kiss. he kisses you like he's trying to devour you and prove a point at the same time— that he can satisfy you in ways no one else can. especially wayyyyy more than some fuck ass dildo that doesn't even deserve to go near your sacred cunt.

all night long, caleb demonstrates just how attentive of a partner he can be. of course, while still in his uniform.

⭑.ᐟ xavier

you recently bought this new sex toy that you've been dying to try out. with xavier crashed out on the couch, you turn off the movie you two were watching and sneak off to your bedroom.

pulling the rabbit vibrator out of the box, you check the instructions and make sure everything is in working order before turning it on. it's low buzz echoes throughout the room, making heat pool in your tummy. stripping off your shorts and panties, you flop on the bed and start teasing yourself with the vibrator.

it's only been a few minutes of having the long part nestled deep in your cunt when the bedroom door softly creaks open.

in peers a sleeply xavier, one slender hand rubbing his eyes while he murmurs, "i heard a buzzing, love. is everything okay—" your eyes lock, and you frantically pull the vibrator out and turn it off.

"xavier!" you squeal grabbing the covers the hiking them up over your body. your poor boyfriend, he just stands here, wide-eyed in the doorway.

you grumble from beneath the quilt, "babe! go away!" it's quiet for another minute or so before you feel the space next to you sink with xavier's weight. you clutch the covers for dear life, but he pries them away from your hands.

your face is flushed as you stare up at your partner. his big eyes rest on you, his lips slightly pouty.

he says softly, "you could have told me you wanted my attention."

you shake your head and admit, "i wanted to try out my new toy, babe."

"oh," he mumbles, glancing away momentarily. feeling guilty, you place your hand on his bent thigh and squeeze it.

"xav," you call quietly. the only sound that can be heard is the rain pattering against the windows.

he gazes back down at you and offers, "why don't we try it out together?" sitting up, you fish around for the toy beneath the quilt.

"you sure you don't mind?" you ask, your hand closing around the handle. he hums in agreement as you pull it out.

grinning, you inform him, "it's a bunny, like you." he stares at the sex toy quizzically.

"what?" he asks. you laugh as you kick the covers off and shuffle over to him. he takes the toy from you while you spin around and sit on his lap, your back against his chest. grabbing his wrist, you bring the vibrator down to your pussy.

"let me show you how it works..."

⭑.ᐟ sylus

the crime overlord shows up at your linkon apartment unannounced, only to find you moaning his name with a bullet vibrator on your clit. your eyes are closed, head thrown back as the constant buzz takes you to a higher dimension.

sylus chuckles cockily, "what a warm welcome kitten." your eyes shoot open and immediately find your partner taking a seat at the end of your bed. you remove the vibrator from your clit and fumble to turn it off.

his deep voice interrupts your efforts, "please, sweetie. go on. pretend i'm not even here." you're too pleasure-drunk to come up with a witty remark to hopefully wipe that stupid smirk off his face. so you just lie back, eyeing him cautiously as you flick your vibrator back on and pick the sole setting every girl needs.

"you sure?" you ask breathily, spreading your legs wide for your boyfriend. he nods, still grinning arrogantly. you run the small vibrator through your folds, wetting it thoroughly before pressing the tip on your clit. a moan tears through your throat, jagged as your free hand cups your breast beneath your tank top.

sylus observes the slight tremble in your legs and how your back arches as you alternate between pinching your nipples. the vibrator never falters; it provides the kind of consistency men often struggle to.

nonetheless, you miss your partner's strong, rough hands on you. you miss those thick fingers curling up into your g-spot, and his hot mouth sucking on your sensitive bud.

"sy," you whimper, removing the vibrator from your pussy and switching it off.

"something wrong, kitten?" he teases, but you notice the strain in his voice.

sitting upright, you pout at him, "please, baby. 's no fun without you." he chuckles richly before standing up and making his way over to you. his black leather pants can't conceal his hardening length, that's for sure.

leaning down, you hold his cheeks and draw him into a loving kiss. you two haven't seen each other for days.

drawing back, you pant, "missed you, sy. need you." you cling to his leather jacket and pull him down onto the bed. his large frame engulfs yours as your lips and tongues dance the line between love and lust.

"please," you mewl into his mouth. separating, spit connects your swollen lips.

your boyfriend chuckles, "what do you need from me, sweetie?" the glittering ropes snap as you draw in a sharp breath, your eyes hungrily gazing at his lips.

"need all of you, sy. in me, till sunrise," you whine. he hums low, the sound caught in his throat. coming in close, he captures your lips in another heated kiss and vows to fulfil your every desire.

⭑.ᐟ zayne

pleasure shoots through your body, the clitoral suction vibrator doing everything and more to your swollen nub. you're unable to stifle your moans as the bedroom door is quietly pushed open.

zayne's head peaks in, his sleep-deprived hazels wandering over you. he gulps, his gaze narrowing in on the toy in your hand. heat flares in his lower tummy, your broken whimpers fuelling the blood rushing to his cock.

unintentionally, your boyfriend swings the door wide open. the hinges squeak, and so do you as you notice him standing there.

"zayne!" he strides in, seeming as calm and collected as ever while his eyes shift to the vanity.

"sorry, my love. i didn't mean to disturb you," he murmurs, undoing his beige waistcoat. reaching the wardrobe, zayne's back is to you as he starts undressing.

hearing the buzz stop, he urges you on, "please, keep going. i'll only take a minute." the sheets rustle and soon enough, your warm, bare body presses into your lover's from behind. your arms encircle his hips, fingers toying with his belt buckle.

"zaynie," you coo. he turns in your grasp and cups your cheeks, his white shirt half-unbuttoned.

you grin sweetly, "i missed you. will you please come to bed?" zayne's cool thumb strokes your cheekbone soothingly as he thinks over your proposal.

he clarifies, "don't you want some alone time, dear?" you shake your head while keeping your eyes on his.

"i want you," you respond breathily. standing on your tippy-toes, you pull your boyfriend into a hungry kiss. pushing your body flush against his, you giggle into his mouth at the hardness poking into your stomach.

breaking the kiss, you ask smugly, "how long were you watching me?"

pink dusts zayne's cheeks as he rasps out, "not very long."

"and you're already this worked up?" you tease. your lover sighs, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"i'm afraid you have that kind of effect on me, darling," he admits. chortling softly, you draw him into another tender kiss— one of many tonight.

masterlist

star girl's final words: random lore drop for today is that i love the sound of music, and sylus's line is inspired by/adapted from gayorg's when he finds maria sitting alone at night (just before something good).

[nekoashiii]

Hiii Ashi!! I have a request! Can you make one where the lads love interest are showing MC/Reader affection by kissing or hugging her in front of their children? I would LOVE to their children's reaction ^^

Notes: How i feel after disappearing and re appearing, also incase you don't know whenever i say tonight i mean the next night (●'◡'●)

Pairings: Dad!Lads/MC + Their kid (Part 1: Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne)

Extra: Masterlist || Sylus and Xavier will be on part two

Zayne:

The clock above the stove ticked softly, its hands inching past midnight.

Zayne ran a tired hand through his slightly tousled hair as he leaned back on the couch. His white shirt was wrinkled, the scent of hospital antiseptic still faint on his skin. The tie had been the first casualty the moment he stepped through the door. Now it lay somewhere near the front shoe rack, forgotten in favor of the warm home. and you.

You’d been waiting. Despite the exhaustion in your bones from days of Constant Wanderer missions, you’d stayed up just for this. For the quiet comfort between you two, For him. The two of you sat side by side now, a half-finished dinner sitting on the table, the sound of some low, peaceful movie playing on the screen, though neither of you were really watching it anymore.

He turned slightly, eyes tracing your profile in the dim living room light. “You’re still in one piece, celebration worthy” he murmured, voice low and warm.

You smiled faintly. “Just barely. Wanderers don’t take breaks.”

“Neither do surgeons” he replied, and his hand brushed against yours.

You shifted closer to him without thinking. It was one of those small, shared silences. The ones filled with so much more than words could express.

Zayne exhaled, pulling his arm around your shoulders, settling you against his side. His head tilted to press a slow kiss to your temple, just the kind of tired affection built from years of choosing each other again and again, even when everything else demanded otherwise.

He kissed you again, this time lingering near your cheekbone, fingertips brushing your arm. Your body eased into his side, melting into the rare comfort.

And then—

SSLLLUUUURP.

You both froze.

Zayne stiffened mid-movement.

Another sluuurp, unmistakably from a juice box, echoed from somewhere in the room.

Very slowly, you turned your head toward the sound.

Standing in the corner of the living room, half in the shadows and completely still, was Elias.

Wide-eyed. Tiny. Hair sticking up in every direction. Holding a grape juice box in one hand and sipping it with all the dramatics of a cartoon villain.

Zayne blinked. “...Elias?”

The six-year-old didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sipped.

You sat up straight, heart thumping. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I was…” Elias said flatly, lowering the juice. “Then I heard Dad come home. And i was thirsty, and i couldn't reach the glass cupboard for water...”

Zayne ran a hand down his face, half-laughing in disbelief. “You scared us. You were just standing there.”

Elias took another slow sip, completely unaffected. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You squinted. “Interrupt what?”

He looked between you and Zayne, blinked slowly, then stared at the TV like the answer was too obvious to say out loud.

Zayne sighed. “Elias… were you watching us this whole time?”

The boy gave a single nod.

Zayne looked almost horrified. “Why?”

Elias shrugged. “You were...hugging. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say something.”

You stifled a laugh and patted the seat next to you. “Come here, juice ghost.”

