#and it makes your breath taste like morgue

[sparrowritings]

how you two got together

pairing: gojo x zenin!male!reader

summary: non-curse zenin reader and their dynamic with gojo after defecting from the zenin clan to attend tokyo jujutsu high

tags: non-descriptive injury and violence, gay panic

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this started off as hcs, but then got really long as i worked on it lol. i might make a pt.2 where its bf hcs, let me know what u think!

Born into the Zenin clan with little to no cursed energy, a heavenly restriction was placed on you as a child

Similar to Maki, you were viewed as the family's disappointment

This was further accentuated since you were born around the same time as Naoya, who was gifted with one of the family’s prized cursed techniques

You were close to and looked up to Toji due to you both not possessing cursed techniques and became training partners 

When Toji defected from the Zenin clan, you defected too to pursue becoming a sorcerer, eventually ending up at Tokyo Jujutsu High

This is also how you got to know the other three first-years when you joined 

“Everyone, (Y/N) will be joining us for the rest of the school year. Please behave, especially you, Satoru.” Yaga states as you walk up to the front of the classroom.

You were nervous, there was no hiding that. This was the first time you interacted with sorcerers outside of the Zenin clan. 

“Please take care of me!” You say, bowing.

When you stood upright again, you took in your classmates for the next four years. The guy with bone-white hair and round shades caught your eye immediately. His hair looked fluffy, and you wanted to run your fingers through it. He was slumped sideways in his chair, arms draped to his side and his feet crossed on the table in front of him. He was attractive, you had to admit.

“This has to be a joke, Sensei. How is a person with no cursed energy ever going to become a sorcerer?” The light-haired man spoke, with a teasing lilt.

Well, he was attractive to you until he opened his mouth. 

The first sentence that came out of Gojo Satoru’s mouth immediately left a bad taste in your mouth

It was that day where you decided that he had a shitty personality and that you did not like him

Once your life at Jujutsu High settled into a routine, you began to adjust and get more comfortable with who you were

You would hang out in the morgue with Shoko when you were bored but didn’t want to train

You would train hand-to-hand with Suguru because he was the only one who could keep up with you in that regard

You didn’t hang out with Gojo too often; after that first interaction, you believed that he was like the people in your family back home

Gojo initially thought that you were a helpless non-sorcerer who had overly ambitious dreams until he saw you spar for the first time

Crickets chirped in the background as the sun beat down on you and Suguru overhead. The dull “clack” of wood on wood echoed through the training grounds. You and Suguru had become regular sparring partners since you revealed yourself as an excellent physical fighter and cursed tools user. 

You attacked from the sides quickly, before aiming one decisive, forward thrust towards Suguru’s chest. Caught off guard, he raised his waster to block the attack sloppily. Taking advantage of the surprise, you quickly dropped down and swept at his legs, catching him off balance. Before he had a chance to react, the tip of your waster was resting lightly on his chest. You were both breathing heavily from the exertion and heat. A beat later, you lower your weapon and help the other up, smiles on both your faces as Suguru punches your shoulder in a friendly gesture.

Taking a break from the session, the both of you sit on the side of the field, taking a water break.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo and Shoko were just walking past the fields and had witnessed the entire exchange.

Gojo found himself unable to tear his eyes off you. He had seen other people fight with swords, but none were ever as graceful as you. You moved like water, each motion flowing into each other seamlessly. It seemed so effortless, but Gojo knew that what you were capable of was only possible with years of dedicated training. 

“Satoru, you’re staring,” Shoko spoke. 

“No! I-I wasn’t.” Gojo bit back, his cheeks and ears flushing pink.

“Sure, I believe you.” She chuckled.

So okay, maybe Gojo thought that you were attractive when you were fighting

It was something that was absolutely objective, really

At least, that was what he tried to convince himself

Okay, so maybe he had a tiny, tiny crush on you, but he didn’t really know how to go about it since you guys never talked

So he resorted to getting your attention in a mature way

By annoying the fuck out of you

“Oh look, it’s my favorite non-curse user!” He would squeal whenever he would see you and drape himself over your shoulder.

“Fuck off, Gojo.” You would huff before peeling him off you.

Initially, he had succeeded, and you had found it annoying

But as he did it more often, it became the dynamic between you two

You were cooking in the communal kitchen when the tall man had made himself known in all his lanky glory.

“How’s my favorite armrest doing this fine evening?” He spoke, opening the fridge.

“I’m doing better than your string bean-looking ass.” You shot back as you stirred the ramen cooking in the saucepan in front of you.

“You hurt me, truly.” Gojo responds, dramatically leaning against the fridge.

You began to understand why Gojo was the way he was, and slowly, a friendship formed despite the rocky start

You were on good terms, until the first time you were assigned a harder mission with Gojo

It was a semi-grade one, and the higher-ups were originally going to send Geto, but he had been whisked away on another mission

So Yaga assigned the mission to you instead of Geto

For this mission, you brought one of your favourite weapons, Shisui

Shisui was a katana that could absorb and accumulate cursed energy and release it  

The fight against the curse started well, but quickly went downhill when Gojo destroyed one of the walls in the building, and it started collapsing

You had to dodge the debris and the curse’s attacks at the same time, which was honestly a hassle

The curse was smart; it had caught on to how much the collapsing building was giving you trouble, and strategically positioned itself in front of the other wall, hoping to trick Gojo into destroying the other wall

However, you had picked up on it

Gojo had already pointed his fingers towards the curse, who was floating right in front of the wall. If he fired Blue now, the building would definitely collapse.

Pushing off quickly, you dash towards the curse, intercepting Blue with Shisui. You gripped the hilt of the blade; it was built to absorb cursed energy, but withstanding the force of Blue was still no easy feat. 

You landed stably, before shooting off again, rushing the curse perpendicular to the wall. You gripped Shisui, charged with the cursed energy of Blue, and with a pinpoint-precise thrust, the semi-grade one was no more. However, what you failed to realize was that as the curse was exorcised, it had sent out its tendrils in an attempt to take down the two sorcerers. 

Focused on taking it down without destroying the building, you had left your side open. Three tendrils pierced your side, searing pain shooting up your torso. You fell onto one knee, using Shisui for support.

Your erratic pulse drummed in your ears, and black spots clouded your vision. Your limbs tingle as you reach a hand to your side, your uniform now wet with your blood.

“(Y/N)...(Y/N)!” You hear Gojo’s voice become softer and softer as you slump over.

Gojo is the one to take you back to school with his teleportation

He appears in the morgue, frantic and panicked with your injured body in his arms

Shoko takes over immediately, using her RCT on your injuries

She tells Gojo that you will be fine and that you just need rest, but he refuses to leave your side

When you eventually wake up, you immediately get a lecture from Gojo 

“(Y/N), I had it handled. You didn’t have to jump in.” He stated.

“You would’ve collapsed the building, Satoru. That would’ve caused trouble for both of us.” You reasoned.

“You were being reckless; you should’ve left everything to me.” 

“Reckless? Me?” You started incredulously, “Well yeah, not everyone has Infinity as a get-out-of-jail-free card, so sorry, Gojo-sama, for worrying about getting crushed by a building.”

“Well this get-out-of-jail-free card could’ve exorcised the curse without getting stabbed in the side! Thrice!” Gojo exclaimed, frustrated that you weren’t understanding his logic.

“You should just go alone next time, seeing as you obviously don’t need my help. You could just say it to my face if you think I’m not good enough, no need to play pretend.” You spat.

“(Y/N), that’s not-” 

“I think you’ve said enough. I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You cut him off once again. He seems to hesitate before turning and leaving the morgue.

You hadn’t noticed earlier, but your eyes were watery

Whether from frustration or from betrayal that Gojo looked down on you this entire time, you didn’t know

Shoko gave you a reassuring look before rushing off after Gojo

She finds Gojo sitting under a tree right outside the school building, holding his head in his hands

Shoko lights a cigarette, plopping down next to him

“I don’t understand why he’s so stubborn. If he let me handle the curse he wouldn’t have needed to get hurt.” Gojo speaks, head still in his hands.

“You? Worried about someone getting hurt instead of whether they are slowing you down? Who are you and what have you done to the real Gojo Satoru?” Shoko replies.

Gojo feels his cheeks and ears heat up.

“I know you like him. You’re not exactly subtle with it. You should probably make it clear that you’re worried about him and not looking down on him, before he has time to convince himself otherwise.” Shoko speaks before taking a hit of her cigarette.

Many things are running through Gojo’s head, but the main thing his mind was screaming at him was how maybe his crush was something more

Initially he was drawn to you because of how good you were with cursed tools

But after spending more time with you, he realized that he cared about you 

In a way where he wanted to protect you, to hear your laugh and to see you happy

He’s never felt this deeply about anyone, or anything for that matter

He stands abruptly, rushing back towards the morgue

While this conversation was happening, you received a call from your clan 

They have not contacted you since you left so you were curious

You picked up, putting them on speaker

“(Y/N). We heard that you got injured badly.” Your mother’s voice, “We’ve deliberated with the elders. We are allowing you to return to the estate, (Y/N). We’ve been trying to tell you that you aren’t suited for the sorcerer life and today was just proof of that. The Jujutsu World doesn’t need any more weak sorcerers; you’ll just get in the way.” She spoke softly.

You could feel the tears well up once again, and you sobbed when you couldn’t keep them back. You knew that you had the odds stacked against you when you decided to pursue becoming a Jujutsu sorcerer. You had thought that you found people who viewed you as equal, people who respected your own skills, until Gojo had made you realise that he had looked down on you this entire time. 

You had thought that maybe, just maybe that you guys were friends, or even more, when he would entertain your banter and be physically affectionate with you. It hurt that this entire time, you were a joke to him. He didn’t even think you could handle that curse working in a team with him, let alone by yourself.

It hurt.

You were letting the tears flow freely down your face, now that the dam had broken. 

“(Y/N)-” Your father had started speaking but you stopped listening when you saw who was at the door. Unbeknownst to you, Gojo had overheard the entire conversation.

“Gojo, I told you I didn’t want to talk to you right now.” You spoke shakily, averting his gaze.

“(Y/N),  I-I came to apologize, actually.” Your eyes widen in surprise.

“You? Apologising?” You couldn’t stop yourself before those words tumbled out of your mouth.

Gojo looked down at the floor, face flushing. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to say what I said before- I thought that- What I meant to- How I meant-” He struggled with his words, but you waited for him to finish patiently, “I’m sorry I made you think that I didn’t want your help, or that you’re not good enough. That’s not what I meant.” He made his way towards you, kneeling at your bedside, resting his arms and head on the edge of the bed. He grabs your hand.

“I just got really scared that I had lost you, and I-I really care about you, (Y/N).”

You look down at Gojo, still processing his words. Your father’s voice cuts through the silence.

