#even if its unedited and i wrote this instead of working

[sl-ut]

still here

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel is older than y/n, but that’s never been a concern of hers until very recently.

warnings: UNEDITED, age gap (legal), swearing, mentions of sex, mentions of ageing, mentions of health issues, mentions of insecurities, angsty, i literally stole the final line from tlou s1e3

words: 2.3K

date posted: 29/03/23

(idk how i feel about this yet, the idea just popped into my head and i wrote it in about an hour and a half so don’t be too mad if its not great!)

Fifty-eight was not old. Y/n had been reassuring Joel of that since they had started dating. Maybe he was older than her, but that had very little to do with the way that she felt about him. 

His age was among his biggest insecurities. He was a man who had lived through and was hardened by the apocalypse, while she was just a child when it happened, and was able to deal with the trauma of the world ending much better due to the fact that she simply couldn’t remember any part of her life from before. The apocalypse had taken a great toll on him, both emotionally and physically. 

Twenty-odd years ago, he was a relatively young man, and a rather fit one at that. As a contractor, his body had developed and hardened from the amounts of physical labour that he was constantly performing, and while he was still physically active after the outbreak, his age made it more difficult to prevent his belly from softening and his joints from weakening. He was less willing to admit that he was insecure about his physical appearance, though he did very little to hide it. In fact, he had batted her away during their first few times having sex when she had tried to unbutton his shirt, instead choosing to stay mostly clothed while she was nearly bare. She did her best to assure him that she was very attracted to him, though it still took quite a bit of coaxing before he was willing to shed his clothes in her presence. 

Her attraction was not phased by his age, in fact, it may have been accelerated by it, though she could not deny the fact that it definitely frightened her. When she first met Joel, she was a bright-eyed twenty-year old who was morbidly turned on by the sexy fifty-year old man next door, and was wildly ignorant to the looming danger when she had started a relationship with him a few years later; the world was not built for long lifespans anymore, and there would come a day when Joel would no longer be there with her. During their early relationship, Joel warned her of exactly that, but she waved him off and promised him that it didn’t scare her.

And it hadn’t, until fairly recently. She was grateful that she, Ellie, and Joel had come across Jackson; she was able to let her guard down, socialise, and thrive in the new community. She and Joel were able to settle into their new home while Ellie set up camp in the garage out back, and they could look forward to actually living rather than basic survival. The lessened worry in her life allowed her to see what was right before her for the first time.

She had comforted Joel before when he complained about the pain in his knees and hands, though she was truly seeing the effects that it was having on him since their arrival in Jackson. Just last week, the man had nearly thrown his back out from laughing a bit too hard at something that Ellie said, and his salt-and-pepper hair seemed to have lightened considerably more. 

She had even noted his lowered libido, having gone from wanting her at least once a day to once or twice a week–though she was certain it wasn’t for a lack of physical attraction on his end, as he had been eager when she began to kiss him, only his body seemed to be working against his wants. That was his greatest insecurity yet, especially since it had begun happening on a more regular basis. He was always quick to apologise, offering to help her out in other ways, though she always assured him that everything was fine, and it was.

Everything was fine, but her fear of that changing was growing exponentially with every physical sign of his ageing. She did her best to hide her concerns, knowing that they would only be proof of his insecurities, and instead made an effort to keep him healthy in a more subtle manner, such as suggesting that he eats less red meat, inviting him on long evening strolls through the town, and forcing him to join her for long bubble baths to soothe his aches and pains. If he had picked up on this, he hadn’t mentioned it, and she could always tell when he did, because he would wave it off or do something ridiculous that would only end up proving her point.

Then came the final straw.

She was working in the gardens with Maria that day, chatting back and forth happily and they worked to tidy up the growing crops. They had become good friends in Y/n’s time in Jackson, bonding over their shared love for the Miller boys. Maria had been rambling, going on about something that Tommy had done to piss her off earlier that week, finishing her story with a shake of her head before she changed the subject.

“Oh, I meant to ask you,” the woman turned her head, “How’s Joel feeling today? Tommy told me about what happened, that’s an awful scare. At his age, chest pain is not something to be taken lightly–not to say that he’s old or unhealthy, but you know how it is.”

Y/n froze, tilting her head at the woman, “Tommy told you…chest pain?”

“He never told you.” Maria’s expression tightened, realising that the younger woman had no idea what she was talking about. She sighed, dropping her tools and turning to face Y/n as she placed her hands on her hips, “Look, I don’t mean to be the one causing issues between you two, but this isn’t something to mess around with. The other day, while Joel and Tommy were out on patrol, Tommy said that Joel suddenly got dizzy, weak, and was complaining about some pain in his chest. Now, in saying that, I know that he’s been to the doctor, and he’s probably got his reasons for not telling you.”

Y/n pursed her lips, face hardening at the sudden burn of tears at her waterline, “Yeah, I’m sure he did. When did you say this was?”

“Earlier this week. Tuesday, I think.”

She shook her head. It was Saturday, meaning that it had been almost an entire week since this happened and Joel had neglected to tell her. Y/n chose not to respond, quickly finishing up her work before bidding Maria goodnight, heading back to her shared house with Joel.

When she arrived, there was no response to her call, but Joel’s coat thrown on the back of the couch betrayed that he was home, and the soft sounds of his guitar coming from the back porch revealed his location. The strumming came to a stop as the backdoor creaked open, his eyes turning to face her with a soft smile.

“Hey, darlin’-” His peaceful expression shifted to one of worry when he took her in own sombre face, “What’s the matter–did something happen?”

She shook her head, shrugging as she leaned against the railing, “I don’t know, did something happen? Because today, when I was with Maria, she seemed awfully concerned about how you were feeling.”

Realisation dawned on his features, his brows furrowing as he moved the guitar out his lap and ran a hand over his face, “Baby, it’s nothin–”

“Don’t do that,” she scowled at him, “don’t tell me it’s nothing when it’s so clearly not nothing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you worrying about me.”

She scoffed, “Fuck, you did a great job of doing that, didn’t you? What am I supposed to do when I hear from someone else that you had to go to the infirmary almost a week ago because you had chest pain? I mean, really, that’s not something to fuck around with, especially–”

“Especially what?” He challenged, already knowing what she was thinking.

Y/n stopped, debating whether or not she wanted to say it, “Especially at your age.”

He stood up and marched to the other side of the patio and rested his hands on the railing, looking out across the small backyard. Y/n could practically feel the emotions that radiated from him; a mixture of anger, annoyance, embarrassment, and shame. 

She sighed, moving to rest a hand on his back, “Joel, you know I don’t care about your age. I love you, but I need you to start taking care of yourself. This needs to be a wakeup call, I mean, it definitely is for me.”

“Why,” he huffed, “you finally coming to your senses? Finally realising that sooner or later I’m gonna–”

“Please don’t say it,” she whispered, sniffling softly as she rested her forehead in the middle of his back, “Please, please, please.”

Joel scowled, sliding away from her grasp, “About time you start to face reality, darlin’. I’m old, I’ve accepted it. Maybe you should wisen up and go find someone who’s not gonna leave you sooner or later, huh?”

Joel escaped into the house and out the front door, slamming it shut behind him. Y/n let out a shaky breath, moving to sit on the bench where Joel had been when she had gotten home, curling into herself and letting silent tears streak down her cheeks. It was only moments later when she heard her own name being called, Ellie creeping out onto the patio nervously.

Y/n wiped her cheeks, smiling weakly at the girl as she sat next to her, “Hey Jellybean.”

Ellie smiled at the name, having not heard it for a while now. She felt somewhat bad about that, having been a result of her requesting to be treated more like an adult, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I was just over there, so…”

Y/n smiled at the teen, curling her arm around her shoulder affectionately, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…concerned, I guess.”

She nodded, leaning against the older female, “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

Y/n smiled at the child-like question, as if she were asking her parents if they were getting a divorce–which, to be fair, she sort of was, “Yeah, baby. We’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

The uncertainty in Ellie’s voice caused her breath to catch in her throat, finally thinking over the fight. Were they okay? Maybe you should wisen up and go find someone who’s not gonna be leaving you sooner or later. Those words in themselves felt like a knife driving into her gut–was that him ending things? She had dealt with Joel’s insecurities before, but he had never blatantly told her to leave him behind, nor has he ever explicitly pointed out that he would probably die long before her. Before she could even finish her thought, her head fell forward and a loud sob escaped from her throat. 

Ellie was quick to pull her into a hug, awkwardly trying to soothe her as she wept into her shoulder. She listened to her ramble on, struggling to understand everything that she was saying, frowning to herself as she made a mental note to go after Joel the moment that she felt comfortable enough to leave Y/n to herself.

– – –

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open as she felt the mattress shift beneath her. Her foggy vision took in her side of the room, dimly lit by the lamp on her bedside table before she glanced over her shoulder, finding Joel’s back as he leaned down to untie his boots. His back cracked as he straightened up, reminding her of their fight, though she was feeling more confident that he hadn’t broken up with her considering that he had come to bed with her. 

She reached out tiredly, fingers brushing over his back as she murmured his name. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge her, but he didn’t entirely face her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice hoarse from crying, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” he sighed, finally twisting his body to sit sideways on the mattress. His own face showed signs of stress, and his eyes were rimmed with red, “I know, baby. I’m sorry too.”

Joel apologising was no small feat, that much she knew. Normally when they fought, he would give a simple you were right and do something nice for her, but it was very rare for him to actually apologise.

“It’s just…” she pushed herself to sit up, “I know you don’t like to think about this, but it’s really scary for me. I’m not stupid, I know you’re older than me and I know that there’s no stopping the inevitable–” she choked, “but I won’t apologise for trying to prolong it as much as possible.”

He dropped his head, “I know, I’m scared too. Just the thought of leaving you here all on your own…”

She crawled across the bed, smoothly working her way onto his lap and engulfing him in a tight hug. The weight of his arms around her pulled yet another sob out of her throat. His large hands found purchase on her back, sliding up and down her spine as his chest shook with his own tears. 

She pulled her head out of his neck, staring up at him with large, teary eyes. Her hand came up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes, “Please let me help you. I’m not ashamed of you or your age, but I don’t know how I’m gonna live without you, so please tell me next time.”

He nodded, “I’m sorry. For not tellin’ you, and for being so fuckin’ old.”

“I like you older,” she snorted, fingers stroking along his furry jawline, “it means you’re still here.”

[acerathia]

equilibrium || Aventurine

Summary:

Aventurine found you by chance, and kept you. Yet, was he any better than the others vying for you?

Wordcount: 4.7k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Aventurine / Slave!Mermaid!Reader

Tags/CW:

slave reader, implicit trauma, mentions of gambling and human trafficking, slight spoilers for Aventurine's backstory, Hopeful Ending, maybe slightly ooc

Note:

I wrote this for mermay, and for my bday, congrat to me, yippie!! also, unedited bc i rlly wanted to share edit: sequel - delirium

The bustling of the people surrounded Aventurine, the murmurs waves hitting against him with each step he took. Normally, he wasn’t someone to appear in such a place, much less participate in whatever activities they try to hide. His place was at a table, a couple chips in each pocket and luck to gamble on. 

Yet there he was, making his way towards the rendezvous point he was given on a crumpled piece of paper. And if this meeting weren’t so crucial for the plans he has built inside his mind, topping it with his inherent gift, he wouldn’t even be in such a place. A place reminding him too much of who he used to be. 

So, keeping a pace in his steps, he tried to hurry without giving the impression that he wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

Finally, arriving at the place he has been given direction to, the first thing Aventurine noticed was the stage, still empty, the curtains still closed. He almost frowned, but he caught himself, keeping his face relaxed with his usual smug smile. Instead of worrying about whatever was happening behind the stage, he turned to look for the person of interest. 

The moment he spotted them, he leisurely walked over, immediately taking a seat beside them, not caring if it belonged to somebody else, or if there were other free spaces available. He leaned back in his seat, resting his elbow on the edge of the back, as he turned to slightly face his opponent in this upcoming verbal gamble. 

But before he could prepare the bait onto his tongue, the lights dimmed and the curtains began to shift as they slowly revealed what was hiding behind it. And Aventurine wasn’t interested, not only that, he was outright disgusted, his neck itching but he refrained from even acknowledging the burn in his throat. 

Especially at the sight exhibited in front of the murmuring crowd, gasps simmering down to amazement. Their eyes glued to the tank posed in the middle of the stage. For a moment, Aventurine tried to reign himself in, to focus on his target, but watching said target not even glancing at him, he had to see for himself what could catch the mind of so many people with its simple appearance. 

The moment his eyes fixed themselves to the front, everything clicked into place. 

Because there you were, floating in the shallow water given to you, limp and listless. And while he normally wouldn't keep his eyes on such a spectacle for such a prolonged time any other time, too busy with too much work and gambling, this time he couldn't, as his eyes noticed something too familiar close to your collarbone. Something still red and swollen, something that made his skin burn with memory. 

He had to rip his eyes from the all too familiar sight, only to notice what had truly caught the attention of all these people. 

Despite the lack of movement, maybe especially because of the lethargy, the shine of the headlights sparkled off you. Because instead of the pair of legs someone would expect from a person getting sold, your bare skin tapered off into something similar to the skin of a fish. The scales glittered within the small waves of the water, the fins not even trying to hold you, still, lifeless, the same way your eyes just seemed to look through everything in front of you, mind in a faraway place, maybe even safe and sound. 

His eyes on yours, but there was nothing to meet. So, he looked away, trying to get his focus back onto his task at hand. But his target was too transfixed to be dealt any deals of his, so Aventurine decided to wait this out. He could be a patient man if it meant more profit in the future. 

So, he waited and watched. Watched as the price climbed, as hands shot out without any hesitancy. The price rose, unfurling, and he was not surprised, it was nothing but a spectacle after all. A show that went both ways. Who had more to give, more money, more possession, more desire. 

He flexed his fingers. Something hot running through them, making them cling uncomfortably to the skin of his gloves. And before he knew it, his hand was raised, if only for a moment, barely enough for the number to be called out. One that didn’t last any longer than it took for him to let his hand come back to clench against his thigh. A failure. Something he hadn’t experienced in some time. But he supposed that his luck, Gaiathra Triclops, was trying to tell him something, and he could do nothing but accept it. 

Without raising his hand again, without tearing his gaze away from you, catching the slight raise of your chest, the only sign of you being more than a glorified corpse. Even if you might as well be one in your state. 

He only listened, trying to understand what was being whispered between the ranks of the competitors, anything that could be used against them, any information that could prove itself useful. But as much as he tried to divert his attention, it always returned back to you, to you and that red shimmering in the water. 

In the end, the man by his side has won the battle of wealth, gaining the unspoken status, and you. And Aventurine finally got his gaze away from you, if only to finally face the task he was appointed, if only to flee this place as soon as he was done. 

Talk and gamble, a quick tongue and quicker hands, that was all he had, his luck aside, yet those were often more than enough. They had to, they were the only things that could never be truly ripped away from him, unlike the memories gaining a certain hazy quality the more he draped himself in luxury, the more often he was called by a different name. And those skills would always accompany him, even if they ripped everything away from him once again, leaving him bare and shivering, at their mercy. 

But at this point, Aventurine would rather disappear into the depths of the universe, back into Mother Fenge’s embrace, than to return to that state. But before it comes to that, he would continue using his skills, his life was one big gamble, and in the end, there will be only one winner, the same one as the loser. 

A twitch of his fingers, a substitute of shaking his head to regain his senses, as he could not afford to show any weaknesses. 

He faced the man, the one now owning you, and he began doing what he was best at. It didn’t take long until his task was wrapped around his finger, or rather in his debt, his being now transferred to the IPC, as they expected him to after this meeting. 

Only one thing did Aventurine decide to keep to himself, something that the IPC wasn’t aware of yet, and they would be, without doubt. Yet, he took that one thing to himself, as some form of payment of sorts. Jade would surely understand that he too desired… 

A shuddering breath escaped him the moment he stepped out of that glamorous space, leaving the excited shouts behind him, leaving the lingering ache behind him. Only taking two pieces of paper with him, one neat, kept in a folder, the other folded in his pocket, hidden for his eyes only, for as long as possible. 

He took a moment for himself, tucked into the shadows, to collect himself, to build the mask back up. The one he couldn’t afford to let crumble in front of anyone, not even himself. 

Pulling his shoulders back, he started making his way back to base, and to the only place he might ever call his own, not quite home, but something analogous. And it was more than enough. 

After delivering the papers, thus fulfilling the task assigned to him, he let himself take a step into the place belonging to him, if only in name. The inside of the small space was meticulously clean, no dust despite the little amount of time he actually spent in there. And despite its size, it remained impersonal, nothing alluding to the way Aventurine draped himself in luxury and secrets, almost like if one touch too much might lead to the doom of him. With the life he was leading, he could not afford to get attached, much less to an empty space, one carrying his name, but never truly his. 

He rid himself of his coat, slowly plucking the rings of his fingers to pile them up on a table, scratch marks the only indication of any use. And, for some reason, he decided to take a peek into the bathroom, only the necessities standing in a line, and the moment his eyes connected with the bathtub, a frown pinched between his brows. This was ridiculous. This whole idea was idiotic, and he should–

There was a knock on the door, startling him out of the bathroom. He was not expecting anyone, nobody should come to this place unless necessary. Yet, the knocks remained calm, no urgency in their rhythm. 

For a moment he was keen on ignoring whoever was in front of the door until they left eventually. But he was feeling tired, and he couldn’t know how long they would just keep knocking, and knocking, making noise without any consequences–

And he was already at the door, opening it. Whoever was waiting took their chances and just walked in, but not alone. There were a couple of people just storming this place, and then his eyes landed on the thing they were carrying in. 

A tank. 

A protest died on his lips as they left as fast as they came, not even an exchange of words, not to him, not between themselves. And as quickly he was all alone once again. 

Just, this time he wasn’t that alone anymore. The tank just stood in the middle of the room, taking some space, enough to be noticeable, but not that much to be much of a bother. The lid not allowing any sight into its contents, blocking any light from getting in simply by being a plate of black. 

The mere thought of being stuck in such a space, barely enough for someone to lie in, made his skin crawl. Aventurine was never one to feel any kind of claustrophobia, even if he did grow underneath the open sky, the wind on his skin, the ground steady under his feet, free to walk and turn and jump. But this tank, the mere thought of being stuck in the same stagnant place, nothing more than the necessary surrounding him, felt uncannily familiar, and he hated that. 

So, he shoved his fingers to find some kind of grasp underneath the edge of the lid, and once he had one, he pulled it off, almost throwing it away as it plopped away much easier than he would have expected. (Almost like they didn’t expect you to get away, but it didn’t take long for him to remember that you had no other choice, no way to get away no matter how much you tried, how much you might have wanted to.)

Fingers running through his hair, he looked down into the tank, to the content he was expecting, yet wished to be null and void. 

There was no gaze to meet, no eyes to see him as he peered into the water, the one barely covering you, barely enough, barely clean. Just enough to keep you alive, and the way the water seemed to be muddled and greasy made him uneasy. Or rather the memory of being kept just alive, being constantly threatened by the environment in itself, never secure, never safe. 

Abruptly, he stood up and walked over to the bathroom, only to stop at the doorway, darkness in front of him, the bathtub still where he had known it to be. A moment of hesitancy, before he shook himself out of it. For this moment he wasn’t sure if you would have wanted help, if you’d rather take another way, one Aventurine had considered often if not for the promise to his sister. Yet, he decided to pull through, you could still decide to decline whatever he may give you once you come back to your senses, if you ever do. 

After flicking on the light, he opened the faucet, allowing the water to slowly fill the water. During this process, Aventurine kept working, as he began to push the tank closer to the entrance of the bathroom. He didn’t know enough to just grab you and heave you into the water, you might not survive any longer periods out of it, jostling you might startle you, leading to some ugly trashing before he even would have the chance to get you close to the tub. And he’d like to avoid as many injuries, especially to his face, as much as possible, thank you very much. 