He climbed onto the couch, wedging himself firmly between you and Zayne. He leaned slightly against his father, still holding the juice box with both hands like a protective artifact, knowing daddy deary might start nagging on the fact that he drank sugary liquid late at night.

“You should go to bed,” Zayne said softly, glancing down at his son.

“Okay. later” Elias leaned closer into him, almost shyly. “I just wanted to… be here.”

Zayne blinked once, the corner of his mouth twitching. He draped an arm around Elias wordlessly, pulling him in without a fuss.

The three of you sat there in the quiet.

The movie played on.

Rafayel:

The bridge glowed under warm, golden lights strung between its beams like stars, their reflections glittering in the water below. The night air was cool but not cold it was perfect, the breeze was carrying a soft scent of sugar and sea salt from the snack carts lining the cobblestone walkway of the bridge. Tourists bustled everywhere. couples holding hands, kids licking their ice creams, musicians strumming guitars with bright smiles.

Rafayel, always the picture of effortless elegance, walked beside you with a quiet kind of pride. His dark-ish purple hair fell slightly over his brow, ruffled by the sea breeze. A charcoal-grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. The edges of his long coat brushed against his boots as he strolled at a relaxed pace, holding a paper cone of roasted chestnuts. Feeding seraphina some.

Your hand was clasped firmly in his. Seraphina skipped ahead of you, her curls bouncing, face sticky from the powdered donuts she’d practically inhaled ten minutes ago. She was wearing the little yellow jacket you picked out for her months ago but never got the chance to give until now.

“Look, look!” Seraphina shouted, rushing toward the side of the bridge. “There’s a boat down there with pink lights!”

Rafayel chuckled, shifting his hand so his fingers laced through yours more tightly. “This place is surreal,” he murmured. “Almost feels like it was painted for us.”

You smiled at that. “Spoken like a man who’s painted enough cities to know.”

He stopped, tugging you just slightly closer to the railing, his voice lowering so only you could hear it. “No painting I’ve ever made could compare to you in this light”

You flushed and rolled your eyes at him, even as your heart fluttered. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I should be. I was gone for two weeks in Paris.” He leaned in slowly, his hand moving to the small of your back. “Missed everything. Especially this face.”

Before you could respond, Rafayel dipped his head and kissed you—soft and sure. Not rushed at all, Just the kind of kiss that said I know you. I love you. I’m home.

You melted into it for a breath or two, your hand settling lightly against his chest.

Then—

“EWWWWWWWW!”

The high-pitched shriek of your daughter cracked through the moment like a bottle dropped on tile.

You broke the kiss, laughing into Rafayel’s coat as Seraphina clutched each of your legs like she was about to faint. Her cheeks were puffed, her eyes wide with theatrical horror.

“I saw that!” she squealed. “Daaaad, that’s so gross! as gross as a legless crab!”

Rafayel grinned, turning toward her with an utterly unrepentant expression. “Your mom’s beautiful.You know I’m allowed little fishy.”

“Not in public!” Seraphina squeaked, stamping her foot. “Other people are looking! They’re gonna think you guys are in love!”

“Oh nooo, what shall we do now?! the seas are going to dry up and its all going to be my faullttt!” he said sarcastically, bending down to pick her up despite her squirming protests.

“Yes daddy! it is, and you two are married. That’s different from being in love!” she protested, though she was giggling as she tried to wriggle out of his arms.

You laughed, watching Rafayel nuzzle his cheek against hers while she let out a muffled scream of mock indignation. “Stop kissing everyone! You’re gonna get me cooties!”

“That’s the risk you take when you travel with artists,” Rafayel said, his eyes flicking to you with a wink. “We’re known for being passionate.”

"no!” Seraphina, now draped like a limp cat in her father’s arms.

“You didn't get that from me,” you teased, pinching her nose lightly.

“No, I get my normal me from you!”

“See?” Rafayel chuckled. “Now she’s turning into a critic. We’re doomed.”

Eventually, Seraphina insisted on walking again—only after Rafayel promised not to kiss anyone for the rest of the bridge walk. She marched forward with her chest puffed and her donut box like a shield, keeping at least a foot of distance in case her parents got weird again.

But every few seconds, you caught her glancing back. Her eyes were squinted suspiciously, sure, but they held something else too.

Joy.

Caleb:

It’s been a long day, you’ve been working two missions back to back in the new work program that the hunter’s association has established, also thanks to that Caleb had to take some shifts off to take care of your little 7 year old son Noah.

The sun was already setting by the time you trudged up the front porch steps, the weight of your gear dragging at your limbs. Your boots were covered in dust and dirt, Your shoulder throbbed from the recoil of your blaster rifle. Two missions back-to-back was brutal. But eversince your boss had been moved and replaced, the new work program at the Hunter’s Association didn’t exactly ask if you were tired. You were one of the few capable of handling the more grotesque, unpredictable alien creatures that kept breaching containment zones. So, you did what you always did: pushed through.

The scent of grilled cheese and Fried wings wafted through the front door the moment you stepped inside. The lights were warm and soft. Your hearing still rang faintly from the concussive force of earlier explosions, but even so, you caught the faint patter of socks on hardwood before you heard the shout:

“MOM!”

You barely had time to drop your pack before Noah launched himself at you like a guided missile, arms flung wide. He crashed into your legs with all the force his small body could manage, wrapping himself tightly around your waist.

“Whoa—hey, kiddo,” you breathed, crouching down, even though your back screamed in protest. “Easy, I’m still in one piece. I promise!”

Noah sniffled, clearly holding back tears. “You said just one mission.”

“I know,” you said, brushing his messy black hair back. “Got reassigned last minute. You know how it is.”

Caleb’s footsteps came from the kitchen, heavy and precise. “That’s not an excuse” he said, but his voice was quiet.

You looked up at him.

He had the sleeves of his gray undershirt rolled to the his biceps, a dish towel slung over one shoulder. His uniform jacket was draped over a nearby chair. His hair was slightly tousled—clearly Noah had gotten his hands in it earlier, but his eyes, those stormy Purplish pink eyes, locked on yours like you were the only person in the room.

“You’re home,” he said simply.

You nodded. “Mhm”

He didn’t say anything else. He just walked forward, wrapped an arm firmly around your shoulder, and pulled you into him. You let your face fall against his chest. The warmth of him, the strength, the safety, for a few seconds, it melted every ache of your bruises and every ugly image from the day. His hand smoothed down your back, a firm, slow drag. Then you felt him tilt his head down and press a lingering kiss to your temple, right against the place where your skin was still smudged with ash.

You closed your eyes. Sank into it.

And then—

“EWWWWWW!”

Caleb didn’t move. His lips curved against your skin instead.

“Disgusting!” Noah wailed, half-laughing, half-betrayed. “That’s—gross, Daddy!”

You pulled back just enough to glance at your son. He was standing there with both hands over his eyes, fingers spread wide enough to peek through, his nose scrunched like he’d smelled rotten milk.

Caleb smirked. “It’s affection, Noah. You better get used to it.”

“No! You’re not supposed to kiss Mom! She’s a Hunter! She fights monsters, she’s cool, she doesn’t get kissed like that!” Noah flailed his arms dramatically and dropped to the couch like he was dying.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Hunters don’t get affection, huh?” you teased, glancing at Caleb.

“I guess I missed the memo,” Caleb said, brushing your hair off your cheek and leaning in again—purposefully slower this time—to press a quick kiss to your lips.

Noah screamed again. “DADDY STOP! I’M RIGHT HERE!”

“Then stop looking,” Caleb muttered with zero remorse, pulling you even closer.

“I have EYES!”

You chuckled, resting your forehead against Caleb’s. “Come on now, no more, He’s gonna lose it.”

“He’ll survive,” he murmured. Then, quieter, meant only for you: “I missed you.”

You softened. “I missed you too.”

Behind you, Noah was flailing around on the couch again, trying to smother himself with a pillow and declaring that this was “THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.”

Caleb rolled his eyes but gave you a final squeeze before letting you go. “Come on Pipsqueak 1 and 2 . Food is still warm.”

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Mark Grayson x chubby male reader. I know that man loves them plump and chunky (confirmed in the comics 🙏) 100% a soft dom and yeah.

Again, got lost in the sauce. Think this is the last one. Crazy how I went from obsessing over Jason Duval to Mark, wonder who's next, find out in a couple of weeks

I'll see y'all in a month. Enjoy!

Mark loves everything about you: your wonderful personality and your chubby body. So, when your mind starts blabbering about him not loving you, telling you that, why would a man like him be with someone like you, or he's just with you out of pity, Mark shuts that down. He always reassures you that he's in love with you and that nothing is gonna change his mind about it.

Cuddles, sex, and words of affirmation usually work. He'll eliminate those negative thoughts and replace them with positive ones.

You were optimistic in the morning, much better than you were a couple of days ago. It made Mark's body fill with joy as he watched you being you. So, he decided to take you out, let you choose wherever you wanted to go.

...

"This is where you wanted to go?" Mark asked, standing in front of the entrance to the high-end lingerie boutique. It made him wonder what you'll look like wearing sexy pieces of lingerie, or even a thong. The thoughts made his core warm with arousal.

"I'm just curious. Just to browse," you replied, pulling Mark into the boutique.

The boutique itself was lavish; it smelled faintly of rosewater and vanilla, and soft jazz music was playing in the background, with golden lights spilling and shimmering across the satin display. Lacy bras, lingerie sets, and thongs hung delicately on hangers while mannequins were in the center of the store, posing with pieces that were popular to buy.

You began to regret your decision, but decided to push that down and just browse. Mark, on the other hand, was like a kid in a candy store, picking and looking at different pieces of lingerie, especially thongs. Mark thinks you would look stunning in these pieces.