“-the weak don’t have to pretend to be strong. Give up this act and return at once, (Y/N).” It reminded you of your current circumstance and fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Observing your distress, he picks up the phone before you could react. 

“Oi Zenin, (Y/N) here is one of the best cursed tool users this school has seen, so shut the fuck up before you start talking about someone you know nothing about. He’s one of the kindest, most considerate and strong sorcerers around, and he could wipe the floor with you guys in his sleep, so fuck off with your bullshit. Byeeeee~” Gojo singsongs before hanging up.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

Gojo’s expression returns to the more serious one from early. He gets up, cupping your face in both his hands.

“I’m being serious, (Y/N). You’re an amazing person, and I’m mad that I made you feel otherwise.” He pauses before continuing, “And. I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I have feelings for you, and I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. Uh, it’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, and I understand if-”

You don’t let him continue, pulling him in by his arms and kissing him. He freezes for a moment before he reciprocates. When the two of you part for air, he rests his forehead on yours.

“I have feelings for you too, Satoru.” You speak softly.

He chuckles, capturing your lips with his.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

okay, but I haven't seen EJ content lately and I miss him :(, could I request an angsty question with him?

https://www.tumblr.com/intimidating-fettuccine/728812046178811904/httpswwwtumblrcomintimidating-fettuccine6891?source=share

We're back in the fucking building again, another one for the series of 'Slender pulling the creep away from Y/N after Y/N died in their arms.'

Jack hasn't been able to breathe for what seems like hours. The second you took that fatal blow on your mission he'd rushed you home, blood dripping in a steady path the whole way as he rushed you to the medical lab. He'd tried just about everything he could think of, but the damage had already been done, and with how easily you accepted it, it just served to make him feel more dissociative. This couldn't be happening. It's not possible. He's worked so hard to learn how to apply and use medical techniques to keep everyone in the mansion safe, but he couldn't even save you, the person he loved most. By the time Slender comes down to the medical lab Jack is hunched over your body and clutching onto you, an animalistic look in his eyes as he hyperventilates, losing himself to his instincts to protect. Slender has everyone else cleaning your blood off of the flooring upstairs, wanting the lab to be empty for this. 

As Slender slowly moves closer to the two of you, Jack lets out a deep, vicious growl that would scare anyone else, but Slender keeps creeping forward. He speaks slowly, telling Jack it's okay, Slender isn't going to do anything bad, that Jack needs to calm down, that your body has to be taken care of, but he just bares his fangs and continues growling. Eventually, Slender gets too close, and Jack in a moment of weakness to his instincts latches onto him, sinking his teeth into Slender's arm, but the second he tastes Slender's blood he snaps out of it, weeping like a baby as he holds Slender's arm in his mouth. Slender gets him off of him, pulling him into an embrace as Jack begins to finally break down now that his senses are coming back to him. He clings onto Slender to ground himself, if only to prevent himself from clawing his his face and head as he feels increasingly angry at himself for not being able to save you. Slender stands with him for a while, getting him to calm down and be more stable, reassuring him that it's not his fault. Once that injury tore through your body it had already been too late, and you wouldn't want him blaming himself. Jack doesn't know what to believe anymore, but he tries his best to listen to Slender's words. 

The two of them work quietly together, getting your body cleaned up and ready to go into one of the morgue freezers. Jack wants to be the one doing it all himself, but he knows if he was left alone he'd lose himself again. Jack is shaking by the time they're done, and Slender grabs a damp cloth, tenderly cleaning your blood off of Jack's exposed skin, ridding Jack of the scent of blood keeping him riled up. He feels like a fraud. His medical talents were so good he was renowned for them in the Underworld, but he couldn't-- He inhales sharply to prevent himself from doing something rash to himself, and he stands there, flipping rapidly between ultimate despair and extreme self-loathing. Slender sits up that night, choosing to forego sleep so that he can keep Jack company, considering Jack is nocturnal and Slender doesn't want him unsupervised until it's time for him to finally get some rest he desperately needs. Slender's company is the only thing preventing Jack from breaking, and he doesn't know how to handle himself without you there to calm him down. Though, he bitterly thinks to himself as tears slide down his face, he's going to have to learn now, now that he doesn't have you to help him anymore. He's never felt more alone in his life, and that thought scares and distresses him.

[wrathofrats]

Mushy May Day 10- quiet nights

Aethers overwhelmed in the infirmary. Omega and delta calm him down.

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for the prompts this month!

Aethers eyes stung.

He stared at the speckled white countertop while delta whizzed past him once again to check someone’s beeping iv. His head felt fuzzy, his vision felt far away. A pressure behind his eyes he could only hope wasn’t any real tears, just exhaustion. The sterility of the air made his stomach turn, an absent thought granted to wonder when the last time he ate was.

“Hey, are you doing alright?”

A large hand rested on aethers back. Omegas voice was comforting, almost too much so. Enough that the pressure behind aethers eyes only deepened as he attempted to blink away whatever tears were forming. It shouldn’t be overwhelming, just the knowledge that omega recognized his emotions and cared, but aether can barely speak beyond the handful of napkins that felt wadded in his throat to express that he was ok.

The silence was enough for omega. He remembers his first couple months topside. Always either touring, practicing, or attempting to tend to any sick or wounded siblings. A constant rotation of activity and need. Delta also barely held it together as well when he was first thrown into the rotation of being a quint, mostly being sent down to help in the morgue. Hes always been better with them anyways.

But staff was short, and something was going around the abbey. It was just a couple minutes past midnight before they all had even gotten the chance to breathe. Aether felt as if he was holding constant pressure on a wound. Enough attention and force to hold the blood in, until it eventually stopped. The moment to calm down leaving it to bleed freely.

The beeping from down the hall stopped. Silence fell over the wing as static rushed to fill the space in aethers head.

“Just take a second aether, sit down” omega pulled out a chair and lightly pushed on his shoulder to get him to sit. Aether played with his hands nervously in his lap. He feels like he had forgotten something, like there was a mistake he missed, like there had to be something else to do.

Delta soon walked back to take his own seat in the nurses station, giving omega a concerned look over aether state.

“Jellyfish, can you grab aether some water?” Omega said quietly over his shoulder “and maybe one of the expired granola bars”

“I’m fine omega” aether finally spoke, looking up at the older ghoul. “Just a long night, I can handle it”

“It’s ok if you can’t”

Omega pulled up another chair into their little triangle when delta handed him the small snacks. It was a nice peaceful moment between them, omega wondered how many times they’d been able to sit together without it being band or work related.

“You haven’t drank any water in 5 hours. You’re upset because you’re dehydrated and hungry” delta mentioned matter of factly. Aether had to snort at the bluntness, taking a small swig of his water.

“Again, I’ll be ok. I’ll get used to it, a lot happened tonight but it’s fine” the granola bar made him cringe. The spoiled plastic taste on his tongue making him take another larger drink of water. He would have to tell papa later they needed a better supply of food back here, though he’s sure the others have mentioned it.

“Even delta still can’t handle it aeth, that’s why we banish him to the morgue. So we definitely don’t expect you to be ok with everything so soon” omega joked, sending a lighthearted smile to delta.

“I thought they sent delta to the morgue because he made the siblings uncomfortable?”

“They did” delta said

They couldn’t help but all giggle with each other, half a joke and half a truth, but delta never minded.

“You’re doing great, kid, just know that. I’m proud to have you here with us. Besides, the siblings love you”

“They do?” Aether asked

“Yeah, one earlier said that she wanted you to take her temperature with your-“

“Delta” omega warned

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 6- Coffee Order

Warnings: platonic relationship (if I had another 2k in me they would have fucked in the broom closet though), BAU reader, mentions of arson case

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 665

When you’re on a case, you require caffeine. It’s a plain and simple fact, akin to how oxygen is required for breathing. That means that whenever necessary, any member of the team is ready to make a pot of bitter precinct coffee that you all have to swallow down. No matter how awful it tastes, you’ve always reasoned that caffeine is caffeine.

At least, that was your reasoning until a series of arsons lands you in Kansas at a precinct with some of the worst coffee you’ve ever tasted in your life. “It’s like drinking tar,” you had complained to Emily on the first day, your voice lowered so as not to insult any LEOs. 

She had smirked at you and tipped her mug in your direction. “Tar tastes better than this,” she joked, and that was the end of the conversation.

For all your work in body language and human behaviour, you don’t work hard to have a poker face when it seems like no one is watching. The next few days contain countless cups of coffee lifted to your lips, each swig followed by a grimace. How can the officers stomach this stuff?

You don’t figure it out. On day four, you’re at the precinct with Spencer going over the geographical profile to work in the location of the newest fire while everyone else is spread between the morgue and the crime scenes. Your colleague is stirring his tea, mumbling something under his breath about equidistance while you scroll through police reports of interest that Garcia has sent your way.

“How is it going?” Hotch’s voice enters the room before he does, commanding attention before his presence can. When he steps through the doorway, your mouth waters at the sight of the Starbucks cup clutched in his left hand.

“It’s going well, actually. We found two points of intersection between the fires that could be a potential hideout or location of significance to our unsub, and if we cross-reference that with our profile…” You love Spencer, but you’ve been stuck in this room with him for two out of the four days you’ve been in this city and you’re half a ramble away from losing your mind, so you close your eyes and try to tune him out momentarily.

They don’t reopen until Spencer has fallen silent and Hotch speaks up to ask him a question. The Starbucks cup is sitting on the table in front of you now, your precinct mug nowhere to be seen. ‘Aaron’ is scrawled on the cup, but familiar handwriting has drawn a neat line through that and written your name underneath.

You’re hesitant, but Hotch catches your eye and gives you a nod midsentence so you reach out to wrap a hand around the cup. It’s warm, the perfect temperature for a Wichita November drink.

When you take the first sip, you tip your head back and allow the flavour of the coffee to sit on your tongue. It’s the same thing you order every time someone goes on a real coffee run, but Hotch is never the person collecting that information. How did he know?

 Paying no heed to the conversation between the two men, you butt in with one hand raising the coffee. “You didn’t have to do this, Hotch. How much do I owe you?”

He shakes his head, sparing you a quick glance. Hotch never looks at you for longer than a moment at a time; as far as the members of his team go, you’ve been operating under the assumption that you fly under his radar for the most part.

Apparently, that’s not true. “Nothing. I can’t have one of my best agents drinking tar on the field, can I?” He shoots you a wink that’s just between the two of you, completely missed by Spencer as the younger agent turns back toward his profile.

In turn, you smile at him and bring the cup to your lips. Under his radar, indeed.

Fluffy Feb masterlist | < Prev Day | Next Day >

Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch @chibsytelford @honeybrowne @formulapierre (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Saviour

Another one from December. In this one, I imagine Astarion taking up residence in Ravenloft. Ascended Astarion x Reader.