Once the tank was as close to the tub as physically possible, meaning it just laid there besides the door just outside, the bathroom too small for it, he shut the flow of the water, as the tub seemed full enough, almost dangerously full if you were to ask him. But those were details he didn’t have the concentration for. 

His focus laid entirely upon your prone body, as he tried to think of a way to lift you up without slipping through his fingers. He doubted he would be able to grab your arms and drag you to the tub, your tail seemed like most of your weight came from there, especially due to its sheer size. 

After rolling his sleeves up, and with no other choice in sight, he began sliding one of his arms underneath your shoulders, trying to stabilize your torso as his other arm slung over your tail, pressing it to himself to not lose grip. 

A breath and he straightened up, paying attention to not simply let you slip from his grasp, the water between the layers of skin a dangerous player. With quick steps he crossed the bathroom and as much he wanted to throw you in to get rid of the weight, he bowed to let you down slowly, his arms trembling. 

Your figure immersed itself immediately into the fresh water, and he thought he might have seen something flutter at the column of your neck. But he avoided looking in that general vicinity anyway, rather turning around to get rid of the tank, or at least to put it somewhere less restrictive. And then, then he had to see what he might do about your presence in his place, occupying his bathtub. 

***

It was way too early in the morning, and yet Aventurine was awake, at least that was what he tried to tell himself as he stumbled through the room towards the bathroom. If he had the possibility, he would have stayed in bed longer, yet work called and he did not want to neglect his alleged duties just yet. 

His hand tapped around the wall looking for the light switch as he stepped inside, expecting to be able to get through his morning routine as fast as possible.

But before the light illuminated the small space, his eyes caught sight of two reflective disks floating in the dark, turned towards him, and he took a surprised step back, ready to strike back against whatever was invading the place. 

His hand brushed the switch, and the light flooded the bathroom. Blinking, he tried to adjust faster to the sudden change. 

Muscles still tense, he looked into the direction of the earlier glow. But all he saw was you, arms leaning against the edge of the tub, your head laying on top of it. Your gaze stayed on him, even if you did squint your eyes, almost like some form of mistrust. 

And was he not the right one to understand how you might feel. At the same time, he did not have the time to indulge in your curiosity, or his. Rather, he turned around towards the sink and acted nonchalant, as if your mental presence didn’t come as a surprise. 

He almost felt the way your eyes traveled over his form, catching onto the word on the side of his neck. The one so similar, if not identical to yours. And your confusion could be sensed even without you moving in the slightest, without him even daring to glance at you. 

For a couple of seconds, he acted as if the water coming out of the sink was the most interesting thing to ever be seen today, until he realized how much he must have been stalling and shut it off with a click. 

And he couldn’t help it, he turned towards you, ready to look you in the eyes, look at your current disposition. But before he fully faced you, there was a barely heard splash, and the only thing he could see was the tail end of yours slightly peeking out of the water. 

Shifting his weight slightly, he furrowed his eyebrows. He truly didn’t know what to expect or what to do. So, he did what he thought best, he turned around. Only, the hold of his feet was much too precarious as his balance tipped over, all because of a little puddle against the tile floor. 

His reflexes caught on faster than his brain, and his arms were holding him, clawing at the edge of the basin as his legs slowly slumped to ground. Only once he was secure on the ground did he allow himself to breathe again, the air releasing after the sudden fall had almost choked him. 

He began to lessen the tension in his arms, only to suddenly be face to face with you, inches barely between the two of you; only him slightly looking down on you. 

Your eyes were wide open as they stare him down, and the moment you opened your mouth he couldn’t help but glance towards them; expectancy rushing through him. But all he got were a couple of clicks, coming from the depth of your throat. 

And it seemed like you sensed his confusion, as you put your arms at the spots where his once were and stemmed yourself higher, to be at the same height as him. Releasing one of your arms from the spot, you let it slowly approach his skin, his neck, his code. 

Surprisingly, Aventurine didn’t even think of dodging your careful touch, rather, he anticipated it. There was just something about the way you barely let your cold fingers touch him, how it was more about making sure it was real than about the contact itself. Cold water dropped down the column of his throat as you continued to trace the one thing you both shared, at least externally. 

His breath shuddered as you began to apply more pressure, and with that he pulled away. He couldn’t afford to slack right now, even with the frown you were giving him, the slight tilt of your head as you let out a couple of clicks, a question tinting them. 

He sighed as he brushed his hair aside, his wet fingers letting them stick in place. There was no way to know if you understood him, but he had to try, right?

With a couple of sentences he explained that he had to go, work and people were expecting him. And even if it seemed like you grasped what he meant, the frown never left your face. Yet, you let him go without trying anything. 

So, he left. 

***

The day had worn him out. Aventurine knew the gamble, was the best at it, yet it didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it. The only thing he got out of this work were the benefits, some better than others. 

He wanted nothing more than to lay down, yet the absent buzzing of the background made the calm and quiet almost oppressive, almost like his ears were stuffed. 

With a sigh, he went through the same motions he did every time he came back. Only to falter slightly the moment he heard a splash coming from the bathroom. 

Right. You were still there. 

Loosening his collar, he made his way to the bathroom, this time expecting the ominous glow of your eyes. But when he peered inside, there was only darkness, the light switch was off and your eyes covered by the water. The only indication of your existence were the almost too loud waves of the water. 

His fingers found the switch, and light flooded the small space. Once again, all he could see of you was part of your tail, and he realized that the bathtub might be just a tad too small for you. 

The moment the light touched the surface of the water, the movements of the waves intensified, and as he slowly stepped towards the basin, your  torso emerged out of the water with a sudden jerk, only to come face to face with him once again. 

As much as he wanted to say that he was better prepared, he still flinched slightly at the sudden jump. Your movements had sprayed water all over the floor and all over him. Aventurine could feel the way spots of his clothes slightly stuck to his skin and the water droplets running over his skin. 

With a couple of clicks, you grabbed his hand to tug him closer. Taking a couple steps closer, he carefully kneeled beside the tub and ignored the way the puddles on the ground soaked into the tissue of his pants. Rather, he put his focus on you, the way your cold fingers were gingerly holding his wrist while you led his own to your skin. 

Warm meets cold, and this time it was your skin reacting to his touch. Yet, you didn’t relent, rather you applied more pressure, until he noticed where you had put his finger onto. 

Your own code. The one warmer than the rest of your skin, red edges and raw borders. 

His mind tumbled. Was he any better than these people buying and selling, acting like everyone was nothing but profit? Wasn’t he acting the same way, taking and keeping people, hidden under the dark. 

He jerked his hand away from yours, abruptly standing up, his soaked pants cooling him down to an uncomfortable degree. 

And this time, he left without any words. 

***

This time, HE kept the lights on, as some kind of mercy. But whatever effort HE put into this little thought of HIS only brought more pain. Your eyes were killing you, the shine of the lamp above searing your retina. Still not used to the lamps of the land, as the water below remained dark, always.

So, you kept them close, and stayed underwater, the only comfort for your hot eyes and burning mark. 

Resting your head against the bottom of the bathtub, you couldn’t help but frown. You had no idea what you were doing in this place. Most so-called owners of the past were people equipped with handling you, big tanks, so much space (and the eyes, never leaving you, always staring, always desiring). Some grew tired of you, others couldn’t keep maintaining the tanks and the technology, while a couple simply went out cold, or whatever. It didn’t matter to you, as you kept being handed around, sold to whoever got feverish with the idea of owning you.

And you, you had given up on going back home. There was no such place anymore. At least from what you understood from the conversations over the edge of the tanks. They sucked it dry, and whatever wouldn’t bring them enough profit was left to rot on top of the hot sand. 

So, the only thing you could do was nothing. Nothing but survive. You couldn’t fight, you couldn’t run away. You were completely dependent on whoever was keeping you in their palm. 

Your fingers brushed against the mark on your shoulder, the dull throbbing intensifying with each stroke. You had never had one of these before, every owner wanting to keep you as beautiful as you were, only selling you to private people. But you supposed these traders didn’t care for such pretenses, thus officially marking you as property, as something to own, to sell and buy. 

It bothered you, really, just being in this place, having no idea what was expected of you. HE never seemed to have any favorable reaction to your existence, which boils your blood. You didn’t want to be in this place either, HE was the one to bring you to this space. 

But the image of HIS mark flashing through your mind calmed you a little bit. You didn’t quite understand why HE had one, yet could walk around so freely, but you knew that HE was in some way aware of the situation you were in, how living had been like this. 

So, you decided to cut HIM some slack, even if you wanted nothing more than to understand HIS intentions towards you, besides the impossible freedom of course. 

Curling your fingers, long nails soothingly scratching your skin, you let your mind wander. 

***

It took some time until HE visited you again, it was almost like HE was actively avoiding you. Thinking back on your last encounter, on HIS facial expression HE probably was. And you didn’t mind the solitude, even if the small environment quickly grew boring and dull. But that too, was nothing new to you. You just dived into yourself in the way you would dive into the deep water. 

So, you barely noticed HIS arrival, simply floating in the unmoving, almost stale water. The thing alarming you of HIS presence was the noise. The scratching of HIS rings, the glide of HIS clothes against each other, HIS oh-so-careful yet confident steps. You knew HE was in this room with you, yet you stayed underwater, suddenly so unsure what you were supposed to do. 

An image flashed through your mind, one so unpleasant that your body almost flinched on itself. You didn’t know if it was a good thing to be reminded of your expected behavior like this, but it was a reminder nonetheless. 

Collecting yourself, you emerged slowly, only allowing your head to break the surface of the water. 

You didn’t know what to expect (an imposing figure looking down on you, ready to strike–), but it was not HIM once again kneeling as low as possible beside the bathtub containing you, almost like HE was trying to be on the same level as you, how absurd–

“I’m sorry,” He softly murmured, His voice careful and almost hesitant, yet His eyes stayed on you, unwavering. 

You had so many questions, but you could never convey them to him, and you shouldn’t, it wasn’t your turn to speak, who were you to try to talk. 

Out of instinct, your head moved slightly to the side as you blinked slowly at Him, and He slowly raised His hand, reaching out to you. 

(Skin against skin, a sharp sting, over and over again–)

His fingers carefully touched your cheeks, barely any contact, yet the difference in temperature something to shiver at. But you didn’t dare to, you didn’t dare to move. 

Trailing your skin, your throat as you swallowed, He only stopped when His skin was about to meet your marking. Another whisper, another apology fell from His mouth. 

And for some reason, you did something you would have never dared to, you took the hand touching you, your other hand carefully meeting the skin of His, fingers carefully around His neck. Slowly, you pulled Him closer to you. 

With a soft click of yours you let his forehead rest against yours. And as if he understood everything you wanted to tell him, the tension melted away from his body as he slumped against you. 

Holding him against your skin, a small equilibrium between you, you think that everything might turn out alright after all. 

[delugguk]

how bad?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 763

summary: jungkook is leaving for qatar but he wanted something before he leaves.

a/n: I think y'all know already.. also, hiiiiiiiii this is my pre-comeback? (It isn't the official) but I've been wanting to upload something while I'm fixing some stuff. I MISS YOU. like you don't have idea and I miss being here and I hate saying things and then disappearing but ughghgh I promise I'll fix that bc I want it too. - but anyways, I don't want to make this longer and this is something I quickly wrote so if there's any typos (sorryyy) bc this is also unedited. with nothing more to say, ENJOY! and I hope you like it <3.

"gonna miss me?"

"fuck. m'gonna miss you."

"how bad?"

Jungkook was going to Qatar. Job stuff. legendary things are coming for him and you couldn't be more proud but right now.. he was fucking you goodbye. - he wasn't leaving for months but his schedule has been low-key tight, he's been rehearsing so much, perfectioning his acting, singing and presence so much. he's been working really hard.

it's not that you two don't have time because you literally fucked 4 days ago, but jungkook said he wasn't leaving for many days without having to feel you one more time. something about him feeling your touch fresh into his skin and memory while he's away. facetiming exist, but you both know is not the same.

so that's why he's now man-handling your hips on his dick while he teases you with questions even though he sounds very out of breath but god, isn't him so stupidly hot right now.

..and always.

"mmhg so badly." you sound out of breath too.

his dick is so thick, so rich. there's a small but very notorious transparent fluid decorating his dick of proof of just how good he's making you feel and by the way his eyes gazes at you right now.. even his slight rosy cheeks..

sigh. was he really a sight.

"wish you could come with me." he deeply moans against your neck very close to your ear when you rest your head on his left shoulder. hips moving on its own but he squeezes your ass to stop. "mmhg come here baby."

and he man-handles you once again. ass up, back slightly arched when he places you back to the sofa and his dick enters you again.

"mhg" moaning, you lean your head down when he closes both your legs to feel more pleasure and he's fucking you so slow now, all you can hear is him, breathing - along side the sound of liquids moving on all places.

"god. gonna miss this pussy." whispering a little in between teeth. "can't believe this is all because of me." he hardly bites his lips.

for some reason.. hearing him say that, made you more turned on. he noticed though - you squeezed your walls a little.

it made him smirk.

one hand caresses your ass-cheek when he slaps it and you don't know how to stop getting wet for this.

"fucking greedy for me, hm?"

you start pushing your hips back, currently biting your lips. he always gives it to you good. "always".

"Is that so?"

"eungg"

and for a moment he just places both his hands behind his waist to watch your ass move back at him, vagina swallowing whole. "so fucking hot." and he just smiles looking at it as if he was proud of you for taking him so well.

"my pretty girl." softly smiling, you don't know but there's a tiny but notable cockiness in him. - he grabs your waist. "isn't it time for me to fuck you right?"

with that being said, he goes for your previous position. on top of him, he stabilizes your hips just so you can't move when he thrust rapidly into you.

"fuck!" pushing your body at his side, your boobs are bouncing so much as you try to keep your body still with your hands resting beside his face. holding the sofa instead.

"yeah baby. so good, hm?" he's gone.

and so it happens for the rest of the night. It's wild.

but so good.

"have a nice flight babe, I'll be watching you from afar like always."

"but that's only when I'm away though." he hugs you. "you know I rather keeping you close." kissing your cheek at the front door of his/your apartment.

smiling, "you know me too." kissing his lips. "you looks very pretty today."

"so are you," he spins you around like a princess. "look at you!"

lightly punching his shoulder, "stop," you giggle in between. "now.. come on. you'll be late."

"won't you come with me?"

you stare confusely at him.

he corrects himself. "I mean, on the car.." he rambles, "my departure. me, leaving. me-"

"yeah, yeah, I understand." you laugh, making him too. "If you're good with that-"

"you know I am." he 'obviously' says.

You smile. "let's go then. It'll be one more time kiss."

"one of the many though. It could lead to more but, you know." he jokes.

"yeah, whatever" you playfully roll your eyes when you finally step outside.

he extends his hand for your to grab when he follows. finally closing the door, "let's go."

[sugarcoatednightshade]

finally got around to watching The Unsleeping City and I'm so obsessed with Pete. immaculate vibes. perfect character.

Anyway I'm halfway through episode 8 and I can't stop thinking about the previous episode, We Need to Talk About Pete. Especially that scene where Robert Moses shows him that video of Kingston admitting that he'd kill him if necessary, and Pete assumes that it's just taken out of context. Which is funny and sorrowful because this is a rare instance where context makes his statement 1000x worse.

And I had to pause Subway Skirmish and write this quickie just exploring what would happen if Pete heard the whole conversation, terrible context included. Its mostly work for word until the end, the only difference being that Ricky agrees more with Esther and basically proposes an intervention, which gets to Pete in a whole other way.

I'm predicting that Pete and the gang make up almost immediately. Either at the end of this episode or the next one. Which is really sweet and affirming, but I love the idea of pvp and Pete actively fighting the rest of the group, maybe embracing being the voice of nightmares as well as dreams, isolating himself with nightmares, etc.

Anyway, I cant finish the episode I'm on until I post this. mom said. Enjoy 1.5k I literally wrote instead of sleeping. This is a first draft, unedited, probably full of needless angst and grammatical errors, I wrote it in like an hour and refuse to read it again. Enjoy.

Robert held the phone out to Pete. Its screen showed a video cued up to play.

“Listen, kid, I’m not trying to force you into anything here. I just want you to have all the information, know who you’re really working with.”

“I know who I’m working with,” Pete lied. But he was looking down at the screen which showed his new – friends? Associates? Comrades in arms? – sitting down at a table. The angle was high and the quality kind of shit, like it was taken from old security footage, but Pete could clearly make out Kingston’s expression, frozen in something like rage. It was a weird expression on him, one Pete hadn’t seen in all the time he’d known the man.

“Just look,” Robert said. “Come to your own conclusions.”

Pete takes the phone away from Robert, hating himself for it. But, goddamn it, despite it all, he was still fucking human. Even knowing Robert’s game – he could practically smell the shit he was talking – he couldn’t pass up on free information. If only so that he could know what Robert knew, so he couldn’t use it as extortion later.

Yeah, Pete thought, real convincing.

He pressed play. The image on screen jumped, showing a much calmer and collected Kingston. It was reassuring for all of one second, because when the recorded Kingston opened his mouth, the words he said sent Pete’s stomach rocketing to the floor.

“I mean, here’s the truth Alejandro if things get out of hand, we put him down. Straight up.”

He barely hears Kugrash’s and Sofia’s protests, ignores the revelations that Kugrash has human kids and a whole human life he abandoned, stuck trying to process what he just heard.

Kingston is speaking again, saying that ten out ten times he’d choose the city over Pete and that’s fine, really, that’s fine. Pete’s not selfish enough to thing that he matters more than the entire population of New York City. And Kingston is supposed to be the voice of the city or something. It’s basically his job. Pete should be used to people in his life choosing their careers over him.

Sofia asks a question that’s been bothering him for a while, and Alejandro answers confuses him at first – he talks about someone named Jackson and a Concrete Order and some other things Pete doesn’t really understand until…

“It is not fair to the people who have come to this city or have been born here and lived here their entire lives, that their wellbeing, safety, and in fact, even their life or death should be thrown into chaos because of what amounts to often a joke.”

Pete thinks back to the bug monsters that had attacked Astoria. Despite all the destruction and chaos and death, at no point had he sensed any real malice coming from them. They had been excited and grateful and fully unaware of why what they were doing was wrong. To call them evil implied that they knew right from wrong and actively chose it, but they were just doing what they did just because.

Alejandro had become more animated as he spoke, gesturing wildly with his hands, but now he lowered his voice enough that Pete had to raise the volume and lean in to hear it. “Peter actively courts the darkness more than the light.” Alejandro’s back was turned to the camera, but Pete could see the way his shoulders hunched forward, as if he were sharing some great secret or revelation.

Suddenly his hands feel clammy with sweat. He wants to pause the video but can’t, can’t let Robert know that any of its getting to him, so instead he watches as a group of people talk about him like he’s something dangerous, talk about locking him up – you guys have to tell me if you’re cops, right? – and taking his drugs and putting him down like he’s infected. Like he’s a rabid dog that can’t be trusted not to bite.

And, looking around, Pete hates to admit that they’re right. What defense does he have, sitting in a vampiric nightclub filled with dead-eyed humans selling their bodies for a little cash? What defense does he have when he’s so used to that stare that it barely registers? How many times has he sold drugs to people with that same look in their eyes, desperate and empty?

Pete knows what kind of person he is, what kind of people he runs with. And like Robert had pointed out, he’s not exactly subtle. Pete knows he’s dirt. Robert called him a businessman. Kugrash seems to think he’s just some troubled kid who needs a little guidance. Kingston and Alejandro think he’s a ticking bomb.

But Pete knows what he is. He’s a homeless drug dealer who sells to monsters and children, whose only friends are nightmares and people who want him dead. Fuck them, he thinks, who fucking needs them.