"Come on, babe, you'll look amazing in this!" Mark said as he held out a thong, stretching the piece of fabric with his fingers.

"Mark, my ass will literally fall out, its not made for that," you mumbled, playing the hem of your hoodie as your face was red from the thought of wearing that.

"It is most definitely made for this," Mark said, pulling you closer to his body. His hand rests on your hips, rubbing circles into them as he plays with the thong, his eyes shamelessly roam your body as he already imagines you wearing it. Heat blooms in your body, shifting in Mark's touch as he gives that handsome grin.

"Fine..."

"Yes! We're getting this. And the mesh one. And the red and black set over there." Mark said, pressing a kiss on your forehead before going all over the boutique to find whatever would look good.

Back home, you started to try out the pieces Mark brought. You stood in front of the mirror, examining yourself. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your stomach. The thong clung to your hips, showing every curve and crevice. Negative thoughts began flooding your head, telling you that this was meant for someone else. Someone better. Someone slimmer.

You couldn't look at yourself anymore. It felt disgusting. You squeezed your love handles, you looked at your pudgy stomach sticking out like a sore thumb, and your man boobs flopping on both sides. How could Mark like this? Wouldn't he want someone better? Maybe Eve? She is slim and beautiful, and they're always together.

"Are you done? I wanna see... hey, hey, why are you crying?" Mark said as he stepped into your room, you jumped as your gaze met his in the mirror. There was concern in Mark's voice as he stood beside, pulling you into his arms. You momentarily forgot about everything. It was nice being in Mark's arms... so warm and comforting, but it came back.

"I look... weird. Too much skin is showing, and this extra... meat," you mumbled, as a tear prickled your eyes, your lips quivering. You gestured towards your love handles, squeezing them.

"You think I don't love that? You don't get it, do you?" Mark mumbled as he leaned down and pressed his lips on your shoulder, his other hand moving down to your waist.

"Get what?"

"You don't get how absolutely obsessed I am with you. This body... Your hips, thighs, and ass... everything about you makes me love you more." Mark groans as he gropes and kneads your flesh. His kisses got more persistent as he intended to worship your body, wipe out any negative thoughts.

"Why would you think I was lying, babe? To me, you don't realize how hot you are, and that's only half of what makes me obsessed with you." Mark said wholeheartedly as he continued his ministrations, turning you around and lifting you, it was easy, you weighed nothing to him. He tossed you on the bed after giving some light kisses.

"And before you say it, there is no one else. There's only you." Mark said as he didn't want to hear you degrade yourself more. He cupped your face, pressing his lips against yours. He needed you to feel every ounce of love and affection.

taglist: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr

Author's note: I got lost in the sauce. Why must all this quick writing come when I'm writing drabbles, but not when I'm writing my requests? Anyway, there might be a part two with smut.

[dxmurewrites]

Light in the Dark

Part One of a two shot I'm making for Paddy! No actual smut in this one, I wanted to write something that could be read as a standalone + with a part two containing the smut.

pairing: Paddy Mayne x Fem!Nurse!Reader

summary: Seeing you in his clothes made Paddy feel absolutely feral, and he hated himself for it.

word count: 3010 words.

unedited: it's 2am again ... I cannot be bothered.

warnings: language, mentions of war, blood, wounds, medical language, reader has hair (my bad, we washing our hair in this), sexual tension, impure thoughts, mutual bullying, mutual attraction despite denying it, borderline possessive behaviour, nsfw themes but no actual smut!

let me know what you think! I love feedback! Unless it's mean, then that's stink energy... like, comment, reblog, mwah.

———————

“You smell like shite."

"Hello to you too Paddy," You chuckle, writing in your journal. You hadn't looked up to the Lieutenant as he entered your tent, keeping your head down as you continued writing in your stock inventory. "Are you well?"

"M'fine," He answers quickly, looking you over. His gaze lingered over your uniform, the small drip of sweat that dripped down your neck and beneath the fabric. Paddy clears his throat. "Here to take you to the showers."

Oh.

You hadn't even realised the time.

6pm on the dot.

Bathing was a luxury here, but being the only woman meant you couldn't shower at the same time as everyone else. Begrudgingly, Paddy has been tasked with supervising you as you bathed, albeit with his back turned.

He trusted his men, as did you, but it was apart of the terms to having you on site. You showered when the sun was coming down, and Paddy made sure there weren't any peeping toms trying their luck.

"Right, of course," Nodding, you quickly stand, packing your journal back into its place on your makeshift desk. He watches intently as you run around the infirmary, picking up pieces of clothing you had strung up to dry. "Let's go then." "Oh you're ready are ya?" Paddy quips, checking his pocket watch with a dramatic sigh. "No s'fine, I'll wait around for you to paint your nails next." Snorting, you barge past him, being sure to bump into his shoulder with your own with your clothes in hand. He grunts at the action, turning around to follow after you. "Keep being a bastard and I'll paint your nails next."

You didn't even have any nail polish, he knew that - but Paddy was sure to ridicule you every chance he got.

No one could explain what was going on between the two of you. Everyone knew there was something there, but Paddy was stubborn to all hell, and you, well, you just enjoyed keeping him on his toes.

His lips turned upward at your remark, but the lieutenant chooses not to reply, keeping a small distance between the two of you as he escorts you to the temporary bathrooms.

Within minutes you were stripped to nothing, hair out of it's tied back state and soaked by the cold water pouring from the shower head. The 'walls' were ripped blankets, the floor an old welcome mat from some long forgotten home.

Paddy stood with his back turned just a few metres away, his hands crossed over his chest as his eyes scanned around. No one would be dumb enough to even try anything, but he still took his little role seriously. His mens safety was his priority, and that included you.

"Paddy," he hears you call, the water now switched off. "Could you pass me my towel please?"

He nods once in response, grabbing your bundle of clothes and your towel from beside him. Walking backwards, he keeps his eyes on the sand below him, walking until the sand turns into concrete, and he holds his arm out, waiting for you to grab your belongings.

Your small hand reaches out, soft fingers brushing against his calloused ones as you mumble a small thank you.

Paddy waits a little longer, hearing the rustling of clothes and the familiar sound of the shower 'door' being opened. He turns his head slightly, seeing you dressed in your night clothes, hand running through your wet hair with your towel as you give him a mock salute.

"All good here lieutenant," you say his title like a mockery amongst friends, but he didn't care. "As usual, my sincerest gratitude."

It was his turn to snort. "One of these days I won't have to babysit so you can wash your arse." He shakes his head, watching as you grin at his words.

"Can't argue there," You shrug, continuing to dry your hair and running your fingers to pull out any tangles. "But until then, my washed arse thanks you."

The Irishman just eyes you with humour in his eyes, and you nudge him with your elbow before excusing yourself, making your way back to your tent. His eyes follow your every step, and he clears his throat, nodding to himself before he returns to his own quarters.

It was only a couple hours later when it felt like hell had taken over. A mission had gone successful, but one of the Sergeants, Pat, had been quite injured. It was manageable for you, but it had been a hands on moment and a few of the others had to assist.

Pat lay in the infirmary, bandaged head to toe and completely out of it. You sat beside him, catching your breath as your arms rested on your thighs. Blood soaked your hands and arms, your pyjamas stained - there hadn't even been time to change when the boys brought him in.

They had yelled for you the moment they returned, carrying the unconscious and wounded man in like he was a limp doll. It had been tedious, even worrying at one point, but he was alive and would make a full recovery.

It didn't stop the shakes in your hands however, or the blood that dripped from your fingers to the ground below. You wiped at your face, mixing with the sweat that gathered across your forehead.

He's alive.

That's all that mattered.

"You alright?"

His voice startled you, your hunched over frame jolting at the sudden intrusion. Paddy holds his arms up, a small apology leaving his mouth at your jump.

You nodded, wiping your cheek again, eyes squinting as you yawn. "Should be asking if Pat's alright," you say through your yawn, pointing towards the sleeping soldier next to you. "Which he is, time will decide the rest."

Paddy nods slowly, his lips tightening in a small frown as he thinks over your words. "Course he'll be good, he's got you looking' after him."

Your eyebrow raises at the compliment. It wasn't like the Irishman to say sweet things, maybe a jest mixed with a small praise, but never just flattery. A part of you wanted to comment on it, make fun of him and meet him at his usual level, but you decided against it.

"Thank you Paddy," you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear as you stood up, stretching out your legs. "Are you alright? No lumps or bumps you're not telling me about?"

His frown melted away as he shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Ye still trying to get me naked nurse?" there he is. "Ye little deviant."

"S'it working?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he steps towards you. The air felt different in the tent, dry, sure, the desert providing barely any relief, but you always felt heated when the lieutenant was near. Paddy's eyes roam over your frame, his eyebrows furrowing as he takes in the state of you.

"You need another wash," He remarks, nodding towards your blood stained skin and pyjamas. "I'll get Stirling to watch over Pat 'ere, want me to grab anything' for ye?"

It was your turn to frown, looking around the room. The only spare clothes you had were still drying on various pieces of furniture, and you groaned. "I don't have any night clothes left," you admitted, feeling almost childish for even complaining about it. "This was my last clean pair."

Paddy shrugs, thinking it a non issue. "Just head on out and leave it with me," as if sensing your reply, he gives you a stern look. "Just do it girl."

Holding your arms up in defeat, you follow his order, leaving the tent and into the night. Various soldiers stood around the site, all nodding at you in thanks, some saying your name in appreciation.

Their nods were met with a small smile, feeling a little ridiculous in your pyjamas and blood covered state.

It wasn't anything they weren't used to.

As far as they were concerned, you were a light in the dark that kept everyone safe. Just like Paddy. They were adamant the two of you were so similar in your own little, weird way.