Taglist:

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard @silent-words

@netherese0rb @sorceresssundries @mumms-the-word @crimson-and-lavender

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @hyperfixationstation128 @pumpkinspicebooty

Spires. In unlife and the half-remembered warm green-eyed spring of before, he had hated them. White mist draped around them like the curls around his ears, thick as the scent of blood. You stood rooted as the shadowfell seeped into your clothes, the doors of the castle a dread maw. I must move forward, you thought. You dare not speak aloud, for he would hear. The chill drove you inside, the doors silently swung shut.

For one heartbeat, two, you smelled the flat sterility of a morgue. The wooden floors and sweeping staircase could do nothing to disguise it; you could taste undeath as surely as you had in that awful metal dungeon, many moons ago. Years, perhaps. Time slipped into grave dirt, forgotten. No sunlight breached the mullioned windows, though candles burned in their hundreds, lining the stairs and suspended from the ceiling. It was silent. Empty.

You were a fool to come here. Fear settled in your throat as you pivoted on your heel, only to be nose to nose with the man you loved.

‘Hello, my treasure,’ he purred, crushing you forward with strong arms. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Here I thought you were done making social calls.’ He reeked of blood, and in the candlelight you could see he was spattered with it, fresh enough to still be drying on his shirt.

I’ve come to free you, you thought. His red eyes narrowed, your heart slamming against your ribs in terror for a moment. But he waited, curious. ‘I found a cure,’ you whispered. He had loved you once. He would let you have this. He had to. He had to.

‘Why?’ he breathed, gazing through his lashes. Dangerous, you thought.

‘You weren’t yourself. The blood, the promise of safety, it… changed you. I should have stopped you, and I’m sorry.’

‘I could drink you dry,’ he said, mouth hovering over your throat. ‘Make you a spawn. I should have, to teach you I can have what I want. You have no power here, my darling. I could teach you that, but I won’t. I will show mercy.’ You shifted in his grasp, looking past him to the door. ‘Oh, you don’t think you can leave? Don’t be stupid, pet. I promised you forever.’

You had prepared the cure weeks ago. Grown the herbs, tracked down the one specific underdark fungi strain you needed, obtained the blood of a celestial and a devil. That visit to the House of Hope had been a memorable one, given you’d left Raphael alive the last time. He was not pleased to see you a second time, though you had detected the tiniest flicker of uncertainty you could leverage. You had soaked your blade in the mix for a tenday, darkening its silver to a tarnished coating.

Now, or die.

Your fingers snatched up the dagger just as he was loosening his grip, the flash of it catching the light before you plunged it into his side. He screamed and staggered back, pulling you with him. His eyes went wide. The last ingredient- blood of the vampire you wanted to cure- spurted out as you pulled the blade free, watching the vampire ascendant fall to his knees, heaving breaths.

Breaths. He was breathing.

‘Don’t you fucking die on me,’ you said.

‘As if, darling,’ he said weakly, raising his eyes off the floor. They were the green of spring leaves, flecked with sunlit gold.

[me-uglypretty]

81 with natasha x supersoldier! reader 😝😝

#81 Kailee Morgue - Headcase ft. Hayley Kiyoko | blurb replay 2022

Natasha Romanoff x Reader | Warning: (18+), mention of injury & blood, but happy ending

“Where the hell have you been?”

Natasha slipped, one hand holding the doorframe while the other encloses around her arm where a slash of red weeps and mocks her tumbling state of weakness. The world’s greatest spy shouldn’t had failed this bad, how could she?

And yet, you disregard the trace of irritation in your voice, because you noticed the limp in her step and where blood drips mercilessly on the ground.

“Don’t touch,” Natasha weakly grumbled, shoving your hands away from her. “I said, don’t fucking touch!”

You take a step back, a deep frown appearing dejectedly on your face. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

Natasha hated the woeful sight of you; frown so uncanny on a face that was often adorned with a smile, hands trembling as though your blood wasn’t gushing with the strength of a super soldier, and how your body slumps weakly as you stand, so unlike your sturdy self.

It was your fault—but the truth lies there, where she extends her hand as a silent peace offering and you unquestionably grasp her hand like you needed to feel her. And she needed to feel you too.

“I’m okay,” Natasha whispered, and she doesn’t argue when you effortlessly lifted her into your arms or when you tended to her wounds.

Her blood stains the surface where you walked, and where your hand trembles with the look of distress in your eyes. The sheer gentleness in your touch makes the lump in her throat grow, guilt gnawing her chest for acting on impulsive, and in return, hurting you.

A babbling mess in her chest as she admits, you were always there for her.

It was always you.

The one to chase after her, promising to keep her safe, to stand in the line of fire because you swore to keep her save, and love her as she is—a heartbreaker as she said, a dangerous person as she warned, and the lines after that points the worse of her.

All the reasons laid blatantly for you to loathe her like the rest would.

But you never did.

“I was worried, I thought you— Nat, please never do that again,” you begged, eyes blurry as you distressingly wipe the tears that rolls down your cheeks.

Natasha messed up when uncertainty probs through her heart.

A mission left as unanswered calls, and it was an undercover mission, she wasn’t obliged to answer everything. It shouldn’t matter if you were worry because she left without a word, only the vague nod of her head as she climbed into the jet and continued the weeks after, trying to not recall the look on your face.

Her heart was falling into pieces, either she admitted it or not.

If you were there, a kiss would had been pressed on her lips then your thumb would trace the arch of her cheeks, you would wait till she smiles and wrap her arm around your neck.

“It wouldn’t matter,” you’d say, “If you’re safe then…I’m happy,” and that was the finality to a conversation which left her exasperate to know why you would act so recklessly for her.

She doesn’t know how to express herself with you, when she was always sure to ruin everything till you came along, urging for her to say and do as she pleased.

“You love me?” she questioned.

A smile graces your lips, and you nod your head.

Natasha grasps your hand and steering your gaze away from where her blood stains your hand. A smile mirrors on her face as yours, before her lips presses on yours and she’s kissing you like this was her first time tasting you.

“Never let go of me,” Natasha breathed out, her eyes shutting close when your mouth finds the deep of her collarbone.

You answered the same way she speaks—with your mouth on hers, tongue tasting so sweet and salty from the tears rolling freely down your face and hers, the stroke of your fingers between her thighs where she gasps and pleads for more than your teasing notions, and you relent, giving her everything that she wanted.

It was always you, and she knows enough to allow her heart to fall completely for you.

i had an idea, but i couldn't execute it the same way and i hope this is still okay < 3

[starwalker42]

febuwhump day 25: assumed dead

season 6 | tw: grief | general audiences

It keeps replaying in your mind.

Losing Mulder in the flames, the sheriff finding you as you desperately shouted your partner’s name into the smoke, pulling you out of the warehouse as a wave of impossibly heavy heat slammed into your back. The blinding light of the search helicopter, the hands of firefighters pulling you up and away. The second explosion. The burning debris tearing through the sky. Sitting in the back of an ambulance, numb, numb, numb.

You were released from the hospital this morning, and headed straight to the police station. They told you the search teams had found bodies; if Mulder was anywhere, he’d be here.

The morgue.

A man steps through the door to your left. “Agent Scully?”

Oh, no. No, please, not yet. You’re not ready. You want to turn and run away, away from these answers you don’t want, away from all this.

Away from Mulder’s body.

“Agent Scully, are you - ”

“I… I need to get some air. Sorry.”

You get to your feet and stumble out of the waiting room, down the corridor and through the doors. It’s sunny outside. It shouldn’t be. Mulder is dead.

Your eyes start to well up again. You force them shut.

You lean back against the brick wall and try to take deep, steadying breaths past the lump in your throat. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“Scully?”

You hear him, and for a moment you wonder if his spirit is here, talking to you, giving you the strength to head back inside. And then you remember that Mulder would’ve laughed at you for even suggesting such a possibility – ghosts aren’t real, right, Scully? – and the tears prickling behind your eyelids start to fall.

“Scully.”

He’s not real. You know he’s not real. But you open your eyes anyway, to prove it.

He’s stood on the drivers’ side of a car, door half open, wearing a jacket too big for him and a pair of jeans that aren’t quite long enough. He looks tired, eyes red and stubble scattering his cheeks. He looks… real. He sounds real. Then he’s running to you, and he – oh, thank God – he feels real. He feels like the only real thing in the world.

He’s holding you, gripping your shoulders so tightly it hurts, kissing your forehead over and over, whispering words you can’t quite make out, but it’s not enough, it’s not enough. You grab onto his jacket and pull him down and his hands slide down to your back – his place on your back – and… oh.

His lips are on yours and it’s everything you could’ve ever dreamed of. He’s warm, and soft, and tastes exactly how you’d imagined, and you’re going dizzy from the way he’s touching you, impossibly gentle but with a passion and need you feel coursing through your veins.

Mulder draws back, panting, but almost before you can catch a breath he’s back with you, sliding his hot tongue against yours, and your hands wrap into his hair as he pushes you back until you bump into the bricks behind you. If anyone comes looking for you, they’ll find you pressed against the wall with your tongue in your partner’s mouth, the two of you making out like teenagers who haven’t seen each other since last period. But, you realise, you don’t care.

You don’t care because he’s here, it’s Mulder, he’s real, he’s alive, he’s alive (alivealivealive) and he’s kissing you, and it’s Mulder, and he’s here, and you can feel his heart thumping alongside yours, and it’s Mulder, who you love more than anything, who you thought was gone forever (but he’s not, he’s here, he’s alive), and…

“Scully,” he whispers, millimetres from your lips as he pulls away again. “I thought you were…”

“Me, too.” Your voice catches in your throat.

“I got out, and then… god, Scully, they told me there weren’t any survivors.”

“I was in in the hospital and they… they said I should come here, in case…” You stop, swallow hard, and manage a broken laugh. “Mulder, please kiss me again.”

And he does. He does.

@today-in-fic

[l1tw1ck]

Dottore's Masochist

FTM!Yandere!Dottore x Top!Yandere!Male Reader

Request | Kinktober | Doesn't include AFAB language

Contains: Knifeplay, Bloodplay/Blood Kink, Sadism/Masochism

Words: 584

──────────────────

You walk into Dottore's office, Tartaglia grinning dumbly behind you. "Hey-" Your sentence gets interrupted with a knife being thrown dangerously close to Tartaglia's head.

"Get out," Dottore frowns. "Before I kill you."

"Don't be so prickly, Tartaglia isn't all that bad." You wrap your arm around his shoulder. "You might come to like him."

"I would rather die." He picks up another knife. "You know I don't make empty threats."

"Suit yourself." You push the scared ginger out of the room and lock the door behind you. "He's pretty cool you know." You smile.

"Pretty cool? What exactly are you implying?"

"Oh nothing. He's just...you know, pretty cute." You quickly dodge the knife that was just thrown to your head.