Some girl – Esther, he thinks, but it’s hard to remember when her back is to the screen – voices her support of Kingston.

Ricky is facing the camera, so Pete can see his face when he agrees with her. The grainy footage blurs his features, but he still looks sad when he says, “Obviously, Pete needs help. He’s not in a good state physically, financially, or mentally. He a danger to the city, sure, but he’s just as much a danger to himself. I’m not saying we lock him up, but what if we just supervised him. Helped him get clean and sober, and then maybe that would help him calm down a little, give him a little more control over what he’s doing.”

Hearing Ricky – perfect fucking Mr. March with his washboard abs and crest-white smile – talk about staging an intervention is almost more painful than watching Kingston plan murder.

How fucking dare they. What, they know him for one fucking week and decide it’s their business what he does with his life. They’re total strangers, who cares if they think he’s dangerous. Of course he’s dangerous; it’s New York fucking City, everyone here’s dangerous. The people right now discussing his murder probably more dangerous than he is. But them coming after his livelihood? His medicine? Sure, he could probably live without the coke and shit, but what happens when they come for his anti-psychotics? His Zoloft? His Testosterone?

Would they decide that’s unnecessary too, decide to take that away from him for his own safety?

Sofia, previously his strongest defender, looks to be agreeing with Ricky. Only Kugrash is pushing back, talking about self-medication and withdrawal. But Kingston’s talking over him and then the video cuts, ended, back to the paused scene showcasing Kingston mid-yell.

A voice from the corner of his mind he’s beginning to associate with his magic speaks. They know nothing of your struggles… they do not know your pain as we do… they would have you imprisoned or worse, without trial or jury… we can help you escape…

A shadow appears in front of him, and Pete nearly jumps out of his skin. But its only Robert asking for his phone back. Pete hands it over without a word.

“I hope you have considered what you have seen.” He says.

“I might need some time to think it over,” Pete says, which is true. “I know the area, I might head across the street a get a drink.”

Robert frowns. “Why go to another bar and pay when you can get drinks here for free?”

His tone immediately sets Pete on edge. Between his dad, Alejandro, and now Kingston and Ricky, he’s so goddamn tired of men telling him what to do. And Pete’s not some fresh teenager new to the scene; he’s not stupid enough to accept free drinks from a suit.

“No, actually, I think I’d really rather leave.” He says, moving to the exit. Robert lets him leave.

On his way out, Pete catches sight of his reflection in a mirror. It covers a wall of the club floor to ceiling. What he sees reminds him of that one vampire movie, Van Helsing. Most people in the club vanish in the mirror. It’s just him and Robert and the other humans reflected. Robert excluded, Pete thinks that he fits right in with this crowd. It’s his first time seeing his own reflection in days; bloodshot sunken eyes and unwashed hair, his skin visibly damp with sweat.  He looks like any other homeless junkie. How could anyone think he’s dangerous? How could anyone think he’s an important player in this game?

The mirror people stare back without seeing. The voice of magic whispers… but you are important… you are important to us…

Pete turns to keep walking, makes his way out onto the street now bustling with city life. He was stupid to think this new group of friends wouldn’t fall apart or turn on him. They were too good to be true anyway. How could he have forgotten that he belonged here in the gutter with the rest of his people. Homeless junkies and petty thieves.

He wouldn’t forget again.

[braxiatel]

If I were an artist I would call this a doodle, but as I am a writer I will have to call it an unfinished, unedited abandoned wip.

Mumbo and Scar meet in a bar and commiserate about the struggles of being a young adult. Eventually they kiss. Also Scar is trans and Mumbo is autistic because I wrote this fic for me and me alone <3

(Content warning for references to alcohol, sex, and mentions of a character getting disowned)

————

Scar woke slowly to the sound of birdsong.

The pale spring sun was on his face, as warm as the body next to his in a way that made him feel a pang of homesickness.

He stretched, listening to how his joints popped and creaked, before opening his eyes to look around the unfamiliar room.

He had known it was not his city apartment - excuse him, flat - since he registered the birds. The closest he got was the coo of the pigeons that nested above the grand train station. Nothing like the chitter-chatter of songbirds he could hear here. Must be in the suburbs, then.

The room gave little away. Somewhat austere with its dark walls, the closest thing to decorations being a bonsai tree that was somewhat overdue a trim, and of course the rows upon rows of bookshelves with their arranged books standing to attention. Scar blinked, unable to make out the titles between the sleep in his eyes and the darkness of the room.

Instead he turned to look at the person next to him.

The combination of messy black hair and pale skin brought back vague recollections of the prior evening. Flashes of the interior of a very familiar bar, a hand in his, and a row of empty shot glasses in front of him. Well, that explained the pounding headache, at least.

Scar dared to lift the covers a little, getting a better look at his bedmate.

A handsome round face, smeared by last evening’s eyeliner. The moustache had been neatly combed with wax last night, but now it was somewhat comically askew on the man’s face.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo.”

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Scar blinked. Right, he had met Mumbo at the back of the bar.

It was an older place, with good food and decently priced drinks, that meant it had survived since the early ’00s when karaoke rooms had been a must for any self-respecting club.

These days it was mostly used by couples looking for privacy, or by people looking for somewhere to do the sort of substances the owner would kick you out for even bringing into her establishment, the door half obscured by the very curtains that had once framed it as a main selling point.

In short: it was a sound-insulated place in an otherwise noisy environment, with comfortable sofas, that few people other than the poor bugger making the cameras knew about.

It made it the perfect place to catch his breath after a long evening at work. The next guy to man the security cameras had been two hours late - exam season emergency, apparently - and Scar didn’t feel like sitting in the break room where - once again - Angela had just opened a window to smoke rather than going outside, making the whole place an asthma attack waiting to happen.

So Scar had tucked his bag into the basket of his walker and gone into the karaoke room expecting a quiet moment when instead-

“Well, hello there.”

Years later Scar would claim his immediate thought was something in the direction of either “handsome” or “beautiful” depending on what mood he was in, but honestly in that moment he had mostly felt shock followed immediately by concern.

The man in front of him looked as though he had just witnessed something gruesome. Eyes wide, with a faraway gaze and shaking hands.

“Oh, sorry, is this off limits?”

In the present Scar was looking at the man’s sleeping form, marvelling at what a night’s rest had done for him.

Light stubble decorated his soft jawline and Scar’s fingers itched to feel it. Mumbo’s lips were slightly parted in a snore, and he felt their phantom presence on his own. His arm was heavy around Scar’s waist, though it did not feel possessive so much as protective.

Similar to how he had been holding himself when Scar had found him. Huddled in the corner of a couch, as if trying to make himself far smaller than he was.

“No, no. I just came here to sit down,” Scar said. “but I can leave you to it.”

The bus home didn’t arrive for another 20 minutes - if it were on time for once - and his joints would surely protest if he tried to wait it out in the cold winter air.

“There’s room,” the man said, pulling his long legs up to his chest.

Scar paused for a moment. The stranger did not seem dangerous. Upset, perhaps, but there was a million and one reasons one might be upset. He sniffed the air and detected no more alcohol than was usual for the bar.

Well, it was a big couch, there was certainly room for two.

The cracked, white leather sank beneath his weight, creaking as it shifted. The stranger winced but otherwise stayed where he was.

Not a week went by without one of the other employees telling Scar he should try working the bar sometimes. He obviously couldn’t, not with how long it required him to stay on his feet. It didn’t stop him from spending his breaks there though, talking up a storm with the customers and doubling their sales while he was at it.

He was what one might call a people-person, though he very much doubted he would have missed how tense the man in the room with him was even if he hadn’t been.

“My name is Scar, and who might you be?” he asked.

Perhaps he had been wrong in his assessment of how drunk the man was, or perhaps Scar himself was more tired than he had though. Either way, the sentence the stranger spoke was an unidentifiable whirl to Scar.

“What was that?”

The stranger sighed.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo,” the man - Mumbo - explained.

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.” Scar could not keep the smile from creeping into his voice. “Now, Mumbo, I am no expert, but it seems to me that something is bothering you?”

Mumbo shifted, turning his face halfway from Scar’s and resting his face on his knee, resulting in a lock of his hair obscuring the other half. Well, so much for keeping an eye on the stranger with whom he was alone.

“Long night,” Mumbo told him. “I just needed a break. I don’t do well with loud noises or crowds.”

Scar made sure to keep his voice down when he spoke next.

“Interesting place to go on a Friday night, then.”

Mumbo shrugged. “Well, there’s not a whole lot of gay parks or gay cafes about. The man i was meeting up with wanted to meet here.”

Scar offered a look of sympathy.

“Date gone wrong?”

It was at this point he learned that Mumbo was the blushing type, when his cheeks darkened.

“Something like that…”

Scar inched a little closer, feeling the insatiable itch of curiosity.

“You know, people tell me I’m a good listener,” he fished. “I can go first if you’d like. My love life is abysmal. I haven’t had a date in months, and my last steady relationship was with a straight guy.”

Mumbo looked up fully, pausing for a moment, before he said:

“Tonight was a frankly terrible - and misguided - attempt at getting over my flatmate.”

“This sounds like the sort of conversation we could both use a drink for,” Scar said, having long since learned that this was the way of the British. “What’s your poison?”

Mumbo hesitated.

“My treat,” Scar hastened to add. “I get a staff discount.”

“... [Mumbo requests a drink].”

“Coming right up, good sir,” he said.

Another perk to working here was being able to skip the busy friday night line - sorry, queue - at the bar. He was back in the quiet room in no time, balancing the two drinks on a tray.

“Please don’t spill any. You really aren’t allowed to drink in this room, so if we ruin the sofa or the carpet it will get docked from my paycheck.”

Mumbo accepted his drink, clasping it tightly between his two hands.

“Cheers,” he sighed, taking a sip. “How did you end up dating a straight guy?”

Mumbo, it seemed, was the forward type.

“I’m trans,” he said. “We were still together when I realised. He was good about it, you know, just didn’t want to date a guy. We parted as friends.”

“Right,” Mumbo said. “Congrats? On the gender?”

Scar couldn’t help but laugh. “Why thank you, Mr Jumbo, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“My flatmate is straight too… or he was, anyway, until recently. Turns out being in love with him was a lot easier when I thought he wasn’t into men. Back then it was the idea of dating a man he wasn’t into, and not…”

“You?” Scar guessed.

“Yeah, that,” Mumbo sighed, having another sip of his drink.

“Well, he’s a fool to overlook such a handsome man.”

Mumbo snorted.

“You are!” Scar told him. “Look at you. That luscious hair, the stylish suit, those beautiful grey eyes, and those curves? I’d say you’re quite the catch, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Somewhere between the compliments and the way Mumbo bit his lip and blushed Scar had a realisation. Yes, Mumbo was quite handsome, wasn’t he?

“Well, you must be just about the only one in this bar who feels that way. My date walked out after half an hour, and I’ve failed to talk to even a single other man tonight.”

“You’re talking to me,” Scar pointed out.

“I don’t think it counts when one of the staff decides to give you a pity drink,” Mumbo sighed.

“Do you think that’s what’s happening here?” Scar snorted. “I’m off the clock, you know. I’m just making friends. I’m a friendly guy. Look, why don’t I tell you a little more about myself, and you can do the same if you’d like? Great!”

He had continued to tell Mumbo about his life story, how he ended up in the UK, going to university, coming out, getting sick, dropping out, and finally after several years in and out of the hospital, ending up enrolling again while working evenings here in the bar.

Ending up in Mumbo’s bed…

Scar stretched, the delicate silk sheets slipping over his naked skin in a gentle caress. It brought to mind the way soft hands had wandered over his flesh in the dark of the small hours of the night. It had been a while, long enough he was probably going to be sore for at least half of the day. It was a pleasant sort of soreness, though.

He looked up at the face mere inches from his, feeling no shame in taking in the details of Mumbo’s appearance while he slept.

In the low lights of the bar he had not been able to tell, but from the shape of his face he suspected Mumbo would have dimples when he smiled. There was no sign of wrinkles on his skin yet, but by the sharpness of his cheekbones, he had to be in his twenties at least.

The moustache was a nice touch too, even if it had tickled terribly against Scar’s collarbones and abdomen each time Mumbo had kissed him last night.

On the subject of collarbones, Scar could only note his admiration of the rather prominent mark he had left just about Mumbo’s left one. He shivered at the thought of how the other man had whined. Perhaps he would be up for another round this morning..?

Another round… right. He had stayed past the last bus for another round. Mumbo, once he had started talking, had seemed almost compelled to share his life story as well.

“Theodore Bertram Ambrose Osborn Chace the third,” Mumbo pronounced, a seemingly impossible feat giving he was at the end of his second pint. “Former heir to the right honourable Lord Theodore Chace the second.”

Scar whistled and leaned back in the booth he had found them towards the back of the bar, though it might have gotten lost in the noise. The music was as loud as anywhere else, but they had the table to themselves and the ability to wave one of Scar’s colleagues over when they would momentarily need another refill. Mumbo seemed content enough, anyway.

“That’s quite the name. Can’t imagine any loving parent wishing learning how to spell all that on any child of theirs.”

Mumbo picked up his drink, downing the rest of the dark red liquid.

“They weren’t,” he confirmed. “Hence, Mumbo Jumbo. Easier to pronounce.”

And a name that came with less baggage, he read between the lines.

“I have this friend from Sweden - shared a flat with her when I did my bachelor’s degree. He accused me of having a Mumbo Jumbo name, and when my father disinherited me for dropping out of business school and going into engineering… well, it just fit me better. Silly, I know, but what can you do.”

“Mumbo,” he started. “My name is Scar.”

Another thing Scar was learning about Mumbo was the fact that he was a giggler, or at least the drink brought it out in him. His whole face lit up with it, even when he tried to hide it.

“So, your Swedish friend, is he the one you’re pining after?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Iskall moved back years ago. No, he’s from here. We were paired up for a pub quiz during fresher’s week and we hit it off. I think I fell a little bit in love with him the first time he spoke to me. He just… has this energy. He can be such a pest sometimes, but his happiness is always infectious. Even when he’s laughing at your face because he pranked you by glueing the cereal box to the kitchen counter again, you can’t help but join in. You ever met anyone like that?”

“Sounds a bit like my ex,” Scar said. It must be the alcohol warming his insides, he decided. Surely the ‘Yes, I think I would give up most of my earthly possessions to stretch this evening forever if it means hearing you laughter again’ was down to the alcohol.

Mumbo huffed, picking up the drinks card.

“I’m never going to get over him this way.”

Scar rested his chin in his hand, leaning against the sticky table.

“Nonsense. Look around you, Mumbo, this room is full of wonderful men all looking for a good time.”

“Hard to get to know them when the music is so loud.”

Scar laughed. “Well, I wasn’t suggesting you go looking for ‘the one’ right away. But a night with a handsome man might be a good first step.”

Scar hoped he never got tired of watching Mumbo blush. It was just so… cute.

“What, like a one-night stand?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“I’ve never… I’ve never done that any sooner than the third date,” Mumbo confessed.

“Never too late to try something new,” Scar suggested. “If you want to, that is.”

Mumbo made a noncommittal sound, wringing his hands.

“Just a suggestion. I’m sure there are many other things you could do to create some distance. A holiday, maybe? I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Or maybe a new hobby? Something to get you out of the house”

Mumbo bit his lip.

“Maybe… There’s one thing I’m wondering, though. Why are you doing this, Scar?”

Why was he doing this?

Mumbo was good company, and Scar liked people. In the backroom, the closest he got to social interaction was Samuel showing up to replace him for the late shift, and while the people on his course were nice enough, most of them were a decade younger than him and straight out of sixth form. And Cub, of course, but when Cub would be home in their little two-bedroom flat above the Chinese restaurant was anyone’s guess.

And shoot him, Scar liked to see people happy, and he liked to believe there was people out there for everyone, helping Mumbo find his (or at least the courage to find them) wasn’t such a bad use of his time.

“This is the first new thing that has happened to me in weeks,” he admitted. “I don’t get out a lot - just work and school. I’ve already missed my bus, and the taxi market will be a nightmare at this hour, so I’m stuck here for at least another hour until the Friday evening rush passes. And you’re interesting, I suppose.”

“That was… very honest,” Mumbo said after a pause.

“I tend to be. That a problem?

“No, not at all. Makes it a lot easier when I don’t have to second guess. Dating, making friends - I’m a bit of a spoon with these things.”

Scar laughed. The alcohol was getting to him, he could tell, because the idea of being Mumbo’s friend made something in his chest feel all warm and fussy.

“Do you want to know one thing I don’t think I will ever get tired of? You British people and your funny little sayings. ‘A bit of a spoon’, that’s adorable.” He grinned, doing an excellent job of imitating Mumbo’s accent in his own humble opinion. “Well then, Mumbo, as someone who has been very much enjoying making friends with you - how would you like a sample of my famous, internationally renowned Scar Bontemps wingman service?”

“If you promise me not to try to do an English accent again, I think I’d agree to just about anything.”

Scar gasped. “I am great at accents, Mumbo! I bet you the next round I can convince someone I am British.”

“Well, if you’re handing out free drinks, I won’t say no.”

Scar stood up, taking the first few steps towards the door before he realised what Mumbo had just implied.

“Now, hold on just a moment, mister,” he protested. “That’s it! I’m going to prove you wrong, right away.”

Scar’s head ached, a reminder of just how that bet had turned out for him. The first round of shots had been his treat, the second bought by Mumbo. Dutch courage, he had called it.

Mumbo would surely have an advil somewhere… or whatever they were called this side of the pond. However, trapped between a wall and a man sleeping like a rock, Scar stood little chance of finding them.

It was very gentlemanly of Mumbo to begin stirring just when his need for pain relief was getting urgent, Scar thought.

He moaned, perhaps a sign he too was suffering for last night’s escapades, and tightened his hold on Scar’s waist.

Scar relaxed, letting himself be pulled against Mumbo’s chest, only squirming a little when his hip started protesting at the odd angle.

“Good morning,” he said.

Mumbo sighed, hiding his face in the crook of Scar’s neck. “Hey.”

The way he was petting Scar’s back was sweet, the gravelly tone his voice had taken on from sleep sending a shiver down his spine.

“Something wrong?” Mumbo asked, prodding himself up on one of his elbows.

Scar’s back lamented the new angle he was lying at and he adjusted himself, then adjusted Mumbo with hesitant hands, until he was comfortable again.

“I think an elephant walked through and stepped on my head while I slept - or perhaps a marching band took up residence on the inside of my skull.” At Mumbo’s puzzled, half-asleep expression, he added: “My head hurts.”

Mumbo hummed, the scruff on his cheeks tickling the sensitive skin of Scar’s neck when he leaned in to kiss his shoulder in sympathy.

“Wait here,” Mumbo told him, wriggling out from under Scar and standing up.

Despite his pounding head Scar could not help but lament the dim light of the bedroom. The end of the night was clear to him, but only in flashes. Ones that, sadly, did not include as much detail of what Mumbo looked like naked as Scar would have liked.

However, being a man of the arts, Scar had to admit there was something truly aesthetic about the way the sunlight that slipped in through the curtains lit up Mumbo’s side. One stripe of light painted on his pale skin, filtering through the speckles of body hair and nestling into the curve where his leg joined his torso. As Mumbo retreated into the en suite bathroom, it paned over his backside, upwards, playing with his silky black hair.

How would it feel on a sunny day, warmed by the sun, Scar wondered? He wiggled his fingers against the sheets in a vain effort to satiate the itch to find out.

Mumbo returned a moment later with two pills and a glass of water.

Scar eyed them sceptically.

“You keep your glassware in your bathroom?” he asked, feeling entitled to judge the man at least a little after sleeping with him.