You sat on a rock, staring off into the vast desert as you waited. It wasn't long until Paddy, true to his word, met you at the showers. He held some clothes in his hand, even a hairbrush.

The area was dimly lit by some lanterns, but it was just enough to see what was in front of you.

"Stirlin' thought you'd want to fix the mop on your head," He titled his chin into the direction of your head, and you rolled your eyes. "But 'ere, try these."

He hands the clothing over, and you didn't even have to ask, already knowing who they belonged too. "You okay parting with these?"

Paddy's eyes narrowed at your words. "How'd you know these are mine?" he exhales in amusement. "What if I pinched them from Reg?"

"Reg doesn't have clothes this clean," you retort, holding the clothes away from your body in an attempt to keep them clean. "Besides, they got a Paddy smell to them." "A Paddy smell," He repeats your words, rolling his eyes. "What, shite and sweat?"

"You don't smell like shit," Laughter leaves your lungs instantly, handing the clothes back to him as you begin to walk towards the shower. Paddy takes his position, back turned to the world as you begin to undress. "You smell okay, all things considered."

He hums at your response, taking it as a win. It was a luxury even having somewhere to bathe, so no one was expected to smell like flowers and oils.

With the blood washed from your body and coating the floor, you dried off before pulling on Paddy’s shirt, buttoning up the best you could.

By the time you were finished, you stood beside him once more, now time sporting one of his army fatigues. It covered everything that was needed, leaving your legs bare from the thighs down.

Was it appropriate?

Not really, but given the situation, no one was going to question it.

Paddy turns to look at you completely, his jaw tightening as he takes everything in. He inhales, quietly enough that he hoped you didn't notice.

You did.

He was anything but inconspicuous.

God, you were a vision. Even in the low light from the lanterns, you managed to steal his words and make the mouthy man feel mute. He thought you were breathtaking even when wearing the most mundane uniform, but seeing you in his clothes made him feel like the world around him was spinning.

Maybe he was concussed.

Clearing his throat, Paddy looks away, feeling almost guilty for his thoughts. You had just saved one of his men, lost another set of clothes to blood and had to shower in the cold of the night.

The sound of you brushing your hair filled his ears, and he cleared his throat again, trying to think of anything else. "Should uh - should get ye' out of the cold."

"It's actually quite nice," you admitted, finishing with your hair and tucking the hairbrush into one of Paddy's pockets, ignoring the way he eyed your movements like a hawk. "Bit overexposed though."

"Aye," he agrees, finally looking over your bare legs and swallowing. "One breeze and you're giving the boys a show."

You laugh loudly at his words, but he wasn't wrong, so you nodded, nudging him with your elbow. "Not wearing anything under this either, I think I'd make their whole year."

He closes his eyes at the revelation. It was meant as a joke, but knowing you were in fact bare beneath his clothes made his pants feel a little tighter, and he felt the heat in his stomach begin to bloom.

Your giggles sound like a siren's call, the sound becoming softer as you had already started your walk back to your tent, eager to send Stirling away and keep an eye on Pat.

By the time you made your way back into your tent, the once empty infirmary was now full of soldiers. It stopped you in your tracks, seeing familiar faces all laying on the beds, even Stirling asleep in yours.

"Am I missing something? Sleepover at mine?" You call out, bringing everyone's attention to the entrance of your makeshift home. "Didn't realise it was girls night."

A few laugh, someone even going as far to wolf whistle at you, noticing your new attire. "We thought we'd all stay in here for when Pat wakes up Miss." Jim, one of the sweeter giants in the bunch answers.

"Right," your voice trails off, eventually feeling Paddy's presence behind you. "And where am I meant to sleep?"

"Not in here," Paddy responds from behind, side stepping you and eyeing the scene in front of him with a raised eyebrow. "Look at you lot, kickin' our own nurse out of her bed."

"Blame Stirling," someone calls out, bringing attention to the lieutenant in your bed. "We'll keep an eye on everything anyway, you can sleep in my bed Miss."

"Or mine!" Someone else shouts, and a few more offer their beds with an eagerness that made you laugh loudly.

"Enough of that," Paddy stands with his hands on his hips. "She's not staying' anywhere near you lot."

"I'll sleep in David's bed then," You shrug before nodding towards Pat, who still remained asleep. "Just keep an eye on his bandages, any fresh bleeding and you all come wake me up yeah?"

They murmur in agreements, some giving you a thumbs up before you give Paddy a nod, making your leave once again.

The infirmaries tent flaps close behind you, and you're about to make your way to Stirling's tent when a hand on your waist guides you elsewhere. His footsteps step in line with yours, and you can't help but roll your eyes playfully at the action.

It was obvious who it was. Only one person here would be confident enough to touch you this way. That, and you were being directed to another familiar tent, one that resided further away from everyone else's.

"Not joining the sleepover Paddy?" you mutter softly, smiling from ear to ear as he grunts in response.

"You're not sleepin' anywhere I can't keep an eye on you," He sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. The Irishman leads you to his tent, holding the entrance open and escorting you inside. He nods towards his trundle, made and ready for a body. "I'm goin' for a wash, I won't be long."

"You don't want me to escort you?" It was a jest, and Paddy pushed you forwards towards his bed in response. "Don't want me to pretend I'm keeping my back turned and not taking little sneak peaks?"

"Watch it." He points his finger at you, saying your name in warning, but he doesn't deny it. He goes to say something else, his lips opening and closing a few times before he decides against it, instead just leaving in a rush.

It made you grin, and you did what he asked, climbing into his bed eagerly. His familiar scent coated the sheets, providing a comfort you weren't expecting.

Safety was a long forgotten feeling here, but with Paddy around, his very being provided a sanctuary you weren't expecting to find in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn't long before he returned, apart of him hoping you'd be asleep when he arrived seeing as he hadn't brought any clothes with him. The two of you eyed each other, a silent stare down as he swallowed, standing in the entrance with a tattered towel around his waist, droplets of water still sliding down his bare chest.

"Shit," Immediately closing your eyes, you hold your hands up and over them in an extra effort to shield yourself from the lieutenant. "Sorry."

"It's okay." You hear him mutter, followed by some rustling around. He pulled on a loose pair of trousers, a white vest following suit. Standing beside the bed as he pulled his pants up, he can't help once again the way his eyes follow your feet up to your soft thighs.

You had laid over the blanket, wanting to wait for Paddy's return to discuss the actual sleeping arrangements.

Paddy's breathing comes out laboured, noticing the shirt you had borrowed from him had shifted further up as your arms moved when shielding your eyes. He looks to the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts, sending silent threats to himself at the impure images he started conjuring up.

"Paddy?" Your soft voice brings his attention back to Earth, and he clears his throat, mumbling a 'hm?' in reply.

Your eyes were open now, your hands bunching at the blanket below. Your cheeks felt hot, your lower stomach feeling no different as you stared up at the man before you.

He eyes you curiously, and you shamelessly looked down below his waist, attempting to bring his attention to the erection he had started to grow.

It was his turn to blush, and he immediately stuttered your name and an apology, turning around to conceal himself. Paddy nearly chokes when he feels your soft hands on his waist, your delicate fingers urging him to turn back around.

"I'm not uh, I'm," Paddy tries to apologise, noticing you shake your head. "Fuck."

"Paddy," You speak again, slowly this time, as if the very weight of his name on your tongue became a soft hymn. "Don't hide from me."

"M'not hiding," he attempted to argue, the words falling short as another sigh left his lips as you dragged your nails across his hips. He says your name again this time, half in warning, half in protest. "You're just playin' a very dangerous game here."

"So play with me then." Your voice sounded like warm honey, sweet despite the sinful desire that laced your words.

"Christ."

[royharperwifey]

₊‧.°.⋆Nanami Kento⋆.°.‧₊

Summary: Nanami comes home. To his wife after a hard mission.

[husband!nanami] [mlw] [dad!nanami] [mother!reader] [bottom nanami????] [Fluff] [ever so slightly suggestive at the end] [married]

Kento got home tired. The fatigue radiated off of him. His body was battered, but nothing too major. He called your name from the doorway of your shared apartment as he slipped off his shoes. He became quite clingy when he was this tired. Sometimes he just wanted to be left alone and sometimes he couldn't bear it.

"Hello, darling, how was the mission?" You ask, brushing some of his blonde hair from his forehead and pressing a kiss to it.

"Successful." He said softly. Your daughter ran up to him, hugging his leg. This in itself made his heart soften and some fatigue leave him. She had your brown hair and the blonde from his side that acted as natural highlights. He had his brown eyes, but he was never reminded of the many pairs of brown eyes hes watched die. He was reminded of the beautiful, smart little girl that you carried and birthed.

"Daddy! Daddy! I missed you!" She exclaims as she squeals with delight.

"I missed you, too, sweetie." Kento reaches down and picks the squirming 4 year old up under the arms and presses kisses to her cheeks, causing a jolly, beautiful giggle filled the space of the entryway, causing his heart to swell and fill with love for you and his daughter.

"Come on, pumpkin, it's bath time." You say, causing your daughter, to pout out her bottom lip.

"But mommyyyy." she whines.

"No, no. Bath time." You say and you shoot a look to Kento, asking him to help.

Kento sniffs the little girl theatrically before pulling a grimace. "You smell. Go listen to mommy. It's bath time."

The 4-year-old squirms out of her father's hold and toddles to the bathroom where the bath has already been drawn. This left a moment alone between you and Kento. He snaked his arm around your waist and tugs you towards him.

"You look beautiful." He murmurs as he looks down at you with a tired expression in his soft and loving brown eyes. Your gentle hands place themselves onto his chest.