Dottore stomps towards you, grabbing the knife from the wall and pushing you to the floor. "Don't make me go and kill him." He sits on your lower abdomen.

You take his mask off, grinning at his expression. Just what you wanted to see from him. "You know I'm only joking. No one could compare to you, Zandik."

He frowns, blushing hard. "Asshole."

"Take it out on me." You take your shirt off, showing him your (mostly) healed scars. Almost all of which were Zandik's handiwork.

Dottore bites his lip, ripping your pants off then his own. He slowly sinks down onto you. "How many- hh~ did you...ah~"

"Five." You smile. "All ready and waiting in the morgue."

Dottore grins, feeling even more aroused. "What did- uh~ they do?"

"They were talking about you in a bar, all drunk and stupid talking about how they'd love for you to kidnap them and use their bodies for...ugh, I don't even want to repeat it." You grit your teeth. "Tried not to mutilate them too much."

Dottore moans as you bottom out in him. "I'm still mad at you." He points the knife at your throat, slightly digging into your skin and drawing blood.

"That's my second favorite mood of yours." You smile.

"And your first?" He changes the position of the knife, cutting a small line in your neck. Dottore's breathing becomes uneven and his eyes cloud over with lust as he watches your blood drip down.

"Arousal." You move your head up, inviting Dottore to swallow your blood. He clenches around you, moaning as he laps at your cut. He grinds down on you, hitting that perfect spot as he pulls away and drags the knife along your stomach.

You buck your hips up into him, unable to stay still.

"Ah~" Dottore tosses the knife to the side and lets you push him to the floor. You grab his legs, his feet slinging over your shoulders, and start pounding into him.

The blood from your neck drips down onto Dottore's face and into his awaiting mouth.

You smash your lips against his, swapping saliva and tasting your own blood. Dottore moans into your mouth, clenching around your cock from the roughness of the kiss and your thrusts.

He digs his nails into your back, opening up the previously healed wounds caused by his long nails. You hiss and your cock twitches in excitement, it feels too good.

You pull away from the kiss to tell him that you're close.

"Me- uh~ me too~" Dottore nods. You pick up the speed of your thrusts and reach your climaxes together.

Dottore milks your cock for more before calming down. You kiss him on the cheek and cuddle him whilst still being inside.

[moonlight-fan2008]

Moonlight rewatch for millionth time

Episode 5 random thoughts and feelings I had while rewatching again: cause I’m bored and have nothing else to do or watch. And I love this show

In my personal opinion I feel like this episode was most likely the one where they (writers) decided that Mick/Beth went from a will they-won’t they pairing to a when will they pairing. Throughout episode there’s lots of scenes talking about fate or Beth/Josh only to have some sort of wrench thrown in the works and Mick is there.

I.e Beth is getting a blood test done and Josh comments it’s weird Mick just disappeared and is no longer hanging around. Then queue Mick showing up and when he ask’s about Beth and Josh getting married she quickly says no much to Josh’s chagrin (like look at him he’s a little hurt)

Also Mick talks about fate and later Beth’s friend talks about fate at Beth and Josh’s house where they host a dinner party for their one year anniversary only to have a call from the morgue that drags her away from Josh and Co. and who does she run into? Mick.

Then it’s revealed that Mick’s missing girl case and Beth’s murder victim story are related and forces them to work together and get over what happened in the desert

Beth “You’ve been avoiding me” Mick “No I haven’t” he says in the most defensive way possible

More on fate, Beth’s friend Marissa is talking about fate and how Josh and Beth are meant to be and that is followed by a phone call which her friend interprets as a call from Josh and is like see you’re fated. Only to have that actually be a call from Mick (which doesn’t make it any less of a sign btw Beth)

Beth’s braver than me I’d be bright red and embarrassed the entire time during the “sexy” call scene where she’s pretending to be the dead escort

Mick’s not paying any attention to the FBI agent, he’s just like yeah uh huh and looking around the room

I like how Mick and Beth can communicate without saying anything

More on vampires drinking alcohol, the vampire kid in this episode is drinking some sort of beverage maybe a coke or rum and coke with a cherry garnish and yes he’s just sipping it but if there’s nothing benefiting you from drinking something other than blood and as Mick states in previous episodes they can’t taste food. What’s the point of drinking wine or whiskey or champagne or whatever. So is more of a sensation thing or is there something else to drinking alcohol ?

Mick’s face after Beth asked about sex between humans and vampire

It’s like he’s so serious

I wonder if Josef has a special vampire characteristic that others don’t, like the vampire in this episode can make his nails into razor sharp talons and Lace and Coraline are immune to fire (which most likely means Mick is too) and Mick has that ice breath thing that we see in “The Ringer” so do all vampires get a special gift or only certain people are lucky enough to get an extra ability

“I’ll love you forever” Coraline took the forever part a little too literally

And he’s dead. Rip little psycho you won’t be missed

Beth “She doesn’t want to be on the internet” Maureen “Since when ?” Me “I don’t know maybe since she was nearly strangled to death by her client?”

Last thing on fate, Mick is taking about how what you want doesn’t matter and if the universe wants something it will happen whether or not you want it. And that’s followed by Mick dropping his car keys and struggling to find them under his car giving Beth enough time to catch up with him.

First kiss and Mick’s face (little dork)

What the disk menu looks like for disk two

Side note imagine being stuck at 16 forever ? Geez that would suck like at least if you’re in your 20’s you can do things freely like not be in school, get a house etc but being 16 forever ugh that’s a nightmare. I’m not condoning the psycho but ugh just thinking about makes me annoyed

[pontevoix]

hc + betrayal for shoko from here | @chaoslulled

when  shoko  puts  candies  on  her  tongue,  they  don’t  taste  sweet.  when  she  tastes  something  bitter,  it  tastes  like  something  half-hearted.  she  cares  for  neither  for  the  sweet  nor  the  bitter.

she  opts  instead  for  the  sharpness  of  peppermint  —-  her  purse  often  rattles  with  a  little  tin  of  peppermints  that  always  look  more  appealing  than  they  taste.  but  —  they  keep  her  awake.

she  trusts  herself  to  stay  awake.

i.  as  a  companion:

shoko  holds  a  steady  list  of  names  that  she  would  trust  to  protect  her  life.  she  holds  a  smaller  list  of  names  that  she  would  invite  into  her  life,  into  her  private  spaces.

she  won’t  say  it,  but  it  isn’t  hard  for  her  to  love.

it  isn’t  hard  for  her  to  trust,  either.  the  problem  is  what  she  trusts.  she  has  come  to  expect  the  good,  the  bad,  the  in-between.  shoko  does  not  struggle  with  trusting  others.  she  struggles  to  be  surprised  ?

think  about  it  :  if  everyone  is  capable  of  everything,  then  there  is  no  room  for  surprise.  it’s  not  the  end  of  the  world  if  someone  ventures  into  hurt,  into  cursed  territory  —-  it  just  makes  sense.

of  course,  there  is  nothing  novel  about  this  train  of  thought.  she’s  not  the  first  to  settle  into  the  balance  of  knowing  that:

it’s  just  as  easy  to  expect  the  best  of  someone  as  it  is  to  expect  the  worst.  it’s  just  as  easy  to  expect  the  best  of  someone  as  it  is  to  expect  the  worst.  it’s  just  as  easy  to  expect  the  best  of  someone  as  it  is  to  expect  the  worst.

she’s  painfully  comfortable  with  change,  though  she  doesn’t  imagine  herself  to  be  a  creature  of  change.  mostly,  she  stays  the  same.  she’s  alive.

shoko  does  not  struggle  with  trusting  others.  she  struggles  with  promises.

everyone  else  changes  (  people  stop  breathing,  people  jump  ship,  people  chase  curses  &  chase  curses  &  chase  curses,  people  kill  ).  shoko  has  her  office,  has  her  morgue.

that’s  just  how  it  goes.

she  imagines  that  she  finds  herself  content.

ii.  as  herself:

she  has  betrayed  people  before.  it  doesn’t  show  so  much  in  friendships,  though  she’s  prone  to  little  lies  (  lies  about  small  things  —-  about  whether  an  article  of  clothing  is  hers,  what  the  time  is,  whether  your  breath  stinks  ).  she  lies  because  she  can,  because  it  feels  akin  to  dropping  something  in  still  water.  still,  her  little  lies  &  little  games  are  harmless.

people  trust  her  with  secrets.  either  she  is  professionally  obliged  to  keep  them,  or  else  she  doesn’t  care  to  betray  them.  she  has  heard  quite  a  bit,  has  been  privy  to  a  lot.  she  doesn’t  betray  expectations  of  her  —  to  be  present  or  constant  or  whatever  they  want  to  call  it.  in  moments  of  crisis,  she  is  reliable  in  her  energy  &  the  touch  of  her  fingers.  she  is  reliable  in  the  coolness  of  her  judgment  &  memory.

reliability  also.  comes  in  the  way  that  she  doesn’t  shy  from  responsibility.  shoko  knows  when  she  lapses  into  a  meaner  version  of  herself.  it’s  not  always  intentional.

so  it  doesn’t  show  so  much  in  friendships.  sometimes  it  shows  in  intimate  relationships.  actions  may  be  intimate,  conversations  may  be  intimate,  but  unless  there  are  promises  ?  then  there’s  nothing  guaranteed.

in  hindsight,  maybe  she  let  people  think  that  they  were  intimate,  that  they  were  building  something  private  together.  under  that  assumption,  then  maybe  she  has  cheated  before.  it  was  what  it  was.  that’s  just  how  it  goes.

shoko  does  not  struggle  with  trusting  others.  she  struggles  with  promises.

it’s  quite  difficult  to  convince  shoko  to  make  promises.

maybe  she  doesn’t  give  much  opportunity  for  betrayals  in  intimacy.

she  leaves  a  lot  of  space  for  maybes,  for  there  are  no  guarantees.

that’s  just  how  it  goes.

iii.  as  a  professional:

there  is  no  need  for  maybes  when  it  comes  to  herself.  rarely  is  shoko  prone  to  arrogance  or  to  statements  too  grand  —  she  knows  herself  as  best  she  can.  she  is  good  with  her  strengths;  she  is  good  with  her  weaknesses.  overall,  she  is  not  remarkable  in  that  she  thinks  of  herself  as  a  professional.  she  trusts  herself  to  be  a  professional.

so  she  bids  good  riddance  to  any  other  expectations  of  herself.  the  rest  will  come.

those  around  her  trust  her  to  be  a  professional  too.

people  have  wanted  from  her  —  health,  happiness,  recovery.  people  have  wanted  from  her.

at  the  beginning,  but  they  didn’t  have  strict  expectations  of  her.  they  didn’t  know  the  extent  of  her  healing,  &  to  be  fair  ?  neither  did  she.  &  so  no  one  asked  professionalism  of  her  when  she  healed  common  injuries  —

she  remembers  trying  to  heal  yu’s  of  cracked  ribs  won  from  training  —  it’s  an  easy  job,  but  she  gets  distracted  when  gojo  (&  geto,  she  supposes)  indicate  to  the  principal  that  she  was  complicit  in  some  harebrained  scheme  of  theirs.  she  gets  distracted  &  accidentally  fists  her  hand  against  yu’s  partially  healed  ribs  —-

it’s  a  mistake,  so  no  one  feels  betrayed.  yu  heals  properly  afterward  anyway.

healing  comes  easy  to  her,  but  it  does  take  maintenance  of  focus.  noise  doesn’t  distract  her  much  anymore;  it’s  a  preference  rather  than  a  necessity  that  she  listen  to  white  noise  or  the  sound  of  waves  when  she  works.