“Only one glass,” Mumbo excused, not close enough that Scar could make out his blush in the dark. “Sometimes when I’m working on a project, I get a little… focused. seeing it next to the basin reminds me to eat and drink. It’s clean.”

“You’re a funny one, Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar told him, accepting the water and the painkillers, downing both.

“In the best ways only, I hope,” Mumbo said, flopping back on the bed with a soft grunt.

Scar leaned over him to put the glass on the nightstand, using his position to lay down half on top of Mumbo.

“Just need a moment to wake up properly.”

The last part of the sentence trailed off into a yawn. He stretched his arms above his head, bending his wrist just in time to avoid hitting the wooden windowsill.

As he settled back down, arms wrapping around Scar, it struck Scar how comfortable Mumbo was in his own space. It suited him.

The Scar Bontemps Wingman service was renowned in his circle of friends. Ren liked to say that in another lifetime Scar may have been a travelling salesman, a conman, or possibly both.

Scar wasn’t sure about that, but he did know he was good at this.

Matchmaking was easy. It was all about understanding two fundamental things: 1) everyone wanted something 2) everyone had something to give.

On dark days and long evenings watching the security feed, he often found himself circling the thought that the only reason he found it so easy to talk about others and so hard to talk about himself was that he doubted whether there was truly anyone out there who would be interested in what he had to offer.

With Mumbo it was easy. The man was obviously attractive, passionate, and charming. He had all but convinced himself setting Mumbo up with someone would be as simple as to introduce him to whatever man he had his eyes set on. Mumbo was attractive, passionate, and polite. His laughter was infectious, one evening in his company enough to put Scar in a good mood.

“So,” Scar asked, hand on the bar counter to steady himself after the second shot. “Anyone catching your eye?”

For the first time since leaving the room, Mumbo surveyed the busy room. From the small dance floor - currently dominated by five women who had arrived together and seemed to have some intricate constellation of relationships between them, judging by how a different pairing in the group were kissing every time Scar looked over. To the door, opening and closing and letting what little fresh air was able to slip in into the bar as guests went out into the cold winter air for a smoke. Finally, at the end of the bar where a group of men a year or two their junior were surveying the crowd with feigned disinterest. Bingo.

“How about those three?” he asked, nodding towards the three, well, twinks was the word that came to mind.

“Erh,” Mumbo said eloquently. “Sure?”

“Which of the three do you like?”

Mumbo looked at Scar for another long moment before surveying the group.

“The one to the right,” he revealed. “He looks stronger.”

Muscular men were Mumbo’s type, then. Scar made a mental note of it in case this first attempt didn’t work out.

“Ready?” Scar asked, draping an arm over Mumbo’s shoulder.

“As I’ll ever be,” Mumbo replied, shoulders tense enough that Scar’s own trapezius twinged in sympathy.

Mumbo, Scar quickly learned, was not an easy commodity to sell.

He obviously had plenty of qualities, which Scar dropped artfully into conversation. Why, my good friend Mumbo is an engineer, did you know? Very smart. He volunteers at a repair workshop, on top of working at a garage. Mechanics are so strong, don’t you agree? Who doesn’t love a man covered in oil and sweat? And look at him. How many men do you know that are willing to make the effort of wearing a suit every day?

That part was easy.

The hard part was when the commodity you were trying to sell seemed adamant to fight back against you.

Mumbo, while technically an engineer, needed to become a fully-fledged civil engineer before he could use his degree for anything, so really he was just like any other master’s student. The repair workshop was only to buff his resume, and the mechanic mostly had him doing consulting work - flying machines and cars weren’t so different after all.

The suit though, oh he could talk about the suit! Scar thought he had finally succeeded - on the fourth try - until Mumbo started talking about the seventh tie knot, illustrating how to tie it and detailing when to wear it. Scar made a mental note to go to his new friend next time he had a formal event, and to not bring up his manner of dress with the next man they approached unless he seemed particularly interested in the history of cufflinks.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Mumbo hiccupped over another shot of whisky, provided by Scar. “I’m just not good at this.”

“Nonsense,” Scar told him, downing his own drink and rubbing Mumbo’s shoulder comfortingly.

(Despite his protests that he did very little practical work at the garage, Mumbo was rather strong, wasn’t he? How had Scar not noticed sooner…)

“You just need to get out of your head. Maybe we’re just going about this wrong. What if instead of approaching them, we get them to approach you?”

“And how would we do that, mate?” Mumbo asked, his arm slipping under Scar’s and providing much needed support.

“Dance with me?” he suggested. “We’ll get everyone wondering who those handsome men on the dance floor are, and when they come to ask, all you need to do is seal the deal.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Mumbo confessed. “Can’t dance a single step.”

“It is past midnight, everyone will have had enough to drink that it won’t matter.”

Mumbo sighed. “If you think it’ll work…”

He took a step back, offering a light bow before offering Scar his hand. Scar bit his lip not to laugh. It made sense, it did. Old money and formalities often went hand in hand. Mumbo had probably been taught how to waltz, or something equally formal.

Scar took the offered hand, placing it at his waist.

“You stand there,” he instructed, positioning himself closer to the centre of the floor, and Mumbo outwards so he could be seen from the bar and the booths. That suit really did wonders for his backside…

Now, Scar was not much of a dancer either. He liked it, but there were the obvious challenges.

“You okay?” Mumbo asked.

“My balance isn’t great without my walker.”

Mumbo’s hold on him tightened, and Scar had to wonder why he was suppressing the urge to shiver in such a hot room.

“We can leave if you’d like?” Mumbo offered.

“I was promised a dance, Mr Jumbo, and I’m holding you to that.”

Scar placed a hand over Mumbo’s chest, feeling the other’s racing heart even through the layers of fabric.

“Just hold on to me?” he requested.

“Of course,” Mumbo agreed.

They started out slow. Scar moved, Mumbo followed, the two of them simply swaying to the music.

Whatever song must be popular, because soon a handful of other bar patrons joined the previously sparsely populated dance floor. For a moment Scar thought he might have succeeded in getting someone to see Mumbo for the get he was, but instead the additional people just pushed him further into Mumbo’s arms.

Mumbo’s hand crept around his body, settling on Scar’s lower back instead of his hip, holding him in place.

“You okay?” he asked Mumbo.

“I was just about to ask you that.”

Scar smiled at him. They were chest to chest now, and he had to wrap his hands around Mumbo’s neck to even have room for his arms.

“You’re so warm,” Mumbo told him, swaying to the tune of the music again. Being as close as he was, Scar was moved by him.

“Is that bad?” he asked, both feeling and seeing how Mumbo shivered when Scar’s breath ghosted over his neck.

“No,” Mumbo said.

The music picked up speed, and so did their dance. For the first time since they had left the safety of the karaoke room, Mumbo looked relaxed.

His eyes were on Scar, his attention solely on moving to the music.

How had Scar not noticed Mumbo’s eyes sooner? Dark grey framing light, reflecting the flashing lights on the dance floor back to Scar.

The song changed, but Scar was no longer listening.

Mumbo’s hips were against his, the two of them sharing heated breaths as they continued dancing past the fifth song. Aches and pains forgotten, there was only the beat of the music and the beating of their hearts.

For every rejection Mumbo had run his hands through his short hair, leaving it a mess at this point. Perhaps Scar should smooth it out?

He wanted to do so, anyway.

He got as far as the short hair at the nape of Mumbo’s neck. Mumbo bit his lip, sighing, and Scar could not help but watch those pink lips move.

Oh.

Mumbo was tall, and had to bend his head down experimentally. Scar approached, both of them inching closer, and-

His lips were soft, his tongue inquisitive where it met Scar’s own. He tasted of fruity ciders and burning alcohol, the scent of his subtle cologne somewhat mixing into the taste in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Whether Mumbo was consciously tightening his hold to support Scar when his knees began to go shaky, Scar wasn’t sure.

Scar heard himself moan, and Mumbo responded by biting at his lip.

He gasped, breaking away for breath.

“Cheeky,” he accused, leaning against Scar. “Do that again?”

Mumbo continued as he had all evening, following most of Scar’s whims. This time, however, he cut the kiss short, trailing down Scar’s jaw and neck instead. Oh, how pleased he was he had worn something low-cut tonight.

One of his hands remained on Mumbo’s shoulder - a necessity, his legs were still as soft as jelly beneath him - while the other trailed down Mumbo’s back, and settling on his ass- arse- whatever.

“Scar,” Mumbo sighed. “You sure about this?”

“Wouldn’t be kissing you otherwise,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here?”

“My flatmate won’t be home,” Mumbo agreed.

“Mine will be.”

“My place it is.”

And from there… well, somewhere between heady kisses, needy touches, and affirmations that neither of them expected the other to be at their best after how many drinks they had had, they ended up at the back of a cab, and then in Mumbo’s little terrace house.

“Upstairs,” Mumbo said somewhere south of Scar’s collarbone and north of his left pec, nimble fingers flying over the buttons of Scar���s shirt. It did make sense, with how much Mumbo knew about suits, that he would know how to most effectively remove a button-up. How very talented he was.

“Not great at those,” Scar told him, his walker left at the front door alongside their shoes.“Sofa?”

“Flatmate will be home by morning.”

Scar sighed, tilting his head back to allow Mumbo better access. He had never been with a man with facial hair before, and was delighted to learn Mumbo’s moustache tickled against his skin.

“I’ll help you?” Mumbo offered.

“Sure,” Scar said. By morning he would be decidedly more sober, so getting back down shouldn’t be such a challenge.

He smiled, the events of last night playing out before his mind’s eye.

Kisses that started out hesitant, while hands explored unknown paths, soon turning heated, clothes coming off in the process.

Where last night Mumbo’s body had been marked by teeth, it was now decorated in pretty little bruises. Scar knew he was much the same.

The alcohol had still been clouding their heads, burning past inhibitions, but remdering them slow. To compensate they had moved at a leisurely pace. Warm, soft, and caring, ending with both of them on their sides, inquisitively familiarising themselves with where to touch to make each other sigh in satisfaction.

Mumbo, he learned, had never been with anyone trans before. He was a quick study, though, diligently prepping Scar, carefully listening to Scar’s instructions when he told Mumbo how to hold up his legs so it wouldn’t hurt his joints now or tomorrow.

It hadn’t exactly been the best sex in the world, both of them were drunk after all, but Scar was certain he had never felt so comfortable after a one night stand before.

He was still catching his breath, lying comfortably on this side, when Mumbo slipped into the bathroom. Scar could hear the water running, and after a few minutes, he returned, looking less flushed and much cleaner.

“Sorry,” he had said, lying back down with all the grace of a falling tree, offering his open arms to Scar. “Just needed to clean up.”

Scar could recall waving it off, already cuddled against Mumbo and drifting off to sleep.

In the light of the morning, he kissed Mumbo’s shoulder and was rewarded by him snuggling closer.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, adding a snore that told another story entirely.

It was sweet, and Scar did nothing to resist the urge to kiss him again, planting one on Mumbo’s jaw.

Mumbo shifted to look down at Scar.

“Goodness, you’re handsome.”

He said this with a surprising amount of clarity.

Scar knew this already, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Mumbo’s hand settled on Scar’s waist, his fingers spreading and tracing patterns on the sensitive skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

[Still lying in bed, Mumbo and Scar agree that they both want to get to know each other better. They both find each other interesting and attractive, and even if it doesn’t turn into romance they think they could become good friends.

Mumbo goes to have a shower. Scar thinks of joining, but is hungry. Mumbo tells him where the kitchen is and to help himself to whatever he’d like.

Scar goes into the kitchen and is greeted by Grian, Mumbo’s flatmate - and his ex!

Scar is thrilled to see him. Grian tells him he regrets breaking up without giving it a try, he’s been thinking a lot about Scar, and wishes they at least hadn’t lost contact. Scar doesn’t blame him, and just looks forward to reconnecting.

Grian suggests a time and Scar has to decline because he has just planned a date with Mumbo that day.

Grian reacts weirdly to this, but before Scar can ask, Mumbo joins the in the kitchen. Scar happily tells Mumbo that he and Grian know each other, and how]

[arabaka]

━━━★ ALL WORK AND NO PLAY...

:*ੈ♡‧₊˚:･reigen arataka x fem!reader

【 cw 】 18+, edging, toy use (on you), overstimulation (you), reigen already came in his pants, unprotected sex, creampie 【 wc 】 1.3k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★ umm hi first fic here !! been writing for myself for a long ass time and got the bug to post >w> pls be nice. or don't and keep it to yourself >__0 i originally wrote this using she/her pronouns from the 3rd perspective but changed it to 2nd person since that's more common on tumblr eek so some stuff may be unedited lol

"I know sweetheart, but you gotta endure." His soothing words might have meant something if he was even looking at you but he couldn't be bothered to give your writing form a passing glance while typing away on his computer.

Biting your lip, you spasm and jerk on your spot on the freezing, long safe by his desk. You're folded over your knees with your ass in the air, face craned and your eyes dead set on Reigen. A trembling hand balled up in a fist tries to reach over to him for aid but finds none when he chooses instead to continue to edit a ghost out of yet another swindled client's photo."R-Reigen, p-please…" Your meek whimpers seemingly go unnoticed, his cold shoulder only making the relentless tingle on your clit more intoxicating. The chilled air nips at your most intimate parts, your folds shivering under a building film of your own juices. 

It’s only when you manage a grasp on the corner of his suit’s sleeve does he pay you a sliver of his attention. His eyes don’t linger on you for long as his hand hovers away from his mouse, taking up an inconspicuous pink remote and casually pressing down on one of its buttons. Instantaneously, you cry out, your voice soon giving way to the much louder buzzing resonating from the toy between your thighs. Your overworked bud convulses under the vibrations but your whimpers go unanswered. At every rumble, your clit cries for relief but the vibrator continues to rub your bud raw. When you open your mouth, attempts at his name drown in drool as your hole flutters, desperate for something more than the tail end of the vibrator currently nestled inside you.

“Need you Reigen… P-Please.” You plead in-between your panting, the searing hot coil in the pit of your stomach threatening to come undone any moment now. You're soaking wet at this point, overflowing into a nice little puddle on safe's silver surface. It's almost too much, your face building a thin film of sweat from the overwhelming tsunami waves of pleasure. He catches the glimmer of your slick from the corner of his eye, his chest tightening with his breath caught in his throat. His finger trembling over the mouse scroll button, he tries to resume his work but when the shaky whisper of his name, Arataka, dreamily floats off your tongue he has to heed your siren call.

Curling and tucking a finger just under your chin, raising your head, he gives you a once over. Glossed over eyes looking into his, your jaw slacks with ecstasy and he knows you're just inches away from reaching Heaven and he’s going to take you there. 

"C'mere." Reigen gently orders, giving a quick peck to your parted lips and he feels a throbbing twitch in his slacks when he watches you crawl over to him. Situating you on his lap, it's not long before your juices start to leak onto his slacks but they were already dirtied; he'd come once just from withholding your own orgasm. Leaning you against his desk, his aching member comes to throb just from the rub of your sweet cunt on his pelvis. “Let’s take care of this first, hm?” You can’t nod fast enough, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as the vibrator is removed, first from your clit and then from inside you. He moves so slowly, you would never know he’s been dying to plunge deep inside you from the get go. 

You're impatient and so is he but Reigen is going as fast as he can, hastily unbuckling his belt and popping loose the button of his slacks. He swears he sees hearts in your eyes when his cock springs forth, still damp from his own cum, and he visibly shudders when the fresh air hits his skin. “Ready?” 

Now’s his favorite part– watching your pussy sink down his fat girth, never once struggling even as he spreads you out. The burn is familiar, nice even, and he fills you up better than any toy ever could. “Never gets old.” Reigen grumbles to himself, hissing as the walls of your cunt cling to him, its ridges massaging his foreskin with relish. Your eyelids are heavy with euphoria and your lips are pressed together tight but a moan pops them open as the engorged tip of his penis runs against your cervix with ease. He’s decided the wait has been too much and he starts to thrust into you, first slowly and with the low tilt of his hips but it’s too intoxicating for him to keep going at that speed. He needs more and he needs it now.

And besides, he's earned it hasn't he? He's waited long enough for you, for you to decide that the edging had run it's course. He knew it would be hell, watching you wriggle and squirm but it's what you wanted. He thought you were kind of mean for this. But you'd make it up to him. You always did.

Smacking your ass, Reigen digs his fingernails into your plush seat, anchoring you to him as he bucks wildly into your sopping wet heat. You have no choice but to squirm and lurch forward, pressing your body flush against his while your babbling moans tickle the shell of his ear. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, nipping at what little skin you could get to. He huffs hot exhales along the back of your neck, treating himself to the tantalizing view of your jiggling backside. “God, you’re so good.” His words ride shockwaves down your spine as you continue to feel the full force of his thrusts all the way to your core. 

Shutting his eyes tight, Reigen can feel his orgasm building up at the base of his shaft. He can feel you coming undone as well, your delectable cunt squeezing tighter with every movement. All the edging has made you sensitive, your walls clinging to him like a vice and spasming as he hits your cervix over and over and over again. You're drunk, sloppy and desperate, on his cock; he thinks you look like a dream. He wishes he had his phone at hand to take a picture. 

“R-Reigen…” Managing the strength, you pull away from his neck and stare at him through half-lidded eyes. “P-Please. Cum inside me.” 

It doesn’t matter that he’s heard those words countless times before. They light a fire in him all the same, his heartbeat thunderously shooting up as he jerks haphazardly into you. Wetting his thumb with spit, he swipes circles around your puffy clit, immediately seeing the effects with the convulsion of your hips. A hand comes to cup your chin, the pads of his digits pressing deep against your cheeks until your lips jut out in a pucker. You look so good, all fucked out and ready to burst, he thinks to himself as he captures your lips in a fiery hot kiss, ravishing your mouth with his tongue. He swallows all your moans, every squeak of his name until the only thing you can manage to say is “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” 

His balls tighten and his cock swells, forcing loaded strings of his cum deep inside you while continuing to lap up every noise you give him. Tasty. Pulling away, he sets his sights where your hips meet. He’s mesmerized, watching strands of cum break and settle in a pool on his pelvis. You love how clearly you can see him drink up your joined bodies and you giggle, albeit breathlessly, and then murmur against his lips in a sweet kiss, “Thanks for indulging me. Felt good, right?”

He's spent. “Yeah, but that was torture. Having to pretend to ignore you took a lot out of me, you know that?” Still inside you, his cock bobs and it won’t be long before the blood rushes to his member once more. “Can we go again?”

[crackedpumpkin]

So about rise leo x villian! Reader plot, bef i say anything am a huge sucker for good endings so don't blame me.

So i hc reader as a gymnastic - the the villian from Barbie spy movie(?) - with gadget that help her/them shape shift to anything or anybody (So OP must nerf).

Plot; So the reason why reader is begin a villian to begin with is she's working for big mama - yes am gonna blame big mama - as her special thief, reader have the ability/ or have a gadget that make them shapshift to anybody or anything which it helped them escape from the crime scene/ mad dogs may many times.

The reason why she works for big mama is because BM took her in from the streets after she almost pull a perfect heist from BM's hotel, instead of sending her to police or just k1ll her she took her in as her new minion.

The reason why she know the mad dogs was because she's also a friend to april whom she trusts, so April trusted her enough to introduce the mad dogs to her which in the beginning reader took it as a nice game to make fun of the mad dogs to know what they feel about her after she's able to escape them, but soon fall in love with leo which it was unfortunate for her.

Fast forward, the mad dogs takes reader hostage because they just can't let her go, she knows where they live, she knows too much, they try to interrogate her to know anything about her; who's her boss, where she got the gadget? Why working as a thief? But reader is as hard as a nail and won't peep of an info.