"I spent all day cleaning and cooking and taking care of our beautiful baby girl." You smile. "I probably have mayonnaise and bleach on my shirts and socks and I probably have kiddies' lipstick kiss marks on my cheeks." You add, which wasn't wrong.

"I know. And you are still as beautiful as the day I married you." He smiles and kissed your cheek gently, right on top of the kiss mark.

"If I looked this tired and covered in dirt and grime and my hair looked this mussy on our wedding day, I would be worried." You laugh. You laugh does something to him. It's his favourite thing in the word. It was the first thing that was able to ground him when he would have an internal war of anxiety an he was about a minute away from bursting into flames. Or throwing a chair at someone.

"Motherhood looks just as — if not more — beautiful, as the wedding dress and makeup you wore walking down that aisle."

"When did you become so romantic?" You ask, your fingertips grazing the slight 5 o'clock shadow that will be gone by morning.

"I'd ask when you became so beautiful, but you've always been breathtaking."

"Are you buttering me up so that I can cook you your favourite meal and clean you up? Because i can do that anyway." You said. He shakes his head.

"Simply telling my wife how much i love and appreciate her." He says. You press your lips to his and he melts. Kento's arms turn lax around your waist, his shoulders slump, his posture relaxes and the crease between his eyebrows goes away.

You gently pull him to the couch once the kiss is over. you get out a first aid kit and you take his shirt off.

"Barely home five minutes and you're already undressing me. I feel objectified by my own wife." Kento teases.

"I'll be right back. I just need to dry and dress our little princess." You say as you stand up.

"I knew it! All i am is a piece of meat for you to ogle. I am wounded. I knew you only married me for my body," he gasps dramatically, "And you even baby trapped me, you monster." He calls through the apartment, causing your laugh to echo through the halls. You finish dressing your daughter.

"Daddy's so silly." She grins delightfully. As she giggles, which is just as delightful.

"Yes, Daddy is very silly, isn't he?" You reply before giving her a pat on the rear. "Come on, time for sleep." You say. She lets' out a little protest, but not much, as sleep takes over her mind.

"Good night, mommy." The little girl smiles sleepily.

"Good night, pumpkin." You smile and flip off her light as you walk back to the living room to tend to your whiney and dramatic husband.

"Darling, you have returned." he smiles.

"Yes. Now let me clean you up." You say as you take the antiseptic and dab it on a rag before dabbing it on his cuts. Your one hand rests on his thigh.

"I see what you're doing." his eyes are fixed on the hand on his thigh. You are pressing your hand there to support your weight.

"You are trying to impregnate me. But sorry for you, woman, I cannot get pregnant." You are almost 100% sure this man is high on pain pills right now.

"But I can." You say.

"That can be arranged."

[sentientsheepdog]

My thoughts on what kind of hybrid the 141 guys would have (all more or less accidental acquisitions since none of these guys have normal or predictable schedules) Tw for sensitive topics (past neglect/ bgc suicide/trafficking)

Gaz: Grey parrot hybrid that escaped neglect and hit his window. The concussion was barely a memory by the time all their pulled feathers had grown back. He loves showing off his healthy, shiny birdie in pictures (don't you dare call the grey drab that's thinnnn ice look how shiny its basically silver arent they so pretty) and takes great pride in keeping them happy. Always smiling like the sun when he gets to go home because his birdie will tell him all about every piece of entertainment they devoured while he was gone over some fruity treat and season appropriate drink. Loves taking his bird out book shopping and to museums, Birdie needs enrichment and he needs to spend time in society. The anklet his bird wears has a tracker in it, just in case they get lost or worse.

Soap: wild Snake hybrid he kept from a worse fate by catching them before they reached his neighbours chicken coop. Hissed and struck at him all the way back to his living room until they felt the heat from the hearth and proceeded to curl up and sleep for hours. They always hang off the beams in his farmhouse whenever he gets home to 'scare' him. He plays along just to take their heating pads as 'punishment'. Wild thing can't admit they want to cuddle up. That's alright. Johnny can read his hissy housesitter like a picture book and enjoys the little game they play. He still hasn't quite managed to catch the iridescent glint of their scales in his paintings, but he's working on it every chance he gets.

Ghost: Bunny hybrid he found sitting on his cabin porch. Poor thing got lost, and was so scared it bit him when he tried to herd it inside. Couldn't find them for 3 days when he let them out of his sight for a second after cleaning the filthy stray, found them shoulder deep in the fridge at 4 in the morning with a mouth full of chocolate still in the wrapper. Frequently and fondly thinks back on the adorable growl they let out when he wrestled the plastic out of their mouth. Wouldn't admit it but has grown fond of the flighty fluffball and its tendency to nap on him. Let's him play with their soft tail like a stress ball. Drags their ears down over their eyes to initiate play since they made fun of his mask with he gesture and got chased around for it.

Price: ESA Dog hybrid he took in when the previous owner took his own life a while after being medically discharged. Takes the hybrid to base with him at every opportunity so the bored pup can make use of their training by hanging around medics and keeping everyone calm. Wanders back to his office eventually and curls up in their bed under his desk until he's ready to leave for the day. Fetches him anything and everything he asks, even the occasional water bottle and snack he didn't ask for when he's focused on work. Acts like he begrudgingly lets them sleep in his bed when they have a perfectly fine one in their room, probably couldn't sleep without them there if he was honest about it.

Nikolai: Pangolin hybrid he got as a bonus on a business deal. He was thoroughly unimpressed with the unnegotiated crate he unpacked back in the Hangar, even less so when he heard scratching from inside it. Has a starring contest with the pitch black eyes that peek out at him he loses when their dark clawed scaly hands grab onto the remaining slats and rip the crate apart. He can't bring himself to give them up to a sanctuary, so he moves them into a homestead of a safe house where they are as safe and free as can be. Visits often to keep the mute hybrid entertained and supplied with everything they can't forage, grow, or make. Is guilty of fueling up extra to watch the hybrid happily sit in the rotor wash with bristled scales. Never leaves the homestead empty-handed, Pangolin is living in abundance and always has some hand-made treats on hand to share.

[eggcompany]

Zosan except

Zoro was pretty sure he'd marry Sanji. And live together forever. And make their own little family and grow old together and die together and spend eternity together. They'd been together since they were 15, they were each other's first everything.

First kiss, first make out, first to all sex. Zoro liked it, about to turn 20, about to get into the work force and provide for his dear Sanji. He loved life. He liked having sex with Sanji every few days, he liked eating his food, he liked coming home and seeing Sanji there. He didn't... expect it.

Sanji leaving. Just... disappearing without a trace. Zoro went to work as usual, leaving with a kiss to Sanji's forehead, and when he returned... Nothing. His cookware was gone, his clothes, his awards, his paperwork, everything was gone except for his cellphone on the counter.

Zoro had been in ruins for weeks. He just felt like a shell. His friends noticed, they were just as upset, but they could see he was worse. Zoro thought... he thought everything was ok. He thought they were good, their apartment, their bed, their- their everything. They'd been together and had done so much together and why would Sanji leave? What did Zoro do?

It took years for Zoro to become as close to whole as he could be again. He didn't date. Couldn't. But he went out with Luffy and the gang, he smiled, he... he lived.

He still sat up at night, looking at his ramshackle kitchenette in his studio apartment, remembering how happy Sanji had been when he got those big sets of pans for one Christmas. They were cheap but... he'd been so happy. He can still remember the sound of Sanji fussing at him when he stood by the stove and ate food before it was plated. Zoro always smiled, because they were so young, so happy.

Zoro was leaning against the brick wall of the club, his employee shirt snug over his chest. He was just standing in the alley, phone in his hands as he mindlessly scrolled around, his break a welcomed thing. He only looked up when he felt someone looking at him, standing just in the shadow of the building, someone was there farther down the alley.

"Hey, you alright? Need a taxi?" Zoro asked, thinking it was someone who'd stumbled out from the club, maybe too much to drink. But the person stood there, eyes wide, staring at him, skinny, lanky. Zoro pushed himself up off the wall, moving towards the person. Were they high? Maybe someone with mental problems? Did they need-

"Z-Zoro?" That voice, the way the name fell, it felt familiar. Zoro stepped closer, the person curling in on themselves, arms crossing over their chest. Zoro really looked the darkness making it difficult, the hair hanging over their face, hiding them away.

But there was no one else with those eyes. With that sunlight hair, as long and flowing as it was.

"Sanji?" Zoro asked, hands shaking slightly as they reached towards the blonde man, his arms were hairy where his sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up. Zoro really looked and there was no mistake. Even with dark pits around them, even with his patchy facial hair and his rumpled black outfit, Zoro would know Sanji in any way.

Sanji looked away, ashamed. But Zoro couldn't care. He wrapped his arms around him, his heart racing a smile breaking across his face without his permission. He felt everything else melt away, because he had his Sanji back. His. He pulled back, hands going to Sanji's long hair, gentle as he held his jaw, thumb going over his jaw under his dark eye.

"Sanji. You're here." Zoro said, the words making something break apart in his chest because he was right there. Right there. After years. Finally his missing piece was right there.

"Can you- Would you help me?" Sanji said, the words shaking as he said them. Suddenly Zoro felt less joy. Of course. Sanji would never come crawling back to him without reason. But he still- he still would do anything.

"You don't need to but... I'm in some trouble. Not- Not money. It's not money I promise. I just..." Sanji started but then a side door opened, slammed open. Sanji jumped, eyes going wide again, this time in fear. An enormous man walked out, followed by two others.

"Blondie! Get your ass back in there! Smoke when you're done with the client. Do you want the kennel again?" The man said ignoring Zoro's presence completely. Sanji shot him one last glance before turning and going back into the club, the man smacking his ass on the way in.