&  she  always  tends  to  be  working.  by  the  time  she  builds  a  career,  the  expectations  are  clear  cut.  she  is  always  on  call,  always  on  duty.  she  mixes  normal  medicine  with  her  energy  —  she  knows  what  she  can  heal  &  what  she  can’t.

she’s  lost  some  patients  before  she  can  finish  their  healing  (  some  injuries  are  longer  lasting  ?  poisons  &  the  like  ?  things  that  are  external  —  they  require  constant  healing  rather  than  a  quick  mend,  &  that’s  harder  for  her  to  maintain  sometimes  ).

she’s  saved  more  patients  than  she’s  lost.

it’s  a  bit  of  a  gamble.  shoko  promises  no  guarantees.  there's  no  betrayal  in  that.

that’s  just  how  it  goes.

iv.  overall.

in  the  end,  it’s  a  lot  of  talk.

shoko  believes  that  betrayal  is  a  privilege.  you  have  to  choose  surprise  to  feel  betrayal.  it  is  not  her  luxury.

she  opts  instead  for  the  sharpness  of  peppermint  —-  her  purse  often  rattles  with  a  little  tin  of  peppermints  that  always  look  more  appealing  than  they  taste.  but  —  they  keep  her  awake.

she  trusts  herself  to  stay  awake.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance Story: Unlikely Salvation, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Significantly into the future

Concept: Endgame, the Resistance launch a coup to depose the dictator. As fighting breaks out across the country, Daniel Peyroux launches a spearhead attack on Site 17 to liberate its prisoners and claim it as a base of operations. Ariadne is among the fighters picked to be part of the assault force.

Morgue

They've put the dead in the morgue. There aren't nearly enough freezers, but it seemed like the place to put them. Peyroux pulled Ari aside to ask her where, then gave the orders. 

The bodies are lined up along the walls, packed shoulder to shoulder. Black uniforms on one side, Resistance warlocks on the other covered over with sheets. All of them and everything else streaked and splotched with dark red and brown. 

Someone will clean the floors eventually, but it hasn't been a priority. 

Ari has a clipboard, and a ball-point pen of a brand she hasn't used since she worked here what feels like a lifetime ago. She has a print-out of an up-to-date personnel list – some bright spark managed to get into the computer systems, an important victory that she can't muster the will to give a shit about – and a folder with as many of the ID photos as they could dig out in a hurry.

And she has her personal experience. 

The stench isn't as bad as it should be. It should reek of death in here – blood and shit and burned flesh and gut wounds and the first inroads of decay. It should be hard to breathe. But someone's dampened it with magic to make it bearable. Ari still smells all of those things, but the air isn't thick with it. She doesn't gag.

She's grateful to whoever had the good sense and the know-how to cast that spell.

She ignores the friendlies, the warlocks. Other people ID'd them hours ago. 

Ari's not sure how long she's been working triage. As long as it took to create the breathing room to step away. Long enough that the endless grim decisions have mercifully blurred together. Long enough that her eyes are gritty and her limbs heavy with exhaustion. 

If she lay down, she wouldn't sleep. 

She can still feel the adrenaline buzzing through her nerves, tightening her chest. Her bones ache fiercely, especially her hands. The idea of sleep is almost laughable.

So here she is instead, rolling dead ex-colleagues over to get a look at their faces.

It's been a long, long time since any kind of violence had the power to make her nauseous, but she feels queasy now. 

Ken Carter was kind to her when she was a trainee, and tried to warn her away from Maclauren. She didn't listen. 

Russell Mathis was completely anal about arranging his desk just so, but if you wanted something filed promptly, he was your guy. 

Rosie Edson drank too much and everyone knew it. Turns out she was right about dying too young for the liver damage to matter.

Gabe Usher was a decent person. Or… Ari always thought he was. Can you be decent, and work here? If you really believe you're protecting more people than you're hurting? 

He's dead, either way. The question of what he deserved has never felt so meaningless. 

Shacora Stone is a stranger, except that Ari killed her. She shot her, and she remembers vividly the wide-eyed shock as the agent realized she was dead. Ari IDs her by reference to her photo.

Stone wasn't quite twenty-one.

Yan Cheng was an asshole but she was funny. Ari used to like her. They'd get drinks after work sometimes. 

Ally Dixon was not a good person or a friend. The world's probably a better place with her gone, but Ari can't bring herself to feel any gladness. 

Matt Hinton was her lover, briefly.

The list goes on and on.

She sees Caleb in all of them – the blood-soaked uniforms, the lifeless eyes.

Halfway, she has to stagger to the sink to be sick. She hasn't eaten in god knows how long and it's just acrid bile that burns her throat. She swallows water until she can't taste the acid anymore, then she picks up her clipboard and gets back to it. 

She thought there would be some sense of victory if they won.

Usually there's a thrill to surviving a firefight. Usually she feels alive after dicing with death – a reckless kind of high that makes her want to drink and fuck and shout at the sky. 

Some of the others are feeling it. She heard them celebrating in the halls, despite Peyroux's best efforts to keep them focused on securing and fortifying their position. 

Ari supposes distantly that she's glad someone's happy. For her own part, she feels closer to the stiff, sightless dead than to the victorious, exuberant soldiers whooping and laughing in the halls. 

There's only a handful of non-magic people left alive in the building. The handful of hostages in the cells below – carefully guarded and warded against their own over-exuberant fighters – and Ariadne.

Why did Taryn want her here? Why did Peyroux?

There's only a few dead she can't match to a name, in the end. A few she doesn't recognise and doesn't have a photo for, yet. A few too badly burned to ID.

When she's done, she leaves her clipboard by the door. Maybe they'll tell the outside media, so that the families can have closure. Maybe they'll even find a way to return the bodies – or their ashes – to their loved ones. Ari doesn't care. That's not her job to worry about. 

She didn't volunteer for their sakes, she did this for herself. She had to know. 

And now she does. 

She returns to the field hospital. They've set up in what used to be the second cafeteria, because the infirmary wasn't big enough. 

Sage looks as hollow as Ari feels, dead on her feet.

"I can't sleep," Ari half-lies. She hasn't tried, but she doesn't have to. "Give me something to do?" "We have plenty of that," says Sage. "Have you eaten?" Still queasy, Ari considers pretending she has. "Not yet," she admits.

"Go eat," Sage orders, "I don't care what. I'll have something for you when you get back." Reluctantly, Ari nods. Sage is right. Food is necessary, and will help.  "Alright," she agrees. "Back soon."

Sooner or later, her body will protest her rough treatment, and she'll suddenly want nothing more than to collapse. It happens faster now than it used to. 

But until it happens, she will work. It's good work, supporting the healers in the hospital. Work she doesn't have to doubt or be ashamed of. 

And it's taxing enough, involved enough, that she won't have to listen to her own thoughts.

[setimoalem]

UNFINISHED WIP #3

non magical vampire!au where Harry gets taken by a cover of vampires and turned against his will to keep Tom Riddle (very sick vampire lord) alive.

Harry's body was awake before his mind.

Everything from his legs to the back of his head ached like he had been put through a meat grinder and sowed back together. His teeth and gums, a point in his back, just behind his shoulder blades, was burning like fire and irradiating heat to the rest of its expense of nerves. His eyes — sensitive even to the dim light — could not stay open, the same way he couldn't filter the loud ringing in his ears to hear much of anything.

He remembered the footsteps behind him, the sound of the splashing puddles as they started to run after him in the dark. The way he was sure he could not hear them breathe at all. The pounding in his head was relentless and he could not remember much else.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A voice said to his right, or so Harry thought so. The man couldn't probably tell left from right if his life depended on it. "Try to move, I mean. You're going through the worst stage right now, they call it cognizance but between us—we call it limbo. You can probably guess why, only yours is probably ten times worse. We never quite got this far."

Harry wanted to scream at the man for speaking so close to his ear, to have spoken at all. He wanted to press on who "we" were and what exactly they did to his body. Where were they. Anger ran like liquid fire through his veins, blurring his all his mangled thoughts together. He wanted to punch a whole through his stomach and bite so hard on the man's face he would take a chunk with him.

"You've been trying to sit up for the past five minutes. I'm serious, it's depressing."

Harry couldn't keep his eyes open for another second.

"I wouldn't sleep too, but what do I know?"

Harry's throat burned too much for speaking but he must have made a sound because the man — at least sounded like one — chuckled mirthfully.

"You're a fighter, I'll give you that. The last guy didn't make past infection. I'm Blaise, by the way. I'm your g— Oh, fuck. Flint, hurry! I think he's having a seizure—"

By the time he regained consciousness again he was alone, the screaming man— Blaise, he remembered suddenly — long gone.

He was also acutely aware of the sedatives. His body felt like a bale of cotton, heavy, unfeeling. He could barely close his hand in a fist and the sensation tugged a memory from his mind — the first since he woke up for the first time, he wasn't familiar with narcotics but Dudley had described in great detail — boisterous and taking liberty on the heroic details — of his once broken leg and something they gave him for the pain. He described as being without a body, like they detached his mind from it. Harry felt much of the same maddening, claustrophobic feeling. His tongue felt swollen and dry, he could barely feel anything past his waist.

On the next blink came pain. This time there was someone in the room with him and he had enough mind to notice the laminated walls and the antiseptic smell of a steel, morgue-like room.

He felt hunger like never before. He was used to hunger, usually we welcome it's desperate emptiness like an old friend but this felt like something else altogether, something more animal like. He felt like toeing the line of insanity, if he didn't get his mouth on something soon he would succumb to it. He had to free himself and— And what? He couldn't remember. His hands were restrained by his waist and mid section tied down by three thick belts. He also couldn't close his mouth, he realized, they had put some some sort of bite block between his teeth that felt cold and smooth and tasted like the inside of his mouth.

"I know you're hungry. I'll bring a pack soon, try to relax your back and neck or your jaw will cramp." A woman's voice said, low and soothing. Harry was glad. He could deal with directions right now. He made an effort to sag against the bed, not sure how to relax fully, and took a deep breath through his nose. "Good. That's it. I'm Doctor Granger, Mr. Potter. And I'm sorry we could not meet under more favorable conditions."