That until leo asks her " was everything about us fake? Your feelings towards me? Our dates? Was everything fakes? " Leo asks, reader wanted to be honest and say no but begin afraid of seeing her answer as a lie she sees its best for them to break up and for leo to find another person, but for this to happen he have to hate her, so she pulls the " bad girl " mask and say " yep, everything was a lie, am surprise you even believed i loved you! " To the mad dogs, splinter and April they believe her mask but leo knowing how people could see right through her.

When everyone leave leo and reader alone to talk, leo start pressing reader for his answers, reader put a fight by saying hurtful words but in the end breaks from guilt, she loves leo so much she feels the guilt is crushing her, she wants him to forgive her but she knows she doesn't deserve it.

She get surprised by leo mentioning how reader have to stay in the lair to keep on " interrogate " her, tho reader knows it's way of leo saying " you're gonna stay with me until your problems is solved ", yes reader hadn't gotten leo's full trust again but it's a step to regain his and the family's trust.

first of all, i love the headcanon of gymnastics reader with the shapeshifting because it's just such a cool thing tbh. And almost pulling the perfect heist?? i would hire her in an instant. I think if it was me who wrote this it might go something like:

You slide down the rope, eyes scanning the room to see if any alarms had been triggered yet. Noting the absence of flashing lights and loud blaring sirens, your shoulders sag in relief at going undetected.

----

and reader getting caught by the mad dogs and being interrogated??? Oh my GOD so much potential for angst here it's insane. Mikey interrogating her?? sweetheart won't be able to hold back tears. Raph??? Incredibly disappointed. "I thought we were bear buddies!"

Donnie?? Well. Honestly I'm not sure how he'd react but i think he'd be rather hurt bc he considered you a good acquaintance, maybe even working your way up to be a worthy friend.

And then there's Leo. Our sweet, sweet turtle who just so happened to fall for the enemy. Honestly I'm always a sucker for sweet endings but I just so happen to be rather evil and as such will leave it on a high note of heartbreak :>

So, if I were to just kinda drabble a bit (Please pardon the suddenness of it all, this is very on the spot bc inspo hit and completely unedited/thought out) I'd write it like this:

"Fine, don't tell me anything then." Leo stands up, the shards of hurt and betrayal stabbing into his chest even deeper as he watches your bowed head. You refuse to look up, to meet his gaze because you knew that if you did, you'd break.

You're already trying to silence the voice in your head practically screaming at you to tell him everything. To tell him everything you felt for him - that you still feel for him, was never a lie.

Your eyes water, but you refuse to let a single tear overflow and land on the table. Your arms are tightly secured with rope, and you can barely breathe even though they had been lenient with your restraints.

Leo wants to say something - anything, for the glimmer of hope in his heart that you'd come clean.

"Please."

That makes you look up. His eyes are filled with desperation, pleading with you to admit that what the both of you had wasn't just pure deceit.

When he finally manages to meet your gaze, he almost forgets how angry he is. Your eyes swirl with guilt and regret, conflict in his chest as he watches you visibly struggle to find the words to reply. He wants nothing more than to wrap you into a hug, to soothe your worries (and his) and to forget everything that went down in the past two days.

But you don't reply, and it worsens the pit of despair his heart is already plummeting into.

So he turns around, walking out of the room and slamming the door shut, leaving you behind in the cold darkness.

-------

but yeah! I genuinely really love this plot idea and i think i'll come back to it one day. But currently I'm rather busy and bogged down with work, so it might be a while (whoops).

Thank you so much for sending this in! I really enjoyed this idea :D

Actually, i just got reminded of this one Donnie fic by someone on tumblr(i can't remember the name of the blog, someone please lmk what it is!) but it has a similar storyline whereby Donnie and reader are in a relationship, only for him to find out she's been working for Big Mama all along! I remember it has a happy ending, so I think you'd really enjoy it!

[cartoonsaint]

back in 2020 i wrote a werewolf!David fic for Camp Camp and then got through about a quarter of its sequel before getting distracted. at this point it's unlikely i'm ever going to finish it but it sounds like there's at least one person out there who wants to read it, which makes this a good advertisement for leaving comments on seemingly abandoned works, doesn't it? anyways this is 7.8k, probably rated T, and i do not have the wherewithal (werewithal? hohoha) to reread rn so i can't offer any content warnings or fix any weird grammar or anything, but. here's it.

my semi-jokey working title for it was THERE'S ONLY ONE BED AND ALSO ONE OF US IS A WEREWOLF

CHAPTER ONE

Gwen wakes up.

She’s not sure what does it, because usually it takes the blaring of her alarm — as well as a few judicious smacks to the snooze button — for her to admit that the day is starting whether she wants it to or not and she had better drag herself out of bed if she doesn’t want the camp to burn down around her ears.

She’s long since come to terms with the fact that while she can effortlessly stay up late into the night reading fanfiction or binging television, even with a full eight hours under her belt the first thing she’s gonna want to do in the mornings is take a nap. Gwen just really, really isn’t a morning person.

By the grey light filtering through the windows, Gwen bets the sun hasn’t even properly risen yet. She’s not due to muddle her way through her morning routine for at least another hour, and in fact it’s so early that David’s still probably asleep.

That catches at something in her sleep-foggy brain. Had she had another dream about him, maybe? Something about… monsters? Statistically, and given the subject, it was probably a sex dream, but what…?

On a whim she turns over, intending to send her sleeping coworker a baleful glare for daring to have a presence in the confusing subconscious arena of her dreams — it’s not the first time, sure, but she uhhh.

Wolf.

That, uh… wolf.

Gwen stares at the sleeping beast in the room with her, suddenly wide awake, and does her best to regulate her breathing as she simultaneously curses David to hell. This is somehow his fault, she just knows it — leave it to Mr. Nurse-Back-to-Health-the-Wolf-That-Tried-to-Kill-Me to bring a wild animal into the cabin without telling her. Now she’s probably going to get eaten and leave behind all her unedited work and become famous for her talent posthumously instead of midhumously, or whatever, which is how she’d really, really prefer it.

Can wolves smell fear? She’s pretty sure they can, so she thinks happy, not-scared thoughts, like how happy she’ll feel when she throttles David for this. The animal is huge, taking up a sizable portion of her co-counselor’s bed, even though it’s curled up sleeping at the moment. The bed’s wool blanket and sheet are half-covering it, almost like it tried to burrow itself underneath them, and it has David’s stupid plush log between its front paws. It breathes in and out with great, calm gusts of breath, and Gwen thinks about how often wolves need to eat, how fetid its breath probably is, and the fact that she has virtually nothing with which to defend herself besides some trashy magazine she could maybe roll up and use to bonk its nose, like a poorly behaved mutt.

I’m freaking out a little, Gwen realizes, watching the tendrils of first light reach across the room. Knowing her luck, they’ll wake it up. Oh well. I had a good run. Well, an alright run. Well, I definitely had a run, anyway.

She practically holds her breath as the sun creeps in through the windows, sure that any moment might wake the beast and spell her doom. Maybe she’ll be able to miraculously pull David’s guitar out of nowhere and defend herself — but no, too quickly, the barest hint of sunlight touches the thing’s paw, and it gives a great twitch that has Gwen flinching — and then the wolf changes.

She’s not sure what she’s seeing at first. Its muzzle wrinkles as though in a snarl but then shrinks. The pointed ears on its head flatten back and disappear into its dark red fur, which itself seems to be absorbed back into its skin, leaving pale, pinkish flesh behind. Its paws stretch and lengthen into long, calloused, human fingers, and the whimper that comes out of its throat morphs mid-syllable into a distinct, familiar, and absolutely absurd “ouchie.” The figure left half-blanketed on the bed opens ocean green eyes over an upturned pink nose and effortlessly smiles at the new day.

The figure looks an awful lot like David sporting a week’s worth of facial hair.

The figure is David.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Gwen croaks, and David blinks his big green eyes over at Gwen, looking faintly puzzled.

“Gwen? What are you doing awake?” he whispers (only sounding a little raspy, the bastard).

Gwen’s mind is racing, frantically calling up memories from the past two days, belatedly recalling that last night she’d learned without a shadow of a doubt that David — bouncy, clumsy, sunshine-y David, her coworker of too many years and the least brood-over-his-loss-of-humanity guy she’s ever known, that David — was a bonafide werewolf.

He’s still looking at her, apparently wide-awake and ready to be properly concerned about his “CBFL!” despite the fact that no sane person should be awake at this hour. She tries to say something, something intelligent, so that he knows she’s fine and can stop turning the force of his way-too-bright eyes on her.

“Wurwuf,” her stupid mouth manages.

He looks confused, briefly, before a metaphorical lightbulb goes off so obviously that Gwen practically has to squint at its brightness. “Oh yeah! I change back when the sunlight hits me — it hurts, but I hope I wasn’t too loud. Did I wake you up?”

He looks so intensely unhappy at the possibility that Gwen finds herself shaking her head before she can properly process what he said, and he smiles warmly at her. Fortunately it’s not one of his overwhelming ones but instead the softer kind, the kind he wears when he’s had a long day or a camper pleasantly surprises him.

“I’m glad,” he says with one hundred percent honesty, and he sits straight up in bed like it’s easy to get his muscles to work in the morning. “I was a little worried! You should go back to sleep, Gwen. I know how hard you’ve been working, and I dumped a lot on you last night. I’ll take breakfast duty, okay?”

“Mm,” she says, and he gives her another smile — jesus it’s too fucking early for this — and daintily wraps a sheet around his body, heading to the bathroom. She watches him go, humming like it’s any other day, until he closes and latches the door behind him with a snk.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, Gwen mentally screams, and bites her fist hard. David’s a werewolf. David is a werewolf. It’s a brand new day and her coworker (and, fine, friend) David is a WEREWOLF who literally transformed in front of her very eyes into a huge, potentially terrifying beast.

She’s going to have so much to write about.

Speaking of, she scrambles out of bed for her notebook and pen. She’d been limited by David’s inability to talk as a wolf, but through yes and no questions and some dubiously successful attempts at charades she’d ended up with a decent number of pages written out about his new condition. It’s a solid start on figuring out what they can expect and how this whole thing works.

Of course, like every normal person, Gwen herself went through a Weird Wolf Girl phase. Though it’s been considerably more than a decade since then, she’s sure she hasn’t forgotten that much about them — and besides, with all the supernatural shapeshifter romances she’s read in the years since then, she’s pretty confident she can fill in any gaps in her knowledge.

She starts drafting questions, both for David and the Quartermaster (who of course has a hook in this, that guy is so freaky). Like: David turns into a four-legged wolf every time moonlight touches him, but is there a way to control when the change happens? Could he stop the change partway through? Is his werewolfism unique, or is there a pack out there somewhere? And are there any single werewolves her age? If so, how would Gwen go about meeting them?

Quietly, Gwen lets out a high-pitched squeal — werewolves are real, and she knows one. It’s too bad it’s David, since that precludes any hot paranormal action on her end, and has precluded any action between them since their first week working together. But maybe he’ll meet some other, more masculine werewolves and he could introduce her?

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Gwen,” she whispers. “Reel it in.”

She spends a brief moment in deep breathing, trying to meditate… and then shrugs it off to bounce excitedly on her bed. Even if this isn’t quite the way she’d imagined it, werewolves! This could be a major change in her life, the kind she’d hoped Graggle would be, the kind she’s been waiting for as long as she can remember.

And who knows — he might still be David, but being a werewolf might make him more interesting, too. She grabs her pillow and muffles a disbelieving, embarrassingly girly squee into it, grinning. She can’t wait to see how things change.

***

In retrospect, maybe Gwen should have expected to be disappointed.

The activity for that day is Rube Goldberg Machines (“Max really enjoyed this one last year, Gwen!!”) and even though, as always, Gwen had told him during last week’s activity-planning session that it was going to be a disaster (“David, it’s going to be a disaster.”), the day is just… regular.

Which isn’t to say it’s not a disaster, but it is a pretty regular one. Harrison and Preston team up against Erid and Nerris to create competing death machines, which results in David stepping into the middle of their feud and getting the crap beaten out of him by mechanically-operated cardboard. Max and his friends are suspiciously quiet in a way that Gwen would be more concerned about if she wasn’t so busy trying to prevent Nurf from incorporating Dolph and Space Kid as living pieces of his machine. Mr. Campbell shows up at some point with an intriguing but useless story about his time in a Russian ballet school and then disappears pretty much as soon as she asks him to help. The Quartermaster is there.

Gwen waits all day, anticipation thrumming through her veins, for David to do something different. Just… one thing that would indicate that he’s secretly a paranormal, shapeshifting, not-quite-human creature. Maybe some supernatural speed, or a snarl at being bashed over the head by their terrible campers. Hell, she’d accept a mysterious, darkly longing look towards the woods. Anything.

But David spends the whole day totally normal, with his usual mix of peppiness, anxiety, and the occasional oh-so-human shriek of pain.

It’s not like Gwen really believed (much less had her heart set on) all those books about the super capable, brooding werewolf leads, but… It’s not easy to reconcile the rugged, snarling, coverboy antiheroes with a twiggy, delicate David who’s too busy trying to put a positive spin on marble-powered rocket launchers to realize his bandana is on fire.

Needless to say, Gwen’s exhausted by the end of the day, and for all his talk David hurries the kids along to bed as well. She leans against a tree, watching him interact with the torturous little shits with near-endless patience even in the light of the rising moon. It’s impressive, given that David wears his heart on his sleeve (along with every other organ he has in his body), but right now his impression of not being twitchy as hell is nearly passable. Even if some of the kids notice, they won’t worry; besides the Problem Trio, none will suspect it’s anything to do with the supernatural.

Also, of course Max, Neil, and Nikki found out about it; Gwen is going to grill Max about that as soon as she gets the chance, and then she’s going to kill David for letting it slip so quickly.

...then again, it’s admittedly something of a miracle that the whole camp doesn’t already know; she might have to let this slide. You should still know better! she thinks loudly, glaring at the back of David’s head as he suffers Nikki using him as a climbing post. He glances back at the same moment, catches her look, and hurriedly starts trying to disentangle the wild kid from his hair.

Gwen winces, then sighs in frustration — she hadn’t actually meant for him to catch that. Great going, Gwen.

Despite the revelations of the past few days, David really does seem just the same: goofy muppet-long limbs, pointy elbows, big smiles papered over a mess of anxiety, enthusiasm, and bad ideas. He’s not even more muscular or anything — though to be fair, he’s always been stronger than he looks. With his wiry muscles, he’s capable of lifting way more than Gwen expects — but the fact remains that he’s always looked delicate.

He’s not, of course — though he cries more easily than most people, it’s usually an emotional rather than physical response. He bounces back from just about any injury, leaping into the next activity with all the grace of a newborn deer. Gwen can admit that it’s somewhat compelling; she can’t help admiring his determination to keep moving forward.

Finally disengaged from Nikki, David puts his hands on his hips, tilting them in the opposite direction of his head. The move puts him on an appealing slant that emphasizes how long and slim he is, the slope of his neck leading into the sharp cut of his shoulders, hidden slightly by his dumb bandana. He fiddles with it now, throwing an uncertain glance her way.

He’d said the freaky magic necklace wasn’t comfortable to wear, and she wonders exactly how: does it intensify things? Is it like holding in a sneeze? After working so closely with him for so long, she’s intimately familiar with his energy levels; it’s not been the kind of day that usually ends in mania or an anxiety attack, but he’s twitchier than usual anyway. Is that related?

Finally taking pity, Gwen steps in. She manages to convince Harrison that the woods aren’t going to come alive while he sleeps (a weird, newly emerged fear she’s keeping a close eye on) and bundles Space Kid in his favorite rocket blanket so that David can devote his attention to Nerris’s pleas to stay up later so they can fight the dark elves together (which honestly seems like the kind of bullshit she should read up on, because that doesn’t sound like the sort of thing an impressionable kid should be absorbing). Together, they get the kids down only twenty minutes past the scheduled time.

David is unmistakably anxious on the way to the Counselors Cabin. When he hesitantly asks, “Am I in trouble?” Gwen can’t help but sigh.

“No, David. I’m just thinking,” she admits. “We need to make sure none of the rest of the kids find out that you’re a werg— a, a werewolf.” She silently curses herself for stumbling over the word again. What’s wrong with her? “Why did you have to let Max know? You must have realized he’d find a way to take advantage of this.”

“We-e-ell…” David starts, avoiding eye contact in a way that compounds Gwen’s fatigue.

“David.”

“I didn’t mean to!! He was just there and the moon was out and he broke the necklace and obviously if I had known I wouldn’t have put him in that situation, but the Quartermaster was being very coy about my being a werewolf so I had no idea what was coming —“

“Wait wait wait,” Gwen interrupts; David shrinks guiltily. “You didn’t know? You mean Max was there the first time you —?” She cuts herself off, brain whirring through his behavior since he got back from his disastrous trip in the woods a few weeks ago. She doesn’t like the conclusion she comes to.

Dreading his answer, she asks, “When was this?”

“Um.” David counts briefly on his fingers, lips pursed in thought. “A-about a week ago?”

“A week?!”

“A, a little less, actually,” he admits, cringing.

Gwen stops walking. “It’s been less than a week.”

Cautiously, he nods, his red hair flopping, and Gwen stares at him. It occurs to her suddenly that David has, hilariously, really been thrown to the wolves here: he doesn’t actually know anything about being a werewolf. His life has just changed, majorly and possibly permanently, and his only guide is the laconic and decidedly unhelpful Quartermaster… and Gwen herself.

“Right,” Gwen manages, and starts walking again. David follows, chattering nervously, but she barely hears him, thinking about what he’d said to her yesterday morning (practically forever ago): that he hadn't wanted to be a burden, but he needed her help.

Where is she even supposed to start?

She watches him throw his arms up to emphasize a point she hasn’t heard and catches sight of how long and delicate his fingers are, even with his summer camp callouses. They’re the same as ever, but somehow that makes Gwen feel like he’s even more fragile than usual, like if she even touched his shoulder he might shatter or maybe even bolt. But if she wants to figure this out properly, she needs more information… so she’s extra careful when she puts forth her next question.

“So you gonna let me watch tonight?” she asks, and then bites her tongue hard because that did not come out like she wanted it to, Gwen what is wrong with you.

Fortunately, the look David sends her is one of innocent surprise, rather than one assuming that she just propositioned him.

“Um, sure!!” he says, voice edging just past bubbly and into manic; he tugs at his bandana, revealing a flash of silver chain. Then, to her horror, a very noticeable flush starts to crawl up the back of his neck — shit, does he think she just propositioned him? “I-it’s just… well, I can’t really afford to ruin any more camp uniforms, s-so, um, I’d have to be —“

“Spit it out, David,” she advises, not completely dickishly.

“—naked, I’d have to be naked,” he blurts out, and pulls his bandana up around his cheeks to hide his embarrassment.

Gwen has to blink at him for a few seconds. Is he seriously that embarrassed about her catching an eyeful when they’ve lived in close quarters this long? And when he’s going to turn into a giant, fuckoff werewolf??

“David. I promise not to look at your dick,” she says, which to her amusement makes him squeak and turn as red as his hair. He flutters a nervous hand at her, glancing around like a camper could appear anywhere — which, to be fair, they could: Gwen has learned not to underestimate the little bastards.

She bumps her shoulder into his, because she’s too awkward to offer comfort in a normal way. “Are you seriously more freaked out about the naked thing than the werewolf thing?”

“It’s not… appropriate,” he hisses, still flushed and harried-looking. “You shouldn’t have to —“

“I don’t have to; I want to. To see you transform, I mean,” she corrects. “Into a wolf. Not to — yeah. But I do want to see the transforming shit again because it was seriously the coolest thing I have ever seen.”

As per usual, David opens the door to the Counselors Cabin and lets Gwen through first, which is why she sees the set-up, recognizes the intended purpose, and is already exhausted and dismayed by its outcome by the time David cheerfully flicks on the lightswitch.