Zoro didn't care if Sanji- If Sanji left because of another guy. Or if he was unhappy, or if he felt trapped or anything else. Because he finally had a chance to get him back. And Now is the only thing that mattered.

[mochamoony]

"I don’t have time anymore to save you from yourself.”

part 2 from my last writing post

WE READ AND DON'T JUDGE I'm not a writer, I js wrote this for fun bc I wanted to see it in writing.

TW: Substance abuse, relapse, emotional distress, themes of abandonment

--- 488 words - James and Sirius

A few hours after Remus left, James walked in. The empty orange pill bottle lies on the floor. Sirius is slumped on the bed, slightly dazed.

Leaning on the door frame, James doesn’t yell. He just says it like it hurts. “Remus told me what happened.”

Sirius just hums, fiddling with his rings, a habit he falls into when he’s nervous. “Yeah? What’d he say?”

James doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks over and hops onto the bed beside Sirius. “Mate…” he exhales shakily, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.. “Look, Pads, I love you so much. You’re my best friend, and nothing could change that. But I can’t keep picking up the pieces. Every. Single. Time.”

And just like that, Sirius’s world collapsed, faster than he could catch it. This couldn't be happening. He’d lost Remus; he couldn’t lose James, too.

“No, please, don’t leave… I’ll do better, I promise.” Sirius’s voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, his eyes locked on James’s, those sweet golden brown eyes that had seen him fall apart more times than he could count.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

A heavy silence falls.

Then James reaches forward, covers Sirius’s hands with his own. “Pads… I have a wife and a newborn at home. I don’t have time anymore to save you from yourself.”

James crawls off the bed, turning to leave. Sirius wants to say something, but the words won’t come. They’re stuck behind the lump in his throat.

He pauses before leaving. “I’m not going to pick up the pieces this time,” James says, brushing a hand through his messy hair, something he and Sirius had tried to tame many times. His face is unreadable, but Sirius knows him too well, notices the pain behind the calm.

“Did Remus make you say that?” is all Sirius manages.

“No.”

James looks back one last time. “Pads, my love for you won’t change, you need to understand that, but I can’t help you this time. I don’t know how to help you anymore.”

“I can’t be the reason you stay alive. That has to be you.”

And with that, he walks out.

Sirius’s best friend had finally left him.

Sure, he said he loved him, but how long was that love going to last? Everyone who had loved him left, so why would this time be any different?

He stared at the wall, his pain silently growing; the pills couldn’t fix this anymore. The two people he loved most were gone. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he really was unlovable. Maybe this is what he deserved.

His eyes welled with tears; his ears rang from the silence. All he wanted was James back. The first person who had ever shown him what family felt like. The first person to give him love. Gone.

Now, all that was left was silence. An empty house. And an emptier heart.

[gccdstories]

Imogen breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing Isaiah, upon feeling the brush of his hand on her arm. She didn't even realize she'd been as tense as she was when he'd been behind that door until she'd laid eyes on him again, until she'd felt his touch.

But the way he stood, the aura coming off of him-- It concerned her, even if she knew where the anger truly directed.

~

Kaden nearly vibrated with the intensity of power that he held back. That flooded through every single inch of his veins. A part of him wanted to lash it out against Isaiah as the other passed him, as Isaiah had spoken to Kertayan--

Every single piece of him felt like it was too loud in here, and at the same time, that roaring was too quiet. Contradictory in every way, and he needed out. It was all Kaden could do in that moment not to outright explode, to unleash everything, to lash out and destroy every single one of them--even if he knew it wasn't them that he hated, that he wanted to harm, that he felt any anger towards--

But in that moment, Kaden needed out.

He needed out before he destroyed everything.

~

Nismera closed her eyes as Einar continued. The dull throbbing behind her eyes had increased into a constant ache now. Her brother--as much as she loved him--was going to be her undoing if he kept this up. Or at least make her lose the rest of her sanity and her head explode.

Like it wanted to do. Right now.

The pain of the migraine settling in to be a constant for the day.

Sharp nails scraped along the table as she stood, eyes opening and leveling her glare on Einar when Nismera raised her hand to cut him off.

❝ Your worries have been noted, Einar. ❞

Fuck, Kaden.

Even her thoughts on him were exhausted.

❝ But I'll deal with it. I'll deal with Kaden. With all of it. Do you understand? ❞ The last thing Nismera wanted to have to mess with was Einar running off in vengeance or misguided anger or whatever else he conjured up.

She couldn't have that--especially when she knew there was always more to Kaden's behavior than he ever let anyone see. Especially these days.

~

Isaiah having once more left her alone to deal with this entire fucked up mess, Imogen's mind whirled. Twisted. Her arms crossed over her chest as she paced, and she barely heard Kertayan at first, could barely seem to focus on the conversation.

Even if a part of her was grateful for the distraction. At least right now.

❝ He remembered that? ❞ It had been a comment once, centuries ago. A throwaway thing, really, that Imogen had said, as they'd walked through one of the wild fields, as the scents caught her attention. The fact that lilies always made her think of home...

An eyebrow rose as she looked back at Kertayan. ❝ Out of all the horrors in that place, and he hated that there weren't flowers for me? ❞ Only Isaiah, her mind seemed to supply the thought with a fondness that Imogen wasn't used to feeling.

And yet, at the same time, it instantly felt right. True.

But she shook her head at the offered drink, the tenseness still set in her shoulders to a certain extent. It was like that all through this place; Imogen sensed it through so many of them. That air of something is wrong.

She couldn't help but wonder if they felt it because of Elianna. Or Kaden. Or if her presence was part of it. Or if it always felt like that here. Maybe she just hadn't realized it at first, lost as she was with Isaiah...

❝ I don't think I can rest until... ❞ Imogen trailed off, but the meaning seemed to be clear.

She needed to know what happened. She needed to know everything worked out.

That, above all, Isaiah was okay.

Isaiah shoved him back from the door, getting in his face.

"Watch me."

He shoved the door open, eyes landing first on Imogen. He exhaled, fingers running down her arm and tugging her away from Vincent and Kertayan.

He bit back the words, to whisper in awe she'd stayed. That she'd waited for him.

Kertayan snorted and looked past Isaiah to Kaden.

"So no one died. That's -"

"Call them."

The bubble vanish, Isaiah's grip on her tightened and he dragged his eyes to Kertayan. Those eyes gold flecked watching him.

"Call them, the entire Council. We nearly lost our loremaster and warmaster, Elianna hasn't woken yet has she?"

He turned to Kaden, his magic pushing up against his skin, demanding to snap and break his heart.

"You've become a liability. I'm letting Mera deal with you. But I'm telling them, Mama hasn't survived this long to have you cost us the war."

------

Einar stopped pacing by the door, briefly looking his sister over. Ember only rose an eyebrow at him, hair pulled back in a war braid. She didn't show the turmoil, the hours she'd probably spent in panic as the news swept through the ranks.

Einar dragged his eyes to their aunt Nismera, his hands clenched and he pointed down the hall. His voice ice.

"He was going to let her die. He was going to let Ma die because -"

------

Enva rubbed at her temples. Why couldn't Kaden and Elianna do one thing properly? They couldn't be around each other, okay, so don't be around each other! Was it that hard for them? If she and Dacre had to part ways she'd bury her emotions and keep going.

Sotoria desvered that at the bare minimum. She looked up from the maps, not acknowledging Vincent as she met Dacre's eyes.

"Am I asking for a miracle? They can't be around each other so they shouldn't be. Why can't they do one fucking thing correctly."

Dacre shrugged, focusing on whittling the dragon in his palm.

"No you're not. They're clearly unable to follow basic commands. It -"

"Imogen is here."

Enva swallowed the urge to snap at Vincent. Dacre stiffened though, and maybe she did. Enva eyes narrowed at him.

"As a prisoner? Did you kill the guards holding her? I can open the back passages for -"

"She's here because she chose Isaiah."

Vincent looked ill saying the words, his jaw clenching tight. Enva frowned and looked toward her parents.

"Doesn't Isaiah have Malcolm's blood? Should I kill him? Is he manipulating Immi?"

She knew Autumn would crush her for it, but no one manipulated one of her dearest friends. Even an ally.

------

Kertayan sat on the edge of the windowsill watching Imogen flit around the room. He was counting down the minutes before Anaxia burst into the room.

She'd probably found out by now.

But no use sitting in silence.

Isaiah hadn't asked him to watch her, she probably didn't need it. But Vanir instincts died hard for him. Vanir worked on a kin system, Isaiah wasn't his King but in a different world maybe he would have been.

Malcolm had been a King once, gold eyes he'd seen in his mother's portrait hall. Gold eyes that demanded you Knelt and Obeyed. To Vanir everything revolved around blood.

Blood feuds.

Blood honor.

Blood ties.

"He says you liked wisteria and lilies. He lamented there wasn't any flowers in the prison to pick to make you things."

Kertayan eyed the door. Did Kaden understand yet?

Did he understand the axis had turned from he and Elianna?

If this was Vanaheim the colony would have knelt for her already. She'd be deep in royal chambers, bathed and anointed with blood wards.

Like so many of his own sisters, driving his mother's colony forward, giving them endless soldiers and bodies for this neverending fucking war. A path Melinoe hadn't wanted, she'd been too free, too curious. And as much as it has felt like tearing his own heart out, he'd not acknowledged or claimed her, let her fly off.

Kertayan pushed off the windowsill prowling closer. He poured her some water, looking her over.

"You should sit, drink, rest."

Old habits died hard.

He was bred to serve.

His mother wasn't here, he was a Prince with no king yet.