He made a sound with his mouth, desperate and inquisitive but she had already slipped away.

The fourth time he opened his eyes was definitive.

[happilyelectronicstarfish]

Starting life in Hawkins

Premise - After the tragic death of your mom, you and your dad are forced to move to make ends meet. With Hawkins being your new home, knowing no one isn't always a bad thing. You don't know who you might meet.

Pairing - Eddie Munson x (f) reader

Warnings - eighteen+ content, mention of drugs, strong language.

Word Count - 800+

Chapter 1

After the death of my mom, my dad lost his job and the bank took back our family home. After this the only place we could afford to live was a town called Hawkins in a trailer park. 

I tried my best to comfort my dad but the grief was taking a hold of him and I spent a lot of time on my own in a mold ridden, leaky trailer. 

Every day my dad would do overtime at the local plant, keeping himself as busy as he could so he was not overcome by darkness. I couldn’t blame him, he had lost the love of his life.

When he wasn’t working he was drowning his sorrows at the local bar. 

To keep myself occupied during the summer, I started working at a gas station. It was the dullest thing I had done in my life. I wanted to be outside exploring or just anywhere else to be perfectly honest. 

The gas station had its regular customers but they were creatures of habit. Only ever coming in on certain days of the week, otherwise it was like a morgue. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Most days I would just be sitting behind the desk, headphones on, listening to old mixtapes on my walkman. 

On what I thought was going to be a normal Saturday, the last Saturday before I was due to start my new high school for the start of the school year, a van skidded to a halt. I recognised the van, it was from a few trailers down from mine. The music was so loud, I could see the windows of the van shaking. The ignition was turned off and a guy jumped out. He was tall with long, shaggy dark curly hair. He wore tight skin black jeans, white high top reeboks, a denim jacket and from what I could see a white top with a devil on.

He oozed coolness. I was in awe of him. He looked so confident and so sure of himself. Walking across the forecourt with a slight spring in his step.  

Oh shit, did he just catch me staring at him with my mouth open? A smile spread across his face as he entered the store. I quickly made it look like I was yawning and pretended to shuffle some papers around to make myself look busy. 

Out of the corner of my eye I watched as he browsed the aisles. Did he keep looking up at me? Nah, couldn’t be, must be my imagination. 

He slowly swaggered over to the counter. My palms got really sweaty. I had never felt like this about someone, let alone a stranger. 

“Afternoon sweetheart, I’ll take these slim jims and a pack of marlboro reds.” I blushed and turned to the cigarette wall to grab them. I scrunch my face up and told myself to breath and just chill. 

When I turned back around, his grin had gotten bigger, his elbows rested on the counter, with his chin on his hand and he was staring with his big brown doe eyes, straight into my soul. We just stood and stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. “Good music taste” he said finally breaking the silence. My walkman was still playing and the sound was traveling out of my headphones around my neck. “Is that Black Sabbath? The Mob Rules?” he asks. 

“Err yeah, you know it?” He laughs, stands up straight and starts singing at the top of his lungs. I start giggling “so you do know it then. My mom used to love them”

“Used to?” He questions.

“Err, yeah, she passed suddenly last year..” I trail off. Way to bring down a mood. 

He looks at me with compassion but also like he had been through similar sadness. “Fucking great taste in music she had then. Obviously you take after her.”

I read his shirt - Hellfire. “So Hellfire, is that you band?” 

“Oh no sweetcheeks, I’m the dungeon master in the Hellfire Club. We are the official D&D club at Hawkins High. My band is called Corroded Coffins. We play every Tuesday at The Hideout. You should come along sometime.” His grin gets even bigger, I could tell he had a passion for his band.

He winked, placed his money on the counter and turned to leave. “I’m Eddie by the way. Its been a pleasure.” He gave a slight bow as he made his exit.

I shout after him, “Yeah, see you around”.

I watch as he gets into his van, start up the engine and winds down the window. He fiddles around with his stereo. All of a sudden a wave of music can be heard. Black Sabbath. I start to laugh to myself. Eddie hangs out of the window singing his heart out again, looks at me, winks and drives off. 

From that moment, I knew I was in trouble. I had a massive crush on a boy I had only just met. Were we ever going to see each other again?

**NEXT CHAPTER HAS BEEN POSTED**

[hotwings0203]

GOD I JUST READ UR BAKUGOU FIGHTER ONESHOT AND LAKSLAKSSKKAKAA

im in love, its soooo good😭😭😭😭 and i just wanted to ask, maybe if there is a possibility of u writing the second part w smut!👉🏼👈🏼 🥺

u r so talented!!! i love u💕💕💕

Wow fun fact: I actually love you anon

JUST FOR YOU, I SHALL INDULGE!!👆🏽

Pt.1

Tw:noncon, implied death

He was inside you.

He was grunting.

You were the mortar, he was the pestle.

“Fuck,” he pants inside your mouth. “You get turned on this much by watching dweebs like him get slaughtered out there?”

You sob and try futilely to once again lift his weight off of your pinned body, but he merely slaps your bouncing tits.

“Stay still. Don’t fucking move unless you want me to bruise your cervix. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little masochist? Isn’t that why you didn’t try as hard to push your boy toy out of the rink, huh? ‘Cause a slut like you gets off on watching a man like me show everyone whose boss?”

You cry out muffled against his palm after he gives a particularly rabid thrust, making sure to grind his tip against the sides of your gooey walls.

In a moment of savage triumph, Bakugo lets his slobbery tongue lather itself all over your cheeks. He tastes the tears that collect at the sides of your mouth, he tastes the sweat that gathers on your forehead and he swears it tastes like heaven itself.

He pulls back while continuing to pound you into the mattress, and he takes a good long look at you mere inches away from your face.

You’re a mess. Your eyes are rolling to the back of their sockets while your hair is strewn across the pillows, your hands pinned behind your back in an uncomfortable twist from his meaty hands.

He looks rabid almost. His eyes are everywhere, on your red eyes, on your bouncing tits, on the connection from his body to yours.

Your mouth forms an ‘O’ against his sweaty palm, consistently kept open from your moans and pained whimpers.

It’s true that he’s good with his dick, unfortunately all that talk wasn’t just for show. He had something to prove to you, and prove he did.

Or, is currently doing.

“Answer me, slut. Did you like watching me send your little boyfriend to the hospital?”

He uncovers your mouth and permits you to take a wild gasping breath. The rhythm of his hips cease as he waits for you to gather yourself momentarily, but he doesn’t pull out. You are just a pretty cockwarmer for him right now, no need to think that you deserve any more mercy than he’s already giving you.

“‘D-didnt like it. ‘Wanna go home, lemme go, get off of me,” you sob and weakly pull your wrists out of his hold to push him, but with a mean laugh he flips you over so that your face is smushed agains the pillows and your ass is in the air.

He yanks your hair back and you shriek at the feeling of strands being ripped from your head. He pulls you back up until his mouth is right next to your ear and your spine is lined up with his chest.

“No? You didn’t like it baby?” He hisses mockingly in your ear, and roughly fondles a bruised tit.

“I didn’t like it when you were licking lips with him in front of me either, but I guess we can’t all get what we want…well maybe you can’t. I’ll take whatever the fuck I want from you though.” And with that he lets go of your head and lets you unceremoniously fall back onto the downy covers.

Bakugo grabs your hips and pull your ass back until it’s flush against his dick. He rubs the wet tip up and down your ass, and traces it down your slit, letting it press in a little further when in contact with your entrance.

He doesn’t push it in though. No, he goes lower and lower until the member in his hand parts your lips open and it brushes against your clit.

When it does, your body shudders and jerks at the sensation of his tip swirling in your juices around the little nub and prodding at the sensitive flesh. He thrusts slowly and lets the sensation build at your throbbing clit before pulling back abruptly.

You fist the sheets and try to ignore the way your legs shake. It’s humiliating, you know you can’t even shift to your side lest he props you back face down ass up like a fucking animal.

And he was treating you like one, too.

He panted like a dog when he let your juices drool and collect around his girth, and he clawed and teethed on your neck and tits as if he were some kind of mutt.

It scared you how badly he wanted you.

You feel a soft tapping against your clit and you unconsciously arch your back and mewl when the area buzzes with need.

It almost physically hurts the winding coil in your stomach to hold your hips back from chasing Bakugo’s dick as he pulls away, the fucker knowing that you wanted more no matter how terrified you were of him.

“Aww, what’s wrong kitty? No more bitchy attitude and claws? Don’t worry, I’ll soothe your other kitty pretty soon,” he snorts at his own unfunny joke.

You don’t laugh. In fact, you tremble with indignation and horror when he begins pushing back into you as if it were the only place for his cock to be.

“Fucking shit,” he hisses in pleasure as he slowly sheaths his entire length around your dripping cavern. “Maybe I’ll bring in his broken body and set him up on the chair right there-“ he pushes your head to the side so you can see the armchair he points to. You don’t really care about the stupid chair though, not really when you can feel yourself stretch painfully and ingest every vein that scrapes against your insides.

“I’ll take his broken wrists and snap ‘em back to their normal state just so I can break them again when I cuff him down. I’ll make you look at him right in his pathetic eyes when I’m balls deep inside your slutty cunt.”

You let out an embarrassingly loud moan when he pulls out just to grab onto your hips and slam your ass against his groin again. He watches as your cheeks clap around his dick and spreads your gooey substance around his thighs and stomach.

“Baku-“

Smack

���Katsuki!”

“The fuck did I say about calling me by my name? You want me to bring him out of the morgue and light his body up too? Didnt realize you hated him that much, fuckin’ whore.”

All of a sudden you feel a heavy weight leaning forward and draping itself on your back, suffocating you with feeling filled everywhere. Your sweaty bodies mash, fluids mixing as he grabs your hair like reigns and slaps his hips against yours. The mattress shakes with the force of his thrusts and you swear you can feel him poking through your stomach when he suddenly lets out a loud groan.

He doesn’t give you any kind of indication that he’s cum, you only feel hot ropes of his seed shoot into your poor, wounded pussy. It stings with the mixture of blood that seeps out of you, the clash making an almost cute pink color coming out of your hole.

Bakugo unravels his hands from your hair and peels himself off of you, but when you try to shakily follow pursuit he leans an elbow into your spine, successfully making you squeal in pain and flop back onto the bed.

“Stay down. Teasing sluts like you don’t deserve to move off their natural habitat.” He sneers and uses a thumb to pull your asscheeks apart, inspecting his cum.

He whistles and lightly slaps one cheek, passing the view off as satisfactory.

“Please,” you rasp, opening one bleary eye to watch him pull a shirt on. “Please just tell me if you got him help.”

Katsuki smiles and lights a blunt. He takes a long drag and peers at your wrecked body.