“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised, as his action triggers the set of three marbles to start rolling down the halved cardboard tubes that have been taped together into an impressively complicated contraption. The blue marble hits and tips over a precariously balanced jug of water, the yellow one continues to pick up speed as its path steepens, and the mint-green one just barely nudges a piece of cheese into the grubby little hands-reach of a caged squirrel. “Wow,” David says, delighted, while Gwen traces the future paths of the machine and reaches the signs neatly taped to the wall above David’s bed.

“GWEN DON’T INTERFERE. I PROMISED I WOULDN’T SET A FIRE BUT NEIL DIDN’T. MAX.”

“Ooo, great use of weighted pullies,” David says appreciatively, while a baby headache is born right behind Gwen’s eyes.

Next to Max’s note is one with Neil’s precise handwriting. “Sorry for getting carried away but I needed to test my abilities. Neil.”

The squirrel has tugged up the string tied to the key to its cage and is furiously trying to unlock its prison; another domino falls just as the scale overbalances. Gwen’s headache has learned to walk and is joyfully crashing into the walls of her brain.

Nikki’s note (which, for some reason, is dripping with an unknown reddish liquid) says, “it seemed like the best use of our time. also the squirrel needed to know who was boss.”

“That’s such a creative use of a windchime!” David says, proud as anything, as Gwen recognizes an open container of lighter fluid, realizes that the last note is written in Campbell’s chunky scrawl, and her headache throws a screaming teenage tantrum about how unfair its life is.

“IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD CAMP ACTIVITY FOR THE CHILDREN! ALSO THEY BRIBED ME. SORRY! CAMERON C. CAMPBELL.”

“Gwen, look at how they combined their machines here! Oh, I’m so proud, this is such great teamwork,” David coos and then the lighter fluid tips over, the bedspread catches fire, the squirrel frees itself to launch its horrible little rodent body across the room, and Gwen’s headache graduates summa cum laude with a full degree in Fuck You Gwenology.

Even if she hasn’t been through this exact scenario before, Gwen knows how this goes. David’s mattress will be reduced to kindling (an inevitability each summer; honestly, she’s a little proud of how long it lasted this year), David will shriek as the squirrel makes claw-contact with his face, and Gwen will calmly murder every person responsible for ensuring she has more work to do before she can goddamn relax. She’s already heading towards the fire extinguisher when David surprises her.

Instead of getting a faceful of furious-slash-terrified squirrel and screeching his fool head off, David whips a hand out faster than Gwen can follow and snags the thing out of the air. She hardly notices, though, distracted as she is by the sudden, ferocious snarl that transforms David’s face, revealing a set of gleaming, razor-sharp fangs that make him look a whole lot more… monstrous.

Oh, fuck, Gwen thinks, frozen to the spot.

The squirrel squeals, panicked, and David’s growling cuts off abruptly with a sharp little gasp. He loosens his grip enough that the animal can scramble out of his hands and out the swinging screen door, not even bothering to scold them on the way out. David automatically tracks its movements, his green eyes flashing and shoulders tense.

Thwack, goes the cabin door. Gwen stares at David, who himself stares at where the squirrel had disappeared, before a full-body shudder goes through him and he wraps his arms around his middle.

“S-sorry,” he says, voice small. Gwen blinks at that, still a bit dazed, but he keeps his eyes down. “I didn’t mean — I mean, I just —“ He hunches into himself, making himself even smaller.

Realization sparks in Gwen — he feels shitty about this, I should do something — and then David takes a sudden, deep breath, filling his lungs and straightening to his full height. His shoulders are still tense but he’s forced them down, like he’s relaxed, and when he smiles at her it’s practically normal.

But Gwen knows David, and she knows his smiles, and this one is bad: her eyes rove over his face, cataloguing the tension in his brow, the slight tremble of his upper lip, how few teeth he’s actually showing. “David,” she starts, uncertain what she’s going to say.

“It’s okay!” he assures her, voice bright and tight, flapping an insistent hand in dismissal. “I was just — that, um, startled me, is all. I didn’t mean to — to… is something burning?”

Gwen turns so fast she gives herself whiplash. “Oh fuck, the bed!!”

“O-oh — !”

These days she’s old hat at putting out fires, but the lighter fluid and the relatively extended burn time mean that even after Gwen empties a full fire extinguisher, it’s quite clear that the mattress isn’t the only thing sacrificed to the blaze.

“My bed,” David says weakly. The headboard has collapsed into the slats of the bed frame, which are themselves burned through, and its legs are heavily charred; it looks like it might fall apart in a stiff breeze, leaving behind just a pile of ashes. “W-well, we could —“

“The extra camper cots won’t hold an adult’s weight,” Gwen points out numbly. Do they still have — ?

“And Mr. Campbell took the last bedframe from storage when he moved in,” David notes, and Gwen adds another thing to her mental “Reasons to Kill Cameron Campbell” list. “Good thing I —“

“No, Max traded your sleeping bag to the Wood Scouts to get them to take Jermy back,” Gwen reminds him, pinching the bridge of her nose. Quartermaster probably has more supplies, but he’s left for the night to do… Quartermaster things, and Gwen doesn’t actually know how to contact him until the morning.

“Right,” David sighs. “But the hammock — ?”

“Could you even use it when you’ve got —“ she claws at the air, giving him a faux snarl, which immediately makes her feel like a huge, stupid asshole, but she perseveres — “you know, four legs?”

With each back and forth, David sinks down a little more — but at that last one he perks up a bit. “Oh! Gwen, I’ll be a wolf. I don't need a bed, I’ll just sleep outside!”

“David,” Gwen begins, already prepared to try to make him see reason, but then she actually catches sight of his expression and pauses, considering.

Because David isn’t looking at her. His eyes dart from the remains of his bed to her desk to the bathroom door to the open window, whereupon he flinches and looks anywhere else til he’s inevitably drawn back to it. His hands are clasped in front of him like he’s pleased, but Gwen can see them trembling. “Plus, I feel like — I think there’s something different in the air, and I just want to check it out, make sure everything’s okay. And Harrison was so nervous at bedtime — I should probably check on him. And the Quartermaster probably needs help setting things up, so…”

He wants to get away, Gwen realizes. His reaction to the squirrel was different than he’s used to and it scared him. He needs to process it alone.

“Fine,” Gwen blurts out, and David shuts his mouth, eyebrows dipping in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Go. We don’t have to — You can show me the transformation another night. I’ll take care of the bed and any kids who come calling. If you need — some time, or some space, David, then go get it.” She has to mentally scream at herself to do it, but she raises a pretty convincingly casual hand to pat his shoulder. “I’ll take care of things here. You go do what you need, okay?”

He looks uncertain, but he does lean into her touch. Gwen fights to keep her face normal. “Gwen, are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone with everything again…”

“It’s fine, David,” she says, and finds that she means it. He asked her for her help, and if this is what it takes, well. “Go. Run around, burn off some energy, do what you need. I’ll cover you.”

He bites his lip, incidentally flashing those sharp teeth. Gwen determinedly keeps her eyes on his. “If you’re sure it’s okay…”

“I am. Go do your thing, David.”

The tense worry on his face melts away, and when he smiles at her it’s easy. “Thanks, Gwen,” he says, and before she can react he wraps his arms around her in a firm hug.

Gwen tries not to freeze up or anything, but she’s so awkward — she ends up patting his shoulder again (like an idiot) until he finally loosens his warm grip and steps away to open the cabin door. He aims one last grateful smile at her; it practically lights up the whole room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Gwen. Thanks again.”

“Yee-up,” she says, and gives him a thumbs-up until the screendoor thwacks shut behind him.

She stands there for a long moment, listening to his footsteps fade away. Then, when she’s sure he’s gone, she numbly reaches for her pillow. She presses her face into it and takes a couple deep breaths.

Then she screams, because she has to clean up the remains of the burned bed and figure out how this werewolf thing works for David and make sure the camp keeps running and now she’s going to have to do all that with the awareness that David might be hot now.

He’s not allowed to be. Their whole thing works because he’s not her type. They have to work so closely together to make this damn place run, reading each others’ intentions and patching each other up and practically working on top of and underneath each other; Gwen can’t do that if she has to worry about her hormones acting up just because her stupid coworker actually has some monster-y traits to go with the fact that technically, now he’s a monster.“Fuck,” she says, and it scrapes at her throat but it feels good anyways, so she says it again as she tries not to think about sharp teeth in an innocent smile. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

CHAPTER TWO

Gwen wakes up.

She keeps her eyes shut for a few moments. Sleep waits for her, solemn and warm, but something in the outside world is just off enough that she doesn’t surrender to it quite yet. Sluggishly, consciousness comes online.

She has a body. Her body is wrapped in a warm blanket. She’s still cold. She scrunches her nose and pulls her limbs in tighter, which helps a little, but not as much as the sudden cut-off of cold air that accompanies the screendoor’s muffled thwack.

Is David seriously coming in and out of the cabin at this hour? That deserves a squinted glare at the very least. Gwen rolls over to offer the stink-eye to her erstwhile coworker for his early morning volume, only —

The windows show only dark grey outside. Rain splatters half-heartedly against the panes. The digital clock on David’s night table illuminates the digits 7:08, more than twenty minutes before her first phone alarm is due to go off. Though the light inside the cabin is limited, it’s enough for Gwen to make out the rough outline of an enormous animal standing just in the doorway. It looks directly at her; its reflective eyes are brilliant and strange.

Her heart skips a beat. Then its pace increases, along with her breathing, because what the fuck, it’s gonna eat her —

A quiet, pitiful whine escapes the beast. It sounds pathetically sad, like Missy when Gwen’s dad won’t share his hamburger, but besides that universal doggy plea, something else about it seems... familiar.

She switches on her lamp before she can doubt herself.

The scant golden light reveals an unnaturally large wolf, its four paws placed carefully on the doormat. It is covered in thick red fur, Gwen knows, but not one hair of that is visible beneath its coat of caked, dripping mud. Its big green eyes are pleading. 

“Christ, David,” she says hoarsely, and stumbles to her feet, already reaching for the box of garbage bags left out last night after she cleaned up the charred remains of his bed. She can cut one open and lay it down like a tarp; it’ll catch any mud he drips on the way to the bathroom so it won’t spread to the rest of the cabin. Where are her scissors?

She lurches about the cabin, trying to prep it for a muddy werewolf. Her brain is working, technically, running through where the spare towels are and what she’ll need, but it’s still too early for things to quite make sense. Werewolf? Sure, that’s logical, she can handle that. But shouldn't David have turned back by now?

“C’mon,” she says to him once she has a line of slit open trashbags laid out. David steps carefully along her path, his tail and ears down, and hops immediately into the tub without the need for her to explain. Pulling her hair back in a loose ponytail, Gwen locates an old, refillable slurpee cup, then squats on the bathmat and turns the water on.

It’s cold, as it always is first thing in the morning, but David doesn’t even react; his fur must be super thick. Still, she waits until it hits a reasonable temperature before plugging the bath and filling the mega slurpee cup. “Stay still, okay?” Placing a hand on his furry brow to prevent the water from getting in his eyes, she pours it over his head… which makes hardly any difference to the mud stuck fast to his fur.

Gwen rocks back onto her heels, frowning. “Think we’re gonna need more than water,” she tells David, who woofs so very softly in reply that even in her sleep-muzzy state she can’t help smirking a little. “Is that a yes?” His tail starts to wag, disturbing the already-clouded water filling the tub. “Yeah? You want some soap or shampoo or some shit, David?”

To her amusement, his tail wags even harder — he’s always so delighted by her solutions, even when they’re obvious, but somehow the tail-wagging hits different than his normal bouncy enthuthiasm. She idly wonders how far she can take this as she stands to examine their toiletries.

There’s not much left in his shampoo bottle, so Gwen grabs her body wash as well — it’s cheap and she has tons of it, so it’ll have to do. She kneels back down and softens her voice a little more, like she’s talking to a toddler or something, as she squeezes some shampoo into her palm. “You wanna get clean, David? Huh? Get all this crap off of you?”

He gives her a happy whine that is so very David, despite the species, that she can’t help the giggle that escapes her. 

His tail stills for a moment and he stares at her, ears pricked high, the expression on his muzzle so close to human surprise that she starts to feel self conscious. Then he starts wagging his tail so furiously that Gwen has to quickly splat her shampooed hand on his head. “Shut up,” she tells him, and starts to rub it into a lather.

Gwen doesn’t really touch people. Growing up she’d been used to living in cramped spaces — Dad’s tour bus chief among them — which meant that being able to spread out was always such a luxury. She quit touring once she hit high school, but by that time the damage had already been done: after so many years of enforced closeness, Gwen never really figured out how to initiate physical contact when she wanted it, without a lack of room causing the press of bodies on all sides. 

So she’s not good at touching people. David, on the other hand, is bad at not touching people. When Gwen awkwardly offered her hand to him during their first meeting, David went right in for an extended hug. He hasn’t gotten much better since; it’s taken years for her to train him to let go of her, dammit, and she’s given up on ever getting through a day without his hands fluttering around her shoulders, arms, back, casually and constantly touching her.

And though Gwen pretends not to notice or care, on the relatively rare occasions that she initiates contact, David always, always relaxes into her touch. It makes her feel… well, stupid, yes, but also warm and — damn him — kind of fond. Right now, it’s somehow even easier to slip into that feeling: he leans obviously into her hands as she works the shampoo and then body wash through his thick fur, the mud coming away under her fingers and slowly revealing more and more red fur.

It should be stranger, not least because he’s currently in the form of a predator that has terrified man for years. But Gwen keeps at it, soaping and scrubbing and rinsing, til her friend stands there on four paws, clean as can be.

...and, once she takes a step back to get a good view of him, looking a bit like an enormous drowned rat.

“Holy shit, you’re so skinny,” Gwen exclaims, leaning against the sink. She crosses her arms as she gets a good look at the wolf doing his best to pout in their tub. “All that fur almost made you look intimidating, but you’re all elbows, huh?”

David’s furry brow creases. He seems to think hard for a moment; feeling generous, Gwen waits him out. Finally, he sticks the very tip of his tongue out in an impressively snooty blep.

She snorts, snagging some ratty old towels, and drops back into the voice she uses for dogs and babies. “Well, does David wanna get dry now? Huh? Does Davey wanna let Gwen towel him off so he can be a big, scary fluffball again?”

When she turns back, his muzzle has contorted into one of offended realization. She can hear his voice so clearly in his scandalized expression: Wait, have you been making fun of me? That, plus the fact that his tongue is still out in a petite blep, has her pressing the towels to her face to muffle a laugh.

“David,” she starts, once she feels capable of facing him without making a fool of herself -- and then she startles at the spray of cool water against her skin, soaking into her pajamas, and the pafwappafwappafwap sound of a dog shaking itself dry. “David!” she snaps, horrified, and backs away, but the bathroom door is closed — she’s stuck — she holds up the towels, as if that will protect her. She’s going to kill him.

He woofs, sounding terribly pleased with himself, and Gwen blindly chucks the towels at him. By her ear, they splat against the tub -- she wipes at the water in her eyes, cursing. “I’m going to kill you,” she announces to the bathroom, fuming, and feels the rasp of something warm and wet on her free hand. She jerks away, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

David stands beside her, fluffy and damp and way too smug, his green eyes sparkling in amusement. He’s big enough that his head hits her waist; if he stood on his back feet, he’d be tall enough to crowd her in, look down on her. As it is, he looks up at her, a distinctly… David look of affection on his face.

Gwen’s stomach swoops, but just a little, and that’s kind of embarrassing so she glowers at him. “Dick,” she mutters, yanking open the bathroom door and storming half-heartedly to her “dresser” (a shitty filing cabinet, because Campbell’s too cheap for real furniture). She can hear the click of his nails on the hardwood as she pulls out a camp shirt and a relatively clean sports bra. Her pajama shirt is soaked thanks to David’s sense of humor so she tugs it off and flings it into her laundry basket. “Shouldn’t you have changed back by now anyway?” she asks him. “It’s way past sun-up.”

She just buys whatever fits from the sales rack, so her sports bras are always wacky colors; this one is fuschia with vivid teal piping. She yanks it on over her head and makes sure her tits are facing the right way before realizing that David has gone totally silent.

She glances over her shoulder to find him staring at her with wide eyes, his tail frozen straight out in shock. When they make eye contact, his ears flatten against his skull and he seems at such a panicky loss for what to do that he actually yelps, which startles them both so much that they spend another precious second staring at each other in mutual what-the-fuck-do-we-do-ness before Gwem gets her shit together and throws her camp shirt at his face.

“I —! You were a dog! I forgot!” she snaps, face burning. Stupid. “Stay there!” 

It takes Gwen seconds to get another shirt on, but her inner voice is shouting rapidly the whole time. He’s a wolf but he’s a werewolf so he’s a person so you can’t change in front of him dumbass! Unless you’re trying to get it on in which case why would you think unsexily shoving your boobs into a sports bra would be the way to do it?! Plus even if he is a werewolf he’s still David who isn’t supposed to be hot! ...But maybe he is now?? Even if that is the case you know you can’t handle a fling with a coworker so quit thinking about it, especially cuz right now he’s still in the form of a dog!!

In her mind, Gwen shouts inarticulately back at the voices and smashes their heads in with David’s guitar. In real life, she zips up her shorts and hesitantly lifts the spare shirt off David’s face. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, his ears back and head down, everything about his posture saying I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

Gwen huffs out a breath — he gets so apologetic for the stupidest shit — and taps his forehead to get his attention. “David, it’s fine, it was my fault anyway. You can open your eyes.” 

A fine tremble goes through him, but he peeks one eye open and, seeing that she’s telling the truth, opens both eyes to focus entirely on her. Gwen feels like squirming — even in this form, his focus makes her a little nervous. “Well?” she blurts out. “Why aren’t you human again?”

He flicks an ear in mild irritation (is he conscious of that, she wonders) and pads over to the cabin door, pointing his muzzle towards the outside. Gwen follows, looking out: the camp is muddy and full of puddles, rain drizzling down from pale grey clouds that take up the whole sky. Her stomach sinks.

“You need sunlight to change back?” she asks; he confirms with a prim little nod. Gwen tugs her phone over by its cord (it’ll probably break at some point, but what the fuck ever) and checks the weather app for the hourly forecast in Sleepy Peak. She can’t help hissing at what she sees.

“It’s supposed to be cloudy for the next twenty-four hours,” she says, feeling a little numb. David’s ears sink in clear dismay that matches her own. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

***

It turns out David doesn’t even need to speak for them to reach a decision.

He suggests (through a series of wolf-sounds and some poor pantomime) that he stay inside all day, but Gwen knows that he couldn’t even make it an hour being cooped up inside with no camp activities to run. So as long as he can avoid the mud, she’s sentencing him to spend the rest of the day outdoors on the off-chance that any sunlight makes it through the thick cloud cover. 

Which means that she’s basically going to be running the camp alone today. Great.

Gwen rolls up a pair of his shorts and pins them onto a long-sleeve camp shirt so at least he’ll have clothing if he happens to change back. Obedient, David sits very still as she ties the bundle around his neck like a bandana. He looks up at her attentively when she smooths down the tree insignia so it lays flat against his red fur.

Despite the fact that he’s an enormous wolf, and despite the fact that he’s David, her brain says dog! and she has to resist the urge to pat his head. He almost looks cute.

“Okay,” she says, shrugging on her raincoat and opening the front door. “Quartermaster needs to get into storage to get you a new bed anyway, so I’ll do blanket forts for a bit and see how it goes. You — don’t get seen, don’t get too muddy, and come back as soon as you’re human again. Got it?”

David’s eyes turn determined. He lifts a paw to his nose in what Gwen assumes is his best “campe diem!!” and this time she really can’t help it — before she can stop herself, she’s running a hand down his fluffy head and scratching behind his ears. David leans into it, tail wagging, and by the time Gwen realizes what she’s done he’s already hopped out the door and trotted off into the woods.