Maybe it would be Isaiah and Imogen, maybe he could finally get away from his parents and have a different colony, a different legacy to forge.

Maybe he could finally see past the blood he was drenched in.

[nobodysomeday]

I wanna talk about Jonny Wilkes for a minute because he's been on my mind again and I gotta get this out. Basically, Ayda gets a lot of credit for saving Rob, and rightly so. So much of who he is now is down to her and Rob is very vocal about that. BUT!!! I feel like Jonny Wilkes did a lot of the work long before her. Like he was helping Rob before he was sober the first time, when he was still drinking. And continued to closely support him through to at least the end of 2006 when Close Encounters ended, and has continued to be a close friend.

Like that night at the MTV awards in Stockholm. They talked about it in Nobody Someday (the film) and there's more detail in Feel (Chris Heath's book), but my takeaway from that night is that Rob was in such a bad way that he could've died. Jonny (and Josie) being there to stop him changed that. And on all the other slightly less insane nights out they had together, Jonny was always looking out for him. He ALWAYS had Rob's best interest at heart when somebody else might've taken advantage.

And Rob taking Jonny on tour got him through those tours I think. Those years were really hard for Rob, you see so much of it in the footage from those days where he straight up just doesn't want to do it. But Jonny grounded him and supported him and was just there. In doing so, Jonny sacrificed a lot of his life for him, which he did willingly and out of love, but he had his own career that got put aside.

When introducing Jonny at the Albert Hall show in 2001 Rob says "without him I wouldn't be performing in a dinner jacket tonight, I'd probably be performing in a straight jacket." It's a joke, but it's an open testament to what their friendship meant to him. They even lived together. He was a caring and watchful eye. And the press loved to speculate about them but neither really cared! A lesser friend would make a problem out of the attention.

Short clip of Jonny in 2008 talking about Rob and his part in motivating his comeback:

"we will, we will" just fuck me uuuuuup

I don't think Jonny ever fully understood Rob and what went on inside, but that's beside the point. For a long time they were the only two peas in that fucked up pod and I really appreciate what Jonny Wilkes did.

[padmerrie]

soooooo i was sick for 2 weeks

[marks-bby]

⠀⠀⠀“WHAT?! SEX BAN?!”

﹅ contains ;; gojo satoru , kento nanami , choso kamo , toji fushiguro , ryomen sukuna , geto suguru

﹅ alt title ;; how long the jjk men can withstand the sex ban

﹅ warnings ;; sorta sub!choso , whiny!choso , toji's part is more explicit than the others , this is my first time writing for some of the character so i'm sorry if i didn't describe them well

GOJO SATORU (3 days)

“are you serious?” gojo groans, slumping forwards. gojo watched in disappointment as you crossed your arms, looking away from him. "you did it so you have to pay." for weeks, you've been trying to tell gojo to separate the colors from the whites while doing laundry. him just wanting to get it over with, he dumped them all in the same load, ruining some of your favorite pieces of clothing.

"baby, please. i won't do it again," he begs, kneeling in front of you. but to no avail, you stood your ground.

it only took him 3 days to convince you to wave your white flag, surrendering to his seduction. "you look good in my shirts." gojo's hands caress your hips as he presses his chest to your back. "i would be in my clothes if you would just listen to me." you huff, "i never said i was disappointed." gojo whispered, his hard-on pressing on your ass.

“please. just drop the ‘sex ban’. i said i was sorry.” his lips make a trail of kisses on your neck. you needed him too. whenever he wasn’t around, you would use your toys, trying to not let gojo know you were sexually needy. but they didn’t work.

RYOMEN SUKUNA (not happening!)

no. just no. it’s funny that you even thought about putting that in motion. sukuna was too desperate for sex but never wanted to admit it.

“no,” he stood above, crossing his arms, making himself seem bigger than you (as if he even needed to do that). “you can’t deprive me of sex, woman.” he grunts. “but i can, kuna. that’s what you fail to realize.” you tut, standing up to walk away.

one of his four arms wraps around your waist, throwing you back on the soft surface. "you're not going through with this." he growls in your ear, crawling go top of you.

how dare you even think such a thing? you were his woman, his twin flame. you were the only person he showed the littlest respect to and you decide to do some foolery like this.

he tugs your shirt over your head, your bra coming next. his rough hands slide over your chest. "such beauty..." he whispers. "i'll make sure you never think of this again.

KENTO NANAMI (it was on accident)

his job was taking him away from you. between being a jujutsu sorcerer and a businessman, he couldn't find time to be a partner for you.

due to the lack of attention you were receiving, you became sexually pent up, having the urge to pleasure yourself at the worst times. the feeling of neglect was creeping up on you. some days, you forgot nanami even lived with you.

"love, i'm home." nanami tugs off his tie, tossing it to the side. "i don't know how long i can take of this." he rubs his temples, deeply sighing as he led himself to your shared bedroom. before his hand touched the cold metal knob, he heard your muffled moans and the squelching of your cunt.

he slowly opens the door, peeking in the room before fully entering. "it seems i've neglected you." he watches as you quickly cover yourself as if he hasn't seen you naked many times. he unbuttons the top of his shirt as he saunters to the edge of the bed, removing the covers off you.

"seems like i have some things to make up for."

CHOSO KAMO (not even a day)

"please." he whines, his head resting on your lap as he looks up at you. ever since you shared your first time with choso, he's been going at it with you like rabid dogs. if he wasn't inside you, his head was squished in between his thighs.

"choso, i need a break." you sigh, trying to remove him from off you. his grip on your legs was tight as he put his face in between your thighs, shaking his head. he was acting like he couldn't survive without your cunt somehow being involved.

"i swear, i'll leave you alone after. just please," he whined. you couldn't resist him for much longer. you hated when he got all whiny like a baby. he was spoiled because of you.

"fine." you undo the tie of your sweatpants before his hands swatted yours away, tugging your pants and panties off. "i promised you." he kisses your inner thigh before his tongue began flicking away.

TOJI FUSHIGURO (mans was balls deep in you the second you said it)

"you really think so?" he darkly chuckles, rubbing himself on you. "toji, i'm sorry. please." you whine, wiggling your ass on his cock. "i don't think you are." he teases, stepping away from you.

you whine, following him. "it was a joke." you press your hand on his chest. "did i laugh?" he tilts his head, smirking at you. you sigh, "toji, i'm sorry." you press yourself against him, your chest touching his.

"fuck." you knew he couldn't resist the feeling of your chest on him. it was like heaven to him. "turn around." he grunts, gripping your hips to turn you around, bending you over.

he easily slid inside of you due to how wet you got over time. "don't say stuff you don't mean, baby." he laughs, thrusting into your backside. it was worth it.

GETO SUGURU (you gave in after implementing it)

you wanted to test geto's limits, giving him an extra nnn moment which made you realize something. it was always you initiating sex. "geto, please. i give up." you whine, following him around the house.

he chuckles, "everyone must deal with their consequences, my love." he turns to you. he plastered a sinister smile, taunting you. he saw how much you needed him but he wasn't caving in until he heard you say it.

"i'll do anything. my hand isn't even working anymore." you simper. it was starting to become frustrating seeing how calm he was about all of this as you were suffering.

"i need you! is that what you wanted to hear?" you shout, earning a grin from him. he walks closer to you, his finger tracing your jawline, "why didn't you say that sooner, love?" he chuckles.

[kismetlotts]

cw: money kink? Simon is obsessed, Simon loves you spending his money and giving you money, strangers online, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of oral sex, reader streams and goes live a lot, mentions of poor financial situation, Simon yearns, controlling, reader starts an OnlyFans, jealous Simon Riley, mentions of the name 'Daddy'

Simon Riley who barley uses social media and doesn't understand it well. He supposes he’s never really had a proper reason to. Sometimes he would check up on his teammates private lives, see how they are doing when they are away and off duty; sometimes he could be caught watching the odd dog meme video that pops up- earning a small, slither of a smile from the scarred stoic man.

But honestly, he’s never had a reason to bother, no account profile picture or bio and a randomly generated username he wouldn't know how to change even if he wanted to. Most of the time he would have two or three followers and always one of them was someone he had no idea of.

He never had a reason to give a shit about the online world, not until he saw you.

Sat at your desk, eyes sparkling under your warm ceiling light. Eagerly reading the chat-box at the bottom of your stream as you answered peoples questions with genuine interest. Your smile made his chest burn hot and his eyes caught notice of your fingers fidgeting with your hair. You were stunning, absolutely fucking breathtaking and Simon couldn't get enough; he needed you.

He would join every single live, not messaging or saying anything to you but just watching and suffocating in silence. He wouldn't miss the way you licked your lips wet and chewed on your lower lip as you waited for more people to join. If it wasn't for his expertise in self control he would've been fisting his cock to the sight of you.

He would have you full blast on his phone as he pottered around his house, your angelic voice singing out words of ecstasy through the cold empty walls like you were there with him. His precious little sweetheart, living with him in his head and in his home. Who would've thought a stranger like you could mess someone like Simon up this fucking badly?

He learnt things about you, jotting them down in the notebook of his brain. Learnt the places you wanted to travel to and experiences you wanted to live- and found himself wanting to be beside you: witnessing it first hand. He found himself for the first time in years wanting to live and not just survive.

Despite his toll of silence, you didn't miss the way he was always there. Checking the viewer count to see his account right at the top as per usual. Time didn't seem to matter either, when you had woken up at early in the morning and decided to go live out of boredom- he was there. In the middle of the day when you were on your lunch break, ragged looking earphones trailing out your ear as you whispered into the microphone at the back of the café, he was there watching. He was always there and it felt strange.