“You didn’t hear what I said earlier?”

Your heart seizes and you slowly pull your head up from the pillow, eyes as wide as the moon.

“Who says he’s even alive?”

[oh-katsuki]

Jealousy (Connie x Reader)

phases of love collab | masterlist

Pairing: Connie x Reader

Summary: You take Sasha’s place. 

Content Warnings: Implied aot ending spoilers, smut, angst, character death (reader), some fluff, romantic sex, slight cockwarming, drugs / alcohol

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This hurt me to write so I hope it hurts to read. Thank you so much to @dande-lion​ and @eremiie who beta-read this and gave me so many suggestions because I didn’t like the way I worded it. I would not have been able to be happy with this without you, ILYSM

For @mikaberries​ collab! Thanks for letting me participate!

Connie’d never loved like this before. He can’t recall a single time in his life that he’s felt so truly connected to someone, so deeply ingrained in someone else’s being that he doesn’t know who he’d be without them. 

Connie had you wrapped in his body, dick buried in you so deep and legs intertwined so gently. His delicate fingers sunk into your skin as one wrapped around your waist, the other around your head. There was nothing rough about tonight, nothing exemplary or particularly outstanding except for the fact that he was hopelessly in love with you. 

Connie was infatuated with you. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough of your skin against his as he fucked himself up into you with steady flicks of his hips. You felt so good around him, hips grinding to meet his with gentle moans. He wishes he could have this moment forever, wrap it up and keep it in his pocket so he can feel it whenever he needs to. The way your gummy walls hugged him or how you breathed in low and deep sighs with each of his thrusts. 

“So beautiful…” He exhaled against your skin, pulling back to take the hand from your head and run his thumb along the plump skin of your cheek. 

You gave him a lazy smile, eyebrows furrowed together in focus and pleasure as he leaned in to kiss you. It was delicate at first, pumping into you slowly, keeping up his sluggish pace. Connie was taking you in, appreciating the feel of your lips on his and the way you tasted like sweat and sex and something akin to cinnamon. 

Connie wasn’t working towards a goal, arm wrapped lazily around your body, sticky with sweat while he admired your feel.That was the best way to put it— he was simply letting you both admire each other’s feeling, whispering sweet nothings, he just wanted to love you. So he fucked into you languidly, mind clouded over and head spinning. 

He could remember clearly every moment like this he’d had with you and he was about to lock away this one with the first time he saw you, your first kiss, your first time. He doesn’t know why this moment in particular strikes him so deeply, but the way you look and your cunt fluttering around him has his heart swelling with love and pride. 

You’re his. 

There was nothing to be discontent with, no doubt seeded in his heart about another man, no jealousy bubbling in his gut. You were only his and he knew it, he could feel it in the desperate little sighs of his name as you came closer to your high, heat building in your stomach as the candle beside the bed dimmed as it burned through its wick. 

The two of you had been like this for hours, Connie unwilling to let you go until he’d felt you come undone around him so much that he’s all you think about— you’re all he thinks about. He was already all you thought about though, already taking up the most space in your mind even when you weren’t creaming around him. Still, you couldn’t complain, so wrapped in his smell and feel that you let him keep rutting his hips into you, arms looped around his body and fingers digging into the muscles of his back. 

But it’s true, Connie’s love for you was incredible and you felt it with every stroke of his big hand against you, in the way your skin buzzed as if it were whispering its own sweet words between his. Words of praise whispered over the pillow, lips brushing past each other’s ear to mumble quiet “I love you’s” that rattle through each other's bodies like coins down a well. 

When you finally came undone in a steady rise, like water bubbling delicately over the edge of a too-full container, you whimpered, teeth sinking into the muscle of his shoulder. Your legs trembled as he held you tightly, slowing his movements and letting you bury your face into him, looking for anything to ground you as your body rolled. 

Connie loved your voice, the whine of his name that spilled from your lips and the way your cunt clenched around him, pillowy and soft. He loved you and with that profound knowledge, soon met his own high with a stutter of his hips, cumming deep into you as he buried himself to the hilt. 

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other, Connie unmoving within you as you panted against each other before your breathing fell into an even rhythm. How was he supposed to let you go? How could he be expected to pull out and let you pad to the toilet. It would only be a few minutes but he found himself dreading the moment you stirred in his arms. He’d let you meld yourself to him like this if it were possible. 

“You know that I’ve got to get up.” You chuckled into his chest, turning your head to glance to the nightstand. “And I’d like to get up before that candle burns through and I have to stumble through the dark.” 

It was growing dim, nearing the end of its life span as it casted a low light across the bedroom. Connie’s desk was faintly illuminated in the corner but you were focused on the way the light danced over his features, displaying the apples of his cheeks that rounded with his smile. 

“I know,” he sighed, pulling you closer, “just don’t wanna let you go right now.” 

“You big baby, it’s only a few minutes.” You say, peeling yourself from him and pulling him out of you gently. 

He was soft already, but the act itself was intimate and you could feel the way he started to spill out of you as you moved to the other side of the room, wrapping a robe around yourself before leaving the bedroom. 

Connie watched you as you left, admiring your hips and your figure as you receded into the darkness. How had he gotten so lucky? He somehow managed to snag the girl the entire regiment was crazy for, and– as you both moved through the ranks– managed to fall so irrevocably in love with you that he’s forgotten who he was without you. 

Still, he wouldn’t trade it for the world, wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

He was deep in thought by the time you returned to bed, discarding the robe and snuggling up beside his naked figure. 

Of all the things that had changed recently, you hadn’t. You remained the woman he loved more than anything, still smiling. He remembers the way you’d joke with your friends and squad, evenings spent laughing at a pub with all of the captains after your promotion. 

Every major event of his life had been spent with you and you both had made it out clean, more appreciative of the love you shared. Connie cherished every part of you, every fleeting moment with you. 

And he was certain that he’d do it for the rest of his life. 

---

They’d suspected that Eren had gone awol. That he’d gone off on his own. Connie should have stopped him, they could have talked some sense into him before he fled to Marley, attacking a congregation of world leaders and forcing the Scout Regiments hand. 

You both had separated so quickly, each moving away from each other in your own individual squadrons without so much as a stay safe. You both always did. Connie couldn’t have imagined that you’d be one of the six who didn’t make it home. 

He couldn’t have guessed that the child would sneak aboard the ship and point the rifle toward Sasha’s chest. But Connie could have predicted the way you jumped in front of her, moving before you had time to think to shield his best friend from the shot. 

Connie would never forget the look in your eyes as your blood seeped and pooled onto the cold floor of the airship, his warm hands pressed to your cooling chest, covered in a thick layer of your blood. You looked content, the same look you’d flash at him before any expedition. You were at peace and you smiled up at him. A far too pleased smile for someone who was slipping from Connie’s hands faster than he could process— faster than he wanted you to. How could you be smiling? He was losing you. 

 It was like you to take a shot for a friend. You always put your comrades before yourself like that.

You and Sasha were both brave that way, the only difference being that today, Sasha would return home to her lover and you would not. Your body would stay in the morgue for the night before they placed you six feet below the ground in a graveyard not far from where you lived. 

How is it that you could be so close so far away at the same time?  He’d never get to feel your body against his again, never hear your laugh that rings like chimes on a spring day, and looking at your grave after the funeral procession, he could only think about how quickly your blood had cooled on the floor of the airship. Connie stared at the fresh dirt under the headstone, trying to bring anything but your lifeless eyes to mind. He tried to think of your smile, of the crinkle in your eye whenever he’d say something stupid, but instead he was reminded of the uncharacteristically stiff way your body laid in the airship and the wan tone of your skin as your precious years drained from your face. 

---

As time passed jealousy bled into Connie’s life. Slowly at first, in the waning hours of the morning when he’d be awake and full of drink. He found himself thinking about you constantly, your picture flashing through his mind with startling clarity. 

He’d wake up in the middle of the night, grabbing at the sheets beside him– searching for you, wondering in his half asleep state where you’d gone, only to be reminded that this time you weren’t coming back to bed. You’d no longer take your trips to the bathroom and you were much farther away than a few minutes. Instead, he was reminded that he’d have to spend a lifetime without you. 

A lifetime without your presence. How unfathomable. So he buried himself in drink, in alcohol, in fighting a war he no longer had a reason to fight. It was bearable that way, his days without you. He was occupied. Working until his hands shook and his feet ached, then drinking to quell the pain. It was all he knew in those following days, working for a peace you’d never know, drinking to forget your time together, sleeping in hopes that he’d see you in another world. But the next world wasn’t for him. Life mercilessly kept him alive, despite his carelessness in the fight.

When the war finally ended and things came to a quiet halt, everything became harder. Eldia rebuilt its streets, patching up the wounds that battle had left on it, and with the power of the titans gone, Eldians were negotiating their terms of peace and fighting the good fight to total freedom. Connie found it difficult now to focus on anything but your absence. 

He’d move down the cobbled streets of Marley and be reminded of you at every turn, reminded of something you’d never get to see. He thought of your plans for the future and the way you’d agreed to marry him once peace finally came, but peace came and went without you. 

The summer months in Marley were the most beautiful. They brought couples and children and laughter. You’d have loved them. In between peace negotiations, Connie would let himself wander through the streets. Why he even bothered to go outside? He had no clue, but he still did it everyday without fail, wandering until he ended up in the same place he always did. He’d find a seat in the park and watch the couples, listening to the way the ocean sounded as it beat against the shore. 

It was supposed to make him feel better, supposed to remind him that things were okay now. But all he felt was unimaginable rage. A rage that grew brighter with each gust of wind and each rustle of leaves. Each happy chuckle of passing couples and each aimless laughter of stumbling children. Connie was jealous, perpetually and undeniably. 

He was jealous of the time the two of you never got. Jealous of the people who would spend their lifetimes with their lovers and get to cradle their children. Jealous of his own time, the years he had left ticking by slowly and twisting the knife in his gut with each turn of the month on a calendar. He was jealous of Marco who was no doubt with you now, jealous of Erwin and Miche and anyone they’d ever lost because they were with you.

Why did everyone else get so much time? What made them so different from you? Connie couldn’t understand a world where someone else deserved to survive to see the end when you didn’t, where people other than the two of you got enough time to live out their lives. 

Connie didn’t have that luxury and you surely didn’t either. 

The weight piled on, the greed, disgust, and envy weighed on his shoulders like boulders. A person can only take so much, can only struggle for so long under such a profound feeling. 

It was the day the negotiations were finished, the day the war came to a true end and Eldians were no longer discriminated against legally, that he broke. 

He fell to his knees in his temporary apartment after getting home and seeing the bare walls, the ones that lacked pictures because he’d never gotten to take any of you. You would have loved today, would have pulled him into the living room to dance or even invited all of your remaining friends to your shared apartment to celebrate. Connie could practically hear you telling him to appreciate the day, your voice chiming like bells in the recesses of his mind. It was haunting. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, slamming his fist onto the counter and collapsing to the floor as sobs wracked through his body. 

His friends had followed him to his apartment, worried for him. They had been for a while and today was the breaking point, watching him sway down the steps of the courthouse without so much as a word. They could hear him crying through the walls, hear the guttural cries that seemed to push through him so angrily. 

Connie’s stomach was twisting in painful knots, it was years of being tired, years of missing you crumbling all at once in a crescendo of anger and unimaginable grief. He was sick, his heart wrenched in his chest, hammering against his ribcage, something your heart could no longer do. 

It was sickening, how his bones wracked and how his shoulder shook with every shuddering sob. His own walls were finally let down and his veiled emotions crashed over him appallingly fast. How did he carry around this weight, this grief, for so long? 

Connie couldn’t pick his head up from his hands when his friends came in, ushering themselves past the entrance to crouch on the floor with him, Jean’s arm bracing his frame and helping to keep him upright. They let him cry like that for a long while, letting the sounds echo through an apartment that should have had you in it. 

They all missed you, but they had already done their mourning. In doing so, they’d left Connie behind to fend for himself. Left him alone like you had. 

“She’s watching from somewhere, Connie.” Jean’s voice piped up, low and reassuring.

“Y’know-” Connie choked out, sniffling. “Everyone talks so much about this a-afterlife.”

Another sob wracks through him. 

“About his place where the dead go once they’ve finished their time here.” He was shouting now, voice rising. 

“I just wish that maybe there was some fucking proof that she’s still there.” His fists balled up against the floor. This time Connie doesn’t try to stop the cries to talk, he pauses to let himself sob before speaking again. “Because right now I can’t find a single reason to believe she’s out there and I don’t know what I’d do if I never got to see her again.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to move on? How do I carry this weight? How can I keep taking steps forward when she’s not at the end?” Connie’s eyes snap up to Jean, his hand coming to grab his wrist. 

His eyes were pleading, crying for an answer, something, somebody to tell him that there was something to look forward to. That you would be at the end of this stupid game called life. His  voice came up from the deepest recesses of his body. Eyebrows pulled up in anguish, eyes glassy with tears that refused to let up as he peered into his best friend’s eyes. Connie knew he couldn’t answer, knew that there was no one secret to getting through this, that he’d have to power through on his own. But he was so angry, so exhausted from fighting. 

“Why did it have to be her!” He gasps, eyes going wide as realization courses through his shaking body. “Why didn’t she get more time, why didn’t she get to fucking see today?! Why was it me? _____ would have known what to say today, would have had the perfect words. I’ve never had them, never had anything to say.” 

Connie inhaled deeply, blinking until limpid tears decorated the fabric of his uniform. “I need her here. I need her.” 

That was the last thing he said that night, letting himself cry on the floor in the company of his friends who tried in vain to calm him. He raged against fate, body heaving in tremendous sobs that left his chest feeling emptier than before, inhaling in great pulls because with each cry he could feel the water flooding his lungs. Invading, violating, and wretched with every wail. Everything served as a reminder for his jealousy, ugly and painful in its existence. 

Connie knows you’d have hated this. 

Could you see him right now? Were you watching in the months to come as he hit his lowest low before slowly starting to pick himself back up, finally formally forgiving Gabi even though he hadn’t blamed her for a long while. 

It took a long time for him to gain that semblance of normalcy and once he returned to Eldia from overseas, he went straight to your grave, finally able to face your name scrawled on the headstone once again. Connie hadn’t expected it, but with time the jealousy faded into a dull ache. He spent hours in the graveyard that day, staying with you until the sun had long set over the horizon and the air nipped at his skin. Connie would take any time he could have with you, even if it was like this. And as he sat there talking about the newfound peace, he hoped you could hear him. 

He was filled with regrets about you. He wishes he had made you laugh more or studied the way you threw your head back in a smile because after so many years the memory had faded to little more than a silhouette. Connie wished he had taken pictures of you, kissed you on the day he met you, married you. But he couldn’t.

Connie wondered if you were watching him all the time. Did you watch his healing, the way he picked himself back up after being shattered and broken for so long. Maybe he’d glued part of you to him when he patched himself up, maybe he still gets to carry some of you with him in the corner of his heart he knows is reserved for you.

Did you see the day he met her? The woman he’d marry one day. She’d caught his eye because she reminded him so much of you, especially in her smile. Connie couldn’t help but think you’d had something to do with it, some cosmic influence that led her to him. 

He thought of you on his wedding day as his bride moved down the aisle, radiant in her beauty. Connie loved her the way he loved you, deeply and honestly. He thought of you the day his first child was born and on every day after that because he saw you in every part of his little girl. He saw you in the way she laughed and the way she ate, the way she stood up after scraping her knee to keep running. 

Connie told his wife about you, about the love he lost, and his daughter thought of you as family, despite never meeting you. Your name fell from his family’s lips so often that it was like you’d never left this world in the first place. 

He healed, Finally, time began moving again and that sickening envy slipped from his veins like melting ice. He was no longer jealous. 

He still goes to your grave, every Sunday. He brings his family and sits his daughter on his lap to tell stories about you, about every aspect of you. Partly because he wants her to know, but also so that he can remember. It’s like a prayer, uttering your name as they sit in the grass that had long grown over the dirt with such reverence, such adoration. 

The wind moves through the trees, shaking leaves from their late summer bloom and Connie swears he can hear you laughing, deep and rich and so like you. 

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[stuffems]

Me and @luminberry had a ramble the other day over an idea and I decided to write it using theirs and @acorncake’s cowboys! 

Enjoy!

Jasper had made his way to his sleeping quarters so he could get some kind of respite after his latest mission. The base itself was buzzing with life as always but the MAG was simply too tired to engage with it. Maybe a nap would help at least a little. He laid down, letting out a sigh of content as he slowly drifted off. 

A scent drifted in from the vents that tickled at the MAG’s senses. Something that made his mouth water and stomach growl viciously. It stirred him awake like a drop of blood setting off a feeding frenzy. White hot hunger flared to life inside of Jasper and it was hard to make sense of anything around him other than a single thought.

Find Food.

———

Cara, on the other hand, was simply doing his work as best he could. It was his job to keep the other “cowboys” in line of their work and it wasn’t exactly easy a majority of the time. At least some listened better than others and it was rather convenient that one such cowboy seemed to be approaching. Thankfully, Cara could tell it was Jasper simply by the sound of his walk. 

“Howdy Jasper. Thought you said you were fixin’ to take a nap for the day. Something else got you riled up— HEY!” The smaller blind sheriff was caught off guard when he was lifted up by the back of his shirt and held to eye-level with the fluffy MAG. “‘EY! What the hell ya think yer doin’ ya big fuzz brain?!” The most he could do was flail when a wave of hot air and the vague scent of saliva and whatever sweet the MAG had previously eaten that day wafted over the blind sheriff from below. 

“JASPER! PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW! I AIN’T GOT TIME FOR YOUR TOMFOOLERY—“ and down he plummeted into Jasper’s waiting maw. The small sheriff fell face first onto the MAG’s tongue before being immediately pressed to the roof of Jasper’s mouth. 

The MAG drooled at the taste of Cara’s presence on his tongue and it was just as he’d expected. It was a sweet and oddly light taste of caramel that made his mouth salivate at the touch. Unfortunately, Jasper couldn’t help but finally swallow the small sheriff to try and sate the hunger inside of him…only to be met with it intensifying. 

He needed more. So much more. 

———

In another part of the base, Zeke was having issues of his own. 

Bull had spontaneously become violent and now, the small cowboy was running from his MAG partner. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened but all of a sudden, Bull had a predatory look in his eyes that was different than usual. More feral. Now here was Zeke, running from one of his boyfriends like a maniac.

Slipping down a side hall, Zeke pressed himself against the wall as the MAG charged past. He took a breath and glanced around.

“What in the world is goin’ on? I gotta find Jasper, maybe he’ll help wrangle ol’ Bull.” Zeke muttered, making his way towards the sleeping quarters. 

The first red flag should’ve been that the whole sleeping quarters was quieter than a morgue. The second was finding Jasper swallowing one of the other recruits of the base. Zeke felt his stomach sink to the floor when the MAG looked in his direction, that same predatory glint in his eyes as Bull’s. There was nothing else needed to convince him something was severely wrong and thus he turned and ran. It didn’t take long for the fluffy MAG to see his prey run and make chase. 

Something was going on that obviously was making the MAGs go into some kind of feeding frenzy. Perhaps it was something in the air? If that were the case, Zeke needed to get Jasper and Bull out of the base to get some fresh air. Easier said than done of course. But that wouldn’t dissuade the cowboy from trying.

Booking it down the corridors, Zeke made sure that Jasper was hot on his heels so as to not lose his attention. While the MAG wasn’t the most in-shape of the gang of cowboys, it was terrifying just how quick he could move. Turning down a corner, Zeke nearly tripped before Jasper came barreling down and slamming hard into the wall before picking up speed again.

He was close. The exit was getting closer and closer before another wild card came in; Bull. The horned MAG practically collided with Jasper as he burst out from an adjacent hallway. Taking his chance, Zeke ran out through the large garage exit and drew the pair of MAGs with him. 

What was the plan now? Zeke didn’t really know. He was starting to become exhausted and so he couldn’t exactly keep running. Of course, he didn’t have the chance to decide before stumbling just enough for Jasper to snag the small cowboy in his claws. Without much fanfare, Jasper dangled Zeke over his open jaws and dropped him inside. He wanted to savor the coffee taste that emanated from the cowboy but Bull slammed into the fluffy MAG’s back, making Jasper prematurely swallow Zeke. The two MAGs then seemed to fight one another over the prey.

Zeke was dropped into Jasper’s stomach and onto Cara’s back with the other recruits. The blind cowboy yelped in pain and glared in Zeke’s direction. 

“Zeke what in the Sam hell is goin’ on out the—“ Cara’s words were cut off by a violent jostling on the outside. He promptly latched onto the other cowboy, startled by the commotion. The pair were quiet as the outside seemed to calm down and Jasper’s voice resonated.

“Ugh…what happened?” The fluffy MAG grumbled. 

“Uhhh…not sure. Why’re we outside?” Bull replied, looking about in confusion. “Wait where’s Zeke?” 

“Uh in here, boys!” Zeke shouted. Cara then realized what was going on and let go of the other. It did draw a chuckle from Zeke at least. “Y’all alright?”

Predictably enough, Jasper and Bull both bubbled over with apologies and made sure to spit up all who they’d snatched up. While they couldn’t figure out what caused the frenzy, everyone within the base made sure to check that whatever it is was gone. Suffice to say, it was a bit of a rough time. 

The upside is that the polycule had a lovely cuddle session and napped together.