Gwen is too awkward, too nervous, too weird — even after years of patching him up, she hardly ever touches David on purpose, but… that had been easy. His fur had been warm, his green eyes bright.

She stands there for a minute, blinking at her own hand, imagining she can still feel fur, dense and fine against her fingers. Then she shakes her head and gets going.

[maaxverstappen]

1 & 14 & 30!!!

hi lovely!! ty 4 the ask (slight nsfw under the cut)

the last sentence you wrote unedited first draft ect ect

His palm hovers just over Charles’ dick, boxers straining against the back of his hand. He looks up at Charles who has his head thrown back and eyes closed. “This okay?” Max asks softly.  Charles’ eyes fly open and he turns to look at Max. “Yeah, come on. I want this.”

14. where do you get your inspiration? 95% of the time it's a song. either a single part of a song, the feeling a song gives me, or the whole concept. even for works that have started from a clear prompt, i will still brainstorm with a song that i can attach to it!!

i've done 30 so a random number generator gave me 28 instead lmao 28. your least favorite part of the writing process sitting down and plotting/outlining the whole thing, especially if its a plotty fic. i just find it a bit boring and like to run off vibes instead lmao

from this ask game!

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

What Kind of Man, Indeed

Pairing: Lucas (@needleanddead oc) x reader

Prompt: I had the weirdest idea but it totally worked out

Description: In the woods, people hope to find a few things: freedom from modern life and the stress that came with it, time to relax and spend with family, what have you… You, however, find a chicken. Confused and a little concerned, you decide its up to you to protect her.

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: Explicit mentions of blood, and murder; does not go into detail. Lucas is referred to as a murderer and killer (because he is), and reader is patronized by Lucas p much their entire interactions.

Word Count: 2830

Notes: Hiiii nat remember when I told you I wrote a Lucas fic <3333 found this finished but unedited in my stuff and whoo boy it needed some work (concept was done very poorly but we figured it out boys) and I'm SO excited to bring this to you guys now!!! I really like how it came out!!!

You lived away from your family, and it wasn’t often you could get the time off work to come home and see them. You had a week off from work to come up and spend some time with them. That, of course, had to start with a little family camping trip. You hadn’t gone in so many years, but the promise of cold lake water and sweet pine trees had you agreeing.

You actually hadn’t been to this particular site before. This was a smaller trip with only four of you (you, your parents, and your aunt-- the only people who could get 3 days off in a row to go) so the four of you set off with just your parents camper and your mothers car to enjoy yourself.

So much had changed since the last time you went camping, yet you couldn’t help but feel nostalgic as you sat around the fire with everyone. This time around, you were even old enough to be drinking with your parents if you so chose. You decide against it on this particular night, instead watch your family with crinkled eyes and full heart as they chatted and drank and ate all in high spirits.

“I think I’m gonna walk for a bit, anyone want to join me?” You couldn’t help but stand and stretch, wanting some time away from the sting of the campfire smoke. Your dad turns to speak to you.

“We’re all good, don’t go far though it’s getting late.” He warns you, taking another swig of his beer after he speaks.

“I won’t dad.” You smile at him, and make sure to grab the flashlight. “I got the flashlight, and my phone, and you guys are making enough noise to scare away anything that might hurt me.” You joke. “I’m only going down to the lake after all.” He nods in satisfaction, leaving you to it as he turns back to your mother and aunt.

You leave with no issue, taking the barely seen path that would lead to the lake. During the day the walk didn’t long at all, hardly 15 minutes. When that passes and you don’t have any sign of water, you know you’ve made a mistake somewhere. You pause, taking a look of your surrounds.

You can’t see the light of your families fire anymore, but their laughing and cheering can still be heard fine. Your other directions just show more woodland, with tall pines and short brush and no sign of water.

“Oh geez…” You can’t help but let out a sigh, scanning your surroundings with your flashlight once more. Even the sounds of the night were beginning to blur together-- the loons in the distance, the cicadas in the trees, the clucking of chickens….

“Wait.” You scanned over the area you just passed over, one that had signifigantly less brush in it. As you pass over the area slowly this time you can’t help but stare at the creature caught in your brights. “There’s no way that’s a chicken.” You say aloud. Still, you move in closer to the bird. It’s not at all bothered by your presence, instead mulling around your feet as if it weren’t in any danger out here at all.

“Who dumps a chicken this deep into the woods…?” You look down at the bird by your feet, unsure what to do about it or your own situation.“Ma’am, are you aware how late it is? What on earth are you doing out?” You squat down beside the hen, not knowing what else to do.

She clucks once, and merely turns her head. You admire her a moment, seeing that she looked well fed and taken care of, which makes it even weirder than she was out here alone. Still, she’s smart enough to realize that you’re big, and you could scare away predators-- another trait that tells you this was someones pet or livestock.

“Can I pick you up?” You ask, as if she could answer. Even though you’re also lost, you would feel bad if you just left this chicken to fend for herself.

You give her a hesitant pet, which she doesn’t seem to mind. You pick her up with careful hands, having never really held a chicken before, but she settles rather nicely in your arms. In fact, your cat struggles more than this when you hold him.

“Well, okay.” Chicken tucked under your left arm, and flashlight held in your right, you rise to your feet once more, deciding to just turn back the way you came and go to the lake when it was light out.

No sooner then you do does a piercing scream run through the forest. It makes your blood run cold; it sounded just like your mother. You turn to that direction, aimlessly charging in the direction you heard it. Your heartbeat only picks up more as you hear more screams-- surely your aunt and your father.

You don’t know whats happening. You haven’t been this scared in your life Was their a large animal back at your camp? A bear, a cougar? And was everyone okay?

You apparently hadn’t wandered off too far because within minutes, you can see the color of your fire. You pick up the pace, heart jumping into your throat as you hear signs of a struggle. You turn off your light as you approach, and try to figure out whats happening. You can’t help but feel you need to remain quiet.

When you can finally see whats happening, tears spring to your eyes. Close by, you see your mother laying on the ground. She’s covered in blood from a wound you can’t immediately see. It doesn’t look like shes breathing. Beside her, your aunt; she’s bloodied as well, slumped over as if trying to help her before being struck down herself. Behind their forms, you can see two men. Your dad was the only one one this trip though-- your brothers and cousins couldn’t make it.

Maybe that was for the better.

Your dad is hurt you realize with horror. He’s got a large cut on his left arm. But still, he’s fighting off whoever it was that invaded your sanctuary. He’s struggling for the ax in the mans hand. You can’t move, can’t take your eyes off the fight in front of you. When it seems your dad gets a grip on the weapon, it slips out of his fist-- the blood that ran off his arms making his hand slick.

He falls to the ground, splayed back on his back by the fallen forms of your mother and aunt. You wince and hold the chicken close to you as your fathers scream is silenced by the sickening sound of an ax cuts through his chest.

Again and again and again and again. Until, with one eye daring to peak open, he doesn’t move, doesn’t scream. Silence fills your campsite, where even the crackle of the fire seems to die down in the horror that just took place.

The mystery man—your families murderer—stands up straight after the job is done, pushing back graying hair. If he notices the blood on his face, in his hair, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t notice you, you think.

That is, until the chicken, the dumb chicken you randomly found in the woods, makes a noise of discomfort at how hard you hold her. You gasp and hurriedly lessen your grip but the damage has already been done.

Crazed eyes turn to you. You’ve never seen blood lust in someones eyes like this before. Even from several feet away, across the fire, it has you shivering. As he watches you now, your feet are still stuck to the ground. You speak before you can think not too.

“You… you killed my dad. My mama… my auntie…” Your tears make it hard to see but you swear, the look of rage is immediately swept off his face. “W-why?”

Suddenly, your knees can’t support you. You fall down in a heap. To your horror, the man is approaching you. He doesn’t have his weapon raised, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. He’s speaking to you, you realize. He didn’t make hardly a sound while butchering your family, but now that he sees you, he speaks.

“You found my girl…” He crosses over to where you are easily. You didn’t notice how tall he was until he’s upon you, squatting down until his towering form in right in front of yours. He reeks of blood, of sweat and fatigue.

“Where did you get to, Dolly?” He ignores you a moment in favor of the chicken you held. She wiggles out of your now limp grip, eagerly running to the man. He sets aside his weapon and pets the chicken affectionately. The sight of him coddling a chicken while covered in your families blood has to be the picture of irony.

It fills you with a hatred so vile, so sickening, all you want to do is attack him—tackle him to the ground and demand he answer for the lives he’s taken. But you can’t even move from the spot your frozen to. Even your throat, seized with your grief, can barely let pass your sobs. You’ve never felt so powerless, so weak in the face of true evil.

“Why did you do this?” You’re unsure how you manage to speak the words, twisted by pure emotions going through you. You don’t know why you’re not dead, too. “My parents… my…” Instead, you weep into your open hands. What else was there to do?

“Oh darlin…” His voice is so, so gentle. He reaches out, places a bloodied hand on your shoulder. You can’t help but shudder in disgust as you feel the blood of your family touch your skin.

“P-please don’t t.. touch me…” You don’t know why you bother begging or bartering with a killer, but your words don’t stop as you pull your face up. “J-just kill me. I-I… I can’t…!” You again cry out, uncaring if he saw you. This man, this killer, makes a soft, sweet coo at your words. He moves even closer to you, until he’s pulled you into his arms. You don’t how the strength or will to push him away.

“Now why would I hurt something as sweet as you?” His words make you want to cry even more. You try to even your breathing, to fight him, to hurt him, to do anything. But you just stay limp in his arms, crying and gasping and trying to get your breathing back to normal. All you can do is cry, cry into the arms of your families killer.

It takes several minutes for you to stop openly bawling. You’re so embarrassed, so upset, so angry. In that time, this man, this killer, has pulled you into an awkward hug, holding you tightly in his embrace. He tries to console you, using gentle words and sweet tones to tell you that you’ll be okay, that you’re okay, that he won’t hurt you. When you finally feel well enough to speak, you pull away from him. He keeps you in his grip, but allows you the freedom to look up at his face and speak.

“Why won’t you kill me?” Your voice is the clearest it’s been since you’ve come back to camp. You surprised you can talk with him, look at him without crying. Without screaming or yelling. “Why am I different?” Tears still glisten in your eyes, still streak down your cheeks.

“Don’t worry about that.” His tone is so dismissive. As if he’s had to answer this question so many times before. “You’re…” He pauses but shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter. I should get you home.”

“Home?” The word feels hollow in your throat. You didn’t have a home anymore-- not with your family dead.

“With me.” He smiles at you, as if he has any right. Like he’s doing you a favor. You don’t think you could hate someone as much as you do him.

“P-please don’t do this.” All you can think to do is beg. You feel pathetic.

You think he likes that.

“You don’t have to worry about anything darlin. I’ll take care of you.” It’s as if he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he hasn’t this whole time-- maybe he saw you as helpless and pathetic as the chicken milling around the two of you. Maybe to him, your just the same as a helpless chicken lost in the woods. Out of place, and needing someone bigger and stronger to protect and guide them...

He helps you to your feet. Your legs are still unsteady—none of you really feels solid. Still, before you can crumble to the ground once again he catches you against himself. You think you might hate yourself more than you do him, for having to rely on him like this. As you lean into him, and look into green eyes, you can’t help but ask.

“...What’s your name?” It shouldn’t matter, but it does right now. You needed something to ground you—a name you could connect all these emotions with. He seems pleased that you’ve become interested in him. Or at least, disinterested in what happened here.

“Call me Lucas.” His name shouldn’t be so simple. So mundane.

“Lucas…” He perks up at hearing his name come from your lips. You want to ask more, but your questions have all been ignored. Redirected. Still, your lips move to speak. “Why are you doing this?” You’ve never felt so small as you do with him guiding you into the woods, supporting you with one gentle hand and carrying his lost chicken with another just as slight touch.

“...You looked liked you needed some protectin, is all. What kind of man would I be if I left you alone like this?”

What kind of man indeed.

You don’t speak any more as he leads you away from the camp you and your family had made. Lucas is all too happy to fill the silence, navigating the woods with no need of any light. You’re not surprised when he takes you to a small cabin in the woods. You don’t know how long the walk was, but it couldn’t be too far from where your family had set up for camp. It makes you wonder.

Were you even the first group of people Lucas had come across in the woods? ...Would you be the last?

“I don’t think I ever got your name, sugar.” You don’t know how you found yourself in the small cabin. It feels like your grandmothers house. Cluttered but comfortable. The anxiety you feel here is far different, though. When you don’t answer, he just sighs.

“You must be tired… I’ll let you take the bed.” Along the way, you’re able to find your feet. Lucas leads you to a room that is rather bare bones-- a dresser, a bed and not much else you can see in the dim light. Still, it looks lived in. He a stands beside you a moment as you take in the room.

“Ah, you can’t sleep in that. I’ll fetch you something—just stay here.” You watch wordless as he goes. You can hear him shuffle around a moment, opening a closet or a drawer. As he said, he’s back before you know it. Holding a large shirt and another blanket.

“It gets cold here at night, but you probably already knew that.” He hands you the two items with a little smile. He acts as if he’s done this all before. “I’ll leave you to it then… I’ll be out on the couch. Just holler if you need me.” He gives you a final once over before leaving the room. The door locks with a deafening click behind him.

You don’t change into the shirt. The blanket he gave you sits folded on the edge of the bed. Even as you sit gently on the bed, and take a deep breath, it doesn’t feel real.

This place smells like him. Like iron and sweat, of campfires and something sinister. You don’t know how he expects you to sleep. When you close your eyes, all you can see is the piled bodies of your loved ones. Carelessly left to rot in a place where all they wanted was to relax. Left in this room alone, you can’t find it in you to be scared any more. You want to scream and yell and throw a fit, you want to go back to your families corpses and beg them to come to life.

You want Lucas to hurt like you do.

But, you’re not that kind of person. You’re someone who needs protecting. And Lucas was gonna do that for you, whether you liked it or not. Precious thing like you can’t do much about it, anyways.

[omensgate]

my concrete and main sofanthiel headcanon is that sofanthiel is arena nightcat after ascending. by its nature it embodies facets of each slugcat and past that lives many fractured lives (which i try and document in That fanfic i need to update ACTUALLY? i totally forgot lol i half wrote a chapter related to the ship showdown that i did not complete and do not want to because it was only timely for christmas. ill drop it below the cut and put in some commentary at the end. it is 1575 words long and largely unedited)

Hunter typically made a point to arrive at any of it's obligations exactly on time, never too early to be an inconvenience and certainly not shamefully late as if she'd forgotten, but given that in this certain situation there were… extraneous circumstances, namely who he was to meet, he felt that it was absolutely necessary that it come to Inv's house a good quarter of an hour before she'd been requested to- no, it could not care if Enot was bothered by it appearing before it'd gotten it's house ready given the likelihood of it truly preparing or cleaning at all was slim to none, and even if so, she could guess that Sofanthiel's chagrin would be less important than disarming the area.

As ever, upon entrance (allowing herself into ???'s home, as it did not even spare the time to answer the door, not that that was atypical behavior that would surprise Hunter coming from it), Hunter was proven correct in it's forethought and concern- really, as much as a troublemaker as Inv was, the main drawback of it's behavior and only truly bad thing about being friends with it was how alarmingly it succeeded in inflating Hunter's ego with how often his assumptions about it were proven correct. Everything above neck high was covered in mistletoe, and if the room had been filled with other people you would not manage 2 steps before having to give someone a kiss, so Hunter went along removing each and every sprig of leaves and flowers upon her path, storing them in his scarf to return to Sofanthiel eventually, when it could be trusted with this custom.

Once the house seemed clean (of mistletoe, not in general- they were friends, of course, but not friends enough that Hunter would start picking up dirty dishes and strewn clothes unless he was paid in some way for the effort), she moved to enter Inv's room after taking the mistletoe off the doorway and giving a brief knock to the door to warn them of her imminent arrival, hearing a quick singsong "come in!~" in response. Pushing the door open, he was, for once, a bit surprised to see Inv standing right in the doorway and not glued to it's computer as she had expected, smiling massively at Hunter like a child on Christmas (instead of the more accurate adult on Christmas, as it was). "Hey, Hunter! Look-" It pointed up towards the doorway before it jolted, the smile thoroughly melting off it's face in an instant as it looked back down to Hunter, now perceiving the mistletoe adorning their form- decidedly under their head which seemed to be out of the threshold for Christmas customary kissing. "Ooh, you absolute slippery rascal! I cannot believe you!!" ??? whined, momentarily assuming the entirely cartoonish pose of stamping on the floor with it's feet, fists balled and armed tensed, eyes scrunched close in sudden apparent anger before returning to some normal approximation of regular emotion, quickly meandering to face it's television, tapping away at it's phone now. "Do you know how hard I worked to get all of that set up?! And- mistletoe isn't free, you know, I had to PAY to set all that up," in moments Inv had streamed a large black and white swirl on the television, the hypnotic motion only broken up by large impact font text in the middle saying "KISS EACH OTHER", a command so outlandish Hunter really, desperately hoped it's friends would not fall for that. Regardless, to ???'s vocal complaints, Hunter moved to offer it the mistletoe now that enough time had passed it's surely not be able to put it all up by the time it's friends arrived and if only to stop the pitiful complaining, but Enot waved her off as it moved to it's computer, where it normally stayed. "Yeah, yeah, I know you're not going to STEAL from me and keep it, I know I'm not 'losing it', but if I don't USE it, then it's a waste!" Inv signed exaggeratedly, leaning back in it's gamer chair and stretching intensely, getting comfortable as Hunter moved to instead drop the mistletoe onto Enot's bed. "And time is money… I could've spent that time putting it up doing something that wouldn't get immediately torn down instead, hmm…"

"No one would have fallen for them, anyways, I assure you," Hunter said, amused by Inv's behavior. Of course, it was not truly or sincere upset, and so any complaining it did was of little concern to Hunter. It had a big personality best described as mischievious, and so these little outbursts were par for the course for it. "I'm saving you from the disappointment of seeing everyone's outright refusal."

"You never know!" Inv said, spinning around in their chair so it could face Hunter, who now sat on the edge of Enot's bed as they waited for the others to arrive, leaning back comfortably like a toy thrown haphazardly down, limp and lax. "Maybe the Christmas spirit would get to them- they'd be grinchs to deny the tradition. Why are you such a grinch?!" It threw it's hands up now, exasperated but smiling widely.

Whatever nonsense Hunter would have to struggle to summon up to bounce Inv's energy back at them was tempered as two more people entered Sofanthiel's home. "Hey, Inv, I expected WAY more mistletoe in here- what's the heck's wrong with you?" Rivulet asked playfully, beelining to Inv's room with Spearmaster following more slowly behind. Spearmaster was Rivulet's designated driver as their attention span left others concerned for their safety if they did ever man a vehicle, though Hunter had no clue how either of them fathomed the commute with Rivulet's constant chatter and Spearmaster's full inability to speak back if it kept it's hands on the steering wheel as it should. It was never as disasterous as Hunter imagined- they both seemed happy, or at least for Spearmaster as happy as it usually looked, half lidded and aloof, staring around at the Christmas decorations in Enot's room (which looked like it bought the entirety of an aisle of festive decorations to furnish it's home).

"Hunter took them all down!" Inv's exasperation was reignited now that it had someone of like mind to play up it's despair to, gesturing violently towards the pink slugcat.

"Hunter, I cannot believe you! You absolute grinch!" Rivulet echoed Enot's words unknowingly, and in the same manner was smiling just as it was.

"Would you have fallen for it?" Hunter asked, amused, eyebrow raised at Rivulet.

"'Fallen for it'- why do you keep saying it like that, 'falling for it'? Like it's a trick?" Sofanthiel asked, spinning back around in it's chair to face it's computer, tapping away to some unknown website while they talked.

"It is a trick, isn't it?" Hunter asked, now moving it's expression from Rivulet to Sofanthiel, though it was not looking back at her. "The idea is you get startled and feel obligated, pressured, to kiss, right?"

"I'd never pressure anyone into that," Inv tsked, it's voice dropping in seriousness before rising right back up, wavering in it's theatrics, "It's all just for fun, it's an excuse to do what you're fine with. Normally." It said matter of factly, turning back now that it had opened up some blue website, arms crossed and eyes closed, confident in it's assessment.

"Do you think anyone in our friend group if flaggrantly kissing one another? That they're ready for that normally?" Hunter once more asked. Spearmaster leaned against the wall behind it, looking aside, while Rivulet snickered at the thought. "I'm not privy to everyone's interpersonal entanglement, but as far as I know surrounding you, everyone's always refused your advances," it felt rather mean to point that out, but she was genuinely curious by Enot's playful assertion.

"WHAAAAT, you think I did all THAT just because I, wanted kisses? Nooo way," It drew it's legs up to set it's feet upon the edge of it's chair, setting it's elbows upon it's knees and it's chin upon it's knuckles. "I just wanted to see everyone ELSE having fun," Hunter was genuinely unsure where the lies started or ended- Inv would surely sound more silly if it wasn't being serious, and some part of Hunter wanted to see it's friend selfless and less romance obsessed. Not that having some strange fixation on it's friends was any better, but she really worried it might really start getting depressed about how often it was refused affection by their mutual friends. Further discussion was once more stopped as more people entered- Gourmand and Saint as a pair, with Gourmand calling out that they were coming in in warning before being visible from Inv's room. As far as Hunter knew, they did not traditionally travel together (though Saint might benefit from the help Gourmand could provide navigating given it's ocular preferences), but having a hunch, Hunter checked the time and confirmed that this was the exact moment that Inv suggest they come to it's house. Rivulet and Spearmaster must have arrived just a bit quickly, Hunter knew that Spearmaster specifically loved to arrive before requested out of some slight anxiety, but Saint and Gourmand were both normal and punctual as Hunter would desire to be. They often met up along the way to locations when they were all invited to the same location at the same time.

POST THOUGHTS: this is a modern/anthro au where all the slugcats are friends with one another. how the chapter wouldve continued is that sofanthiel would reveal itd brought them together to show them that it was hosting the rw ship showdown, which would then spiral to one of them teasing the others that someone was surely dating someone else in the group, at which each member stiffens; sofanthiel realizes that, though it thought no one was dating, there is a COUPLE CAPER. SOMEONES KISSING SOMEONE AND IT NEEDS TO KNOW WHO. (also in this, hunter uses i think any pronouns..? and sofanthiel uses alternating names.)

[sinkat-arts]

It’s 5am and I can’t sleep… so, I wrote a Daisuga Drabble about… not being able to sleep. Completely unedited and tapped out on my phone, so apologies if it reads terribly.

—

3AM

Daisuga, sexytimes implied but not written out

Insomnia struck at the worst times. If you asked him, Daichi would deny being an insomniac - it wasn’t a daily, weekly, or even monthly occurrence. But every so often, there were some nights when all he could do was lie in bed in a quiet rage, furious that he wasn’t sleeping... which, of course, only made it worse. He couldn’t sleep, so he was angry, and he was angry, so he couldn’t sleep - the insomnia ouroboros, repeating into eternity. Or at least until it was time to get up and get ready for work. 

Those nights had sucked when he lived alone, but now that he shared his bed, he was discovering that they were somehow worse. Tonight marked the first time insomnia reared its ugly head since he and Suga had decided to move in together, and it was like the sound of Suga’s measured breathing was taunting him. Somehow, the sound of someone he loved so dearly sleeping so peacefully next to him only added fuel to the fire. It wasn’t an entirely logical reaction, but logic was in short supply at 3:00 am on a weeknight. Especially when you needed to be awake in 4 hours.

It wasn’t for lack of trying that he couldn’t sleep, either. He’d cycled through so many strategies: white noise, rain sounds, meditation, hypnosis, melatonin, even those asmr recordings that Suga swore by but Daichi secretly thought were kind of creepy. Nothing really did the trick when his body, mind, or both just up and decided that he wasn’t sleeping that night. The best thing he could think of was simply to accept the situation. Instead of lying in bed angry at the world and becoming increasingly resentful of the fact that his boyfriend apparently came equipped with an off switch, he just gave in and decided to get up. There were plenty of things to be done - work to look over, books to read, something in the kitchen always needed cleaning -  he could at least be productive. 

Which was how Suga happened to find him on his hands and knees, wiping down the hallway baseboards at 3:30 am on a Monday morning. 

“I can’t say that I hate the view… but I have to ask… what the heck?” Suga’s voice came from somewhere behind him. 

“I’m… cleaning the baseboards?” Daichi answered, a little pinch of guilt for waking Suga up added itself to the heaping helping of embarrassment at being found doing something so damn weird in the middle of the night. He turned and saw Suga watching him, one hand on his hip and a look on his face that landed somewhere between puzzled and amused. 

“Yes, dear, I can see that. But why? Did I miss the memo that said the emperor was stopping by for breakfast?” 

“You didn’t get it?” Daichi asked, sitting back on his heels and giving Suga his best look of wide-eyed innocence. “7am sharp. You’re in charge of the table settings.” 

“Then I guess we’re in trouble. Unless the emperor finds mismatched chopsticks quaint…”

“Afraid not. It’s a fine china affair… damn, at this rate we’ll be the shame of the whole country. Maybe even the world…” 

Suga laughed. It never failed, even after all these years - the sound of Suga laughing always made Daichi’s heart thump… and when he was the cause of that laughter? There wasn’t anything better in the whole world… not even 8 hours of sleep. 

“But seriously… why are you cleaning the baseboards, you big weirdo?”

“I can’t sleep,” Daichi answered, folding the cleaning rag neatly into a little square and setting it down beside him. “Figured I should get something done,” grinning, he shrugged, “You know, instead of lying there plotting your murder because you, my love, snore.” 

In an instant, Suga’s face screwed up with indignation. “Don’t you ‘my love’ me - I do NOT snore!” Both hands were on his hips now. “And if you’re gonna murder me, at least do it for something less pedestrian. I deserve some scandal. If they don’t make a Netflix documentary about my death, what even is the point?” 

“You know… you’ve got me there,” Daichi said, chuckling as he pulled himself to his feet. He took the few steps needed to stand in front of Suga and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Still smiling, he pressed a kiss against his forehead. “You deserve the best four-part true crime miniseries money can buy.”

“Four-part minimum,” Suga sniffed. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then that mischievous twinkle sparked in his eyes. He sidled in closer, both hands dropping to grip Daichi’s hips, pulling the two of them together so there was no space in between. Biting his lower lip, Suga looked up into Daichi’s eyes. “Maybe you just have a little too much energy. I could… help you burn some off, you know.”

“Mmm,” Daichi hummed. His voice was cast low… in spite of the long hours he’d been awake, having Suga this close, with his fingers pressing into his hips like that? He was feeling the first spark of heat. Suga had his attention - it didn’t take much, not from him. He lowered his head, cocking it a little for a better angle, but stopping just millimeters short of the kiss Suga was most definitely expecting. Daichi could feel the anticipation coming off of him. “I could go get another cleaning cloth, if you really wanted to help…”

“Shut up,” Suga breathed and crossed that millimeter gap to press their lips together.

An hour later, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and utterly spent, Daichi was back in bed, lying on his back with the love of his life slotted in next to him. Suga’s head rested on his chest, and Daichi pressed a kiss into sweat-damp hair as he listened to the sound of his breathing as it settled. His own breathing fell into rhythm naturally, and they rose and fell together. 

He still couldn’t sleep. If anything, he was worse off than before, but… he couldn’t say he was still angry about it. How could he be mad when his heart was so full? The sun would rise soon, and their day would carry them apart to their separate destinations, but right now, this moment together in the dark, set to the sound of his sleeping lover’s breathing… it was peace and fulfillment and so much more love than he ever thought possible. It was everything. 

Well worth one sleepless Sunday and a miserable Monday, he’d say. 

[buriedsecretspodcast]

On humanity, writing, and digital dead malls

Typos and humanity

Over the weekend, I read a chilling line in a marketing-related newsletter[^1]:

A typo is no longer just a typo, it is a signal the writer is not using AI.

The context was that the author was saying that there's no excuse for typos—which this writer seems to obliquely posit as a form of humanity—because now you can just ask large language models (LLMs) like GPT-4 to edit your stuff. (Which is what the newsletter writer did to produce his "typo-free" writing. More on that later.)

So I suppose writing with less humanity is good, actually? Because it's more technically "correct"?

As someone who has made a life of reading and writing—both for fun and as part of my career—this was a disturbing thing to read. To me, writing and reading has always been about connecting with other people as humans. So, to me, every attempt to strip humanity out of writing nullifies its very purpose.

Private writing

Even in the case of journal writing, writing about connecting with your own humanity. I am a big believer in morning pages, something that was popularized by Julia Cameron's book The Artist's Way (though the concept existed before that). Morning pages are a way to dump your thoughts onto into writing so you can move on with your day without being weighed down by your worries and anxieties.

Cameron doesn't even consider morning pages "writing," because they're not intended to be shared. Instead, they're a sort of preparation for the day ahead, a way to get your mind in order. As such, they are a deeply human practice, almost like meditation. They are a way of connecting with our humanity, the flawed parts of ourselves that are full of bad ideas, worries, and imperfections. Because they are not meant to be shared and should be written as quickly as possible, they are full of grammar and spelling mistakes and unclear sentences. The whole point is that they are unedited stream of consciousness.

Public writing

Of course, writing that is meant for other people to consume should be more polished. The purpose isn't a brain dump; the purpose is communication.

To that end, sentences should be sensical. Grammar and spelling rules should be generally followed, at least to the point of ensuring that the writing is legible.

But everyone has their own idiosyncrasies, their own voice. And that doesn't need to be smoothed out and filed down into technically correct but personality-less prose.

Writing as a path to thinking

In a masterful article for The New Yorker, Ted Chiang gives one of the best and most easily understood explanations of what large language models (what we typically call AI), are actually doing and how they function. He also talks about the importance of writing. Just because LLM can write quickly and easily, in generally correct grammar, doesn't mean that LLMs should do all of our writing for us.

Chiang writes about how it is necessary for humans to write in order to discover their own ideas—even if when they begin writing, their work is unoriginal and derivative:

If students never have to write essays that we have all read before, they will never gain the skills needed to write something that we have never read.

It's important for students to learn how to articulate their ideas, not to prove that they've learned the information, but to develop their own original thoughts. Whether someone is a student or not, they likely develop their original ideas through writing. If humans aren't creating our own original writing or learning how to write, our ability to think creatively could atrophy.

"AI" as a tool, "AI" as an authority

I'm not one to say that "AI" tools should never be used during the writing process.

After all, I use Microsoft Word's spelling and grammar check daily.

I also wrote the rough draft of this blog post using Nuance's Dragon dictation software, which uses "machine learning" to better understand what the user is saying and translated into text.

Right now, I'm writing this on Nuance's mobile Dragon Everywhere software, which certainly leaves a lot to be desired in terms of accuracy. (Though it's still better than Google's free voice typing, which I also use daily.)

It certainly isn't like "machine learning" is infallible when it comes to writing. In fact, many of the typos that make their way into my writing are introduced by Dragon or Google voice typing not understanding my accent.

Perhaps an AI booster might say my accent (which that now-paywalled New York Times dialect quiz claimed is a mixture of North Texas, western Louisiana, and Oklahoma City) is the problem, not the software.

On days when I dictate a lot for work, I notice that my accent shifts slightly to become more "comprehensible" to the software, even though the desktop version of Dragon is supposed to adapt to my accent, not the other way around. There's a whole 'nother essay I could write about how the software we use tries to polish away our culture and histories (I'm Cajun and grew up in North Texas) and homogenize us into something that computers can best understand.

Writing in "AI voice"

In my day job (which involves editing other people's work), I've started to be able to spot when people have fed their fiction through "AI" editors like ProWritingAid.

It's a bit hard to articulate what the AI voice is; I'm just beginning to develop an eye for it.

But it looks like overly efficient sentences that seem to be missing something. They've been rephrased to be the most grammatically correct that they can be, on a technical level, but they often read as if they're incorrect.

It's an uncanny valley for writing, something that looks and seems human at first glance, but there is . . . something . . .  missing. It's too efficient. Not everything needs to be over-optimized. At a certain point, perfectly correct prose stops sounding human.

Limits and uses of AI editing

As someone who works in Microsoft Word for hours every day, I frequently see Word's spelling and grammar check try to make corrections that are straight-out wrong. The changes might be grammatically correct but awkward in practice. Often, however, they misunderstand a grammar rule, and if implemented, the changes would make sentences incomprehensible, turning well-crafted prose into gibberish.

I always feel unaccountably pleased when the computer makes these mistakes. They feel like a confirmation of my own humanity, somehow.

Microsoft Word's spell check and even tools like ProWritingAid and Grammarly have their place. Not every piece of writing calls for a human editor. (For example, my blog posts don't get edited by anyone other than me. I rely on the basic spell check in my markdown editor and then send my writing out to the world.)

Also, not everyone has the money or time for a human editor, and it can be incredibly helpful to have a piece of software that can help polish the rough edges of your writing (especially if you're writing in a language that you're less familiar with).

All this is to say that machine learning, LLMs, AI—or whatever you want to call it—can be useful as a tool. But we should beware of letting it shape our expression and redefine our voices. Or circumscribe our thoughts.

To me, there's a big difference between having an AI catch your spelling and grammar errors vs. having them rewrite and rephrase your sentences to "improve" your writing (or having them write a first draft which you then edit and expand upon).

The sentence about typos has a typo

I loathe grammar nitpicking, but because it's directly relevant to this conversation: Ironically, the sentence that inspired this post technically contains a typo (a comma splice).

A typo is no longer just a typo, it is a signal the writer is not using AI.

If you wanted to be grammatically correct, you might write it as "A typo is no longer just a typo; it is a signal the writer is not using AI." or "A typo is no longer just a typo. It is a signal the writer is not using AI."

But I guess because the AI didn't catch it, it isn't a real typo? That raises an interesting question. As people rely more and more on machine-based editors, will that change how we think of grammar and writing? Will some things that are technically "correct" be considered incorrect, and vice versa?

Like I mentioned, despite being someone who knows grammar rules intimately, I despise dogmatic editing and have no patience for people who are pedantic about grammar.

And, to be honest, I don't mind comma splices and similar "errors" in casual online writing (including my own).

Because I edit things for a living, I feel confident exercising editorial judgment and deciding that some typos are fine. In publishing, there is a common phrase, "stet for voice." It's an instruction to ignore a correction because doing so will preserve the voice of the author or character, and it is more important to keep that voice alive than it is to be grammatically correct.

We read to learn, to connect with others, and to go on adventures. We don't read because we relish samples of perfectly grammatical, efficient prose.

Junkspace and the internet as a dead mall

In January, I read a tweet about how the internet now resembles a dead mall.

Google search barely works, links older than 10 years probably broken, even websites that survived unusable popping up subscription/cookie approval notifications, YouTube/Facebook/Twitter/IG all on the decline, entire internet got that dying mall vibe

I haven't been able to shake that comparison. I have also been haunted by the 2001 Rem Koolhaas essay "Junkspace," which I've been reading and rereading since November. The essay, which is ostensibly about the slick, commercial spaces and malls that popped up in the late 20th century, is uncanny in its accurate description of the dead mall of the internet.

In an internet made up of five websites, each full of screenshots of the other four, how can we not feel like we're wandering through a dead mall or junkspace (which Koolhaas described as having no walls, only partitions)?

Add to that the impersonal bullshit texts that LLMs and LLM-powered editors help people churn out, and it's easy to feel like you're walking through the echoing corridors of an empty shopping mall. Occasionally, something catches your eye, and you turn your head to greet another human, only to be met by an animatronic mannequin that can talk almost like a human—but not quite.

That's how it feels to search Google and come up with a bunch of SEO content-mill, LLM-generated articles that mean nothing but rank in the algorithm because they've followed all the rules. The mall is dead and full of ghosts. And not even the fun, interesting kind of ghost.

Koolhaas calls junkspace a body double of space, which feels suspiciously like the internet (or, worse, the metaverse that tech ghouls keep trying to make happen). In junkspace, vision is limited, expectations are low, and people are less earnest. Sound familiar?

I'll certainly talk more about junkspace in future blog posts, but I can't stop thinking of parallels between the polished perfection of commercial junkspaces and the writing and editing churned out by LLMs.

If our mistakes make us human, I'm perfectly happy to make mistakes. To me, that is preferable to communicating with robotic precision and filing down all of the things that gives my writing a unique voice (even when those things make my writing "worse").

[^1] I'm not including a link to the original because I'm not trying to put anyone on blast or critique any one individual's views, necessarily. This is more about a larger trend that I'm seeing in the discourse about "AI" and humanity.

[alonelysimp]

For You, Anything

Characters: Kamisato Ayaka x GN! reader

WC: 1003

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Descriptive mention of food, Unedited

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Word vomit, No beta we die like hilichurls, New relationship

Song: (open any Ghibli playlist + kimi no na wa + nakitai watashi wa neko o kaburu)

A/N: surprise my love language is physical touch and I had to bonk myself so many times to keep from mentioning a forehead kiss or a hug-

“I’ve missed being with you like this,” she mumbles, her hand squeezing yours. Her voice is soft, almost drowned out by the grass gently rustling in the wind. Graceful, as petals may float upon a pool or as a heron may perch beside a lakebed. You hum and squeeze her hand back.

“Like what?” She sighs. Her pace slows, just barely a walk now.

“It’s… my duty… as lady of the Kamisato Clan to represent the Yashiro Commission, but...” Her voice trails off and she comes to a stop. The air stills, as if the world were holding it’s breath waiting for her to continue. Her eyes cast downward, a soft pink dusting the tips of her ears. “I cannot be as open with my true feelings, as I can with you.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I wish to be more open, someone the people of Inazuma can trust, and yet I can only be like this with you. Where does the daughter of the Kamisato Clan end, and my true self begin?” You step closer, adjusting your hand to intertwine your fingers with hers.

“To me, you are Ayaka. Not the lady of the Kamisato Clan, or the Shirasagi Himegimi. Just Ayaka. The pretty girl at the festival, in the blue kimono with a kitsune mask that I watched the fireworks with.” She relaxes at your words, a smile returning to her face. The breeze stirs the sakura blossoms that line the path. “And I missed being with you too.” You gently nudge her hand forward, prompting her to walk again.

Fog settles around you as you near the forest’s edge. Bake-danuki statues line the pathway, appearing on the rocks in clusters. From afar, you can hear their song to tempt travelers towards them for a harmless trick.

“The forest is beautiful this time of year.” You can only nod and watch in amazement as the fireflies flit in and out of view in the blue haze. If you weren’t just outside a minute ago, you would’ve sworn it was night.

Her hand releases yours, running down the path and crouching just beside it. You hurry up to her, crouching down beside her. She holds a flower in her hand, one recently picked, and turns to you. Her hand reaches toward your hair hesitantly, letting you pull away if you wanted, but you remain still. She tucks the flower into the hair above your ear, fingers gently working it to stay put.

“There.” A smile falls on her lips, and you swear your heart does backflips in your chest. She looks ethereal in the blue light filtering through the leaves and the fog. Her hair glows, almost, and she… she’s… “I’m sorry, y/n. Do you want me to take it out?” Her voice brings you back to reality. Her brows are pressed together in concern. You reach up to touch your face, eyes falling on the ground, feeling tears roll down your cheeks.

“Oh…” You smile at the thought, albeit a bit cheesy. Her beauty, it brought you to tears. You look back up to her, seeing the tension in her expression lessen slightly