In honesty, his consistency petrified you. You knew it was all in your head but the nagging feeling that it was one of your fucked up, clingy exes, still keeping tabs on you despite going your separate ways, made you sick. Hoping was all you could ever do because you wouldn't dream of confronting the mysterious account that was watching, lingering and following you every second your phone was powered on. It was highly unlikely to be anyone you knew and you weren't entirely sure if that was for better or worse.

When your first couple of donations rolled in, you didn't know what to say. Smiling and thanking the donators by name as your cheeks heated up.

You never asked for money or pleaded for donations; the option was always there if people wanted to. You certainly weren't going to beg or come across as a 'money hungry' but some extra cash on the side was definitely not a bad idea. The fact that people were so generous and kind to donating pennies and pieces to help reach the goal of buying your own place. It wasn't much people were sending in but every little help strangers would accompany you with, made you realise the world wasn't so selfish after all: and when Simon noticed this. He reached for his card.

Hundreds, multiple hundreds and it was just a ridiculous amount of money that piled in from his account. It was the first time you had seen him interact with you aside from liking your content or watching your streams- what the fuck were you supposed to say? Your eyes would lock onto the screen, mouth slightly agape revealing your wet tongue as you tried to find the words. Simon fucking groaned.

The blank, grey profile picture looked back at you with numbers you couldn't comprehend attached to it. Simon was helping you tremendously and despite your gratefulness you couldn't help but end your stream- guilt surfacing in your throat because that was a lot of money to be handing away to a stranger. It felt rude taking it, you were scared to take it- it felt like borrowed money not gifted money because who sends someone that amount of cash. Who in their right fucking mind?

The worst part was he didn't stop there- in honesty, watching how fogged your mind got and watching the way you struggled for words- he couldn't find himself able to stop. It was a high for him, he wanted to give you everything you wanted.

He would crack his neck, a moan falling from his lips as he clicked on your live with a grin. Adrenaline fuelling his body as he sent more, and more, and more until he heard the shake in your voice. 'Stop' falling from your lips between nervous giggles and he knew you meant it, feeling his heart ricochet in his chest but still, he continued.

The mental aspect of the situation had led you to taking a short break off of streaming, you were sure he wasn't some crazy ex from the amount of money he had given you and the realisation it was some random stranger always being there instead, didn't make you as uncomfortable as you thought it would've. He was probably some old man with a fetish for seeing some girl like you everyday and spoiling you. The worst case scenario was that he could be a stalker or a murderer who had taken a liking into you- but even then you were highly careful of what you let slip online and who could be out there.

It was difficult, you wanted him to leave as much as you wanted him to stay- you couldn't block him after he had spent all that money on you and as much as you wished he wouldn’t have done that: it was very helpful.

A good few weeks had past since you had uploaded and you figured that he would be onto some other girl by now. Splashing the cash for some supermodel look alike as he whispers into her microphone things that drive men wild. But of course that wasn't the case.

Simon was going fucking haywire. He couldn't sleep without hearing your muffled little voice in his dreams, your sleeping little face and messed up hair with your tantalisingly lowcut pyjamas, where were you? Where had you disappeared to? He would check your account religiously, just in case you posted and his notification didn't go off. He had googled ways to tell if he had been blocked- but the reality of the situation was that you had just became inactive.

It made his lungs ache and knees weak without hearing your voice daily- just old videos he had re-watched over and over again. Your absence worried him and it worried himself with how badly he was getting attached to you. His days felt like months, his strong demeanour replaced by one that was moping and mourning. Jesus- you weren't fucking dead. If you were fucking dead he would ruin whatever stole you from him. Was this stalker like behaviour? Was he being a fucking loser for worrying about you?

Upon your return you had decided to create a dreaded OnlyFans account. It was just to raise money and you weren't expecting to blow up into some massive porn star earing millions from sex work- you kept it pretty downlow. It was as much humiliating as it was necessary- without Simon there to send you hundreds of pounds, you needed the extra pay for groceries and rent money. Plus- it seemed everyone your age was doing it so what was the harm? You uploaded a quick video to promote your new account, posted it and sat down at your one seat table.

The cold of the wooden chair hitting your thighs and the dim lights of your kitchen made you realise how tiny your apartment was. Even for one person you felt like you were incarcerated- stuck in a prison cell but you couldn't afford to leave yet. The sound of your swallow echoing into the silence as you finished up your instant ramen- humming in satisfaction as your phone hummed to. You picked it up, your stomach turning cold as a message request came through.

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account?

Simon was fucking seething. Posting your tits- your body, that little mouth of yours sucking on objects that weren't his cock for other men to see? For other men to pay for? He almost cracked his phone when he opened your notification to that and he would've if it wasn't for his urgency to get you to delete your account. He had heard of OnlyFans, he wasn't daft and you were coming off there whether you liked it or not.

Your heart stuttered seeing the familiar account and a scoff of shock fell from your lips. He hadn't forgotten you after all. The mysterious account had finally broke his silence and your stomach fluttered with feeling you couldn't make sense of. He hadn't moved on from you, he couldn't move on from you- should you be weirded out by this?

Sorry?

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account. Now?

The pulse in your vein throbbed as you finally made sense of his question. The giddy feeling from earlier at the realisation he was waiting for you, subsided into thick strings of anxiety. Hypothetically, if you had run your account on there for a good few months, posting regularly and having a handful of subscribers- you would bring home a good portion of money to save up. You couldn't ask him for a lot of money- especially after all the money he had already gave but you couldn't delete your account for little to nothing. So, you took the time to nicely write back to him and explain your financial situation to him. Explaining how you need to money to help save for a future house- that you need food and necessities and that your shitty job doesn't pay you enough.

The chat fell silent, Simon began to type and then stopped- disappearing and you shut your phone off worried you had either overshared and accidently unloaded everything onto him or upset him.

I mean- you didn't owe him anything- he donated all that money to you on his behalf but you couldn't help the niggling feeling of regret and shame that you had offended someone so nice that had done so much for you. You told yourself that he was still probably some creep, some fucked up pervert that probably only watched for one thing. But if that was the case, why would he be against your OnlyFans? Maybe you read him wrong- or maybe he wanted you all for himself.

You felt your phone ping again, opening the chat to a payment of multiple thousands.

This your spending money for food and whatever else you want. And I can buy you a house darling, don't you worry.

The high numbers full your screen and you blinked. Your head unable to comprehend if this was real or not. A whole house? Spending money? Was this guy fucking rich? He obviously had money to give away willingly so there was no doubt he was rich. But still though, did he not have a family to spend this money on- or anything better to do with it? Without properly thinking you typed back your response, sitting back on your chair as your eyes darted around your small apartment. Was he deadly serious about buying you a house?- Who were you kidding, of course he was serious.

Are you a sugar daddy or something?

Simons concrete façade broke as he snorted, reading your message. Imagining your sweet, pretty, intoxicating voice reading it out to him while he melts and loses himself in you. He should just send you his card and bank details- he should just send you all of his fucking money and spoil you absolutely rotten. He would give you anything you wanted- he would let you walk all over him and drain his fucking account. The thought of you all dolled up, new shoes, new clothes, new perfume. The thought of you comfortable, clean and fed- fuck he had never felt this horny and desperate before. He fisted his cock through his jeans as he sat up on his couch, stretching and adjusting a little before looking back down at the message. Fingers typing back a reply before plopping his phone down beside him.

Not a sugar daddy, I just like your smile, Sunshine.

But if you really wanted to call me daddy, I wouldn't be opposed to the idea.

[zeropro]

I wondered how starscream reacted to seeing Jetfire again

It’s not going great!

Woops! I wrote a drabble. Not sure how this conversation started but this is sure how it's decided to go!

"You were gone, Skyfire. I mourned you. I…"

"You burned Iacon to the ground! Destroyed our home!"

"I did it for you!"

Skyfire finally threw down his tools and turned on the seeker. "In what world would I have ever wanted that??" He screamed, temper flaring.

"No, I wanted it!" Starscream retaliated, even as he took a step back. "I needed it, I couldn't move on otherwise."

"Yeah, because you definitely sound like a mech who’s been able to move on."

"I did! believe it or not. I became more than I ever was playing scientist at your precious little academy. I was the air commander of an entire army, second in command only to Lord Megatron. I was somebody to be respected, feared even! And then YOU had to come back and ruin it."

"How is any of this MY fault?"

"You were DEAD! You weren't supposed to come back! You weren't supposed to know about any of this. About…you LEFT me and I had to pick up the pieces and you dare judge me for how it played out?"

"Starscream, things dont just 'play out.' You made choices. Bad ones. You can't blame that on me."

"Haha! No, but I CAN blame you for betraying me! For choosing the Autobots over me! Like everything we had before meant nothing!"

"You SHOT me! For trying to protect the native lifeforms! Who does that?!"

Starscream sneered, hateful and ugly. "As if you hadn’t already made up your mind about me by that point."

Skyfire looked at him, as though for the first time. He took in how the frame shook with each haggard vent, the lines of wear framing each restless optic, the tight aggressive cant of the wings. "You've changed, Starscream. You’re not the same mech I knew."

"You’re right." Starscream said, voice dark with pride. "I’m stronger now."

"Are you? Or are you just more hurt and more bitter and more willing to hurt people? Face it, Starscream. You’ve had no one to rely on because you refuse to trust anyone. And look where that's gotten you."

Starscream glared at him. "You don’t know anything," he hissed, before spinning on his heels and storming out of the lab.

Wheeljack coughed awkwardly, fiddling with his instruments. Skyfire looked around as the science team silently got back to work.

Skywarp's were the only pair of optics that met his from across the room; his quiet stare cold, hard, and unreadable.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ INSPO

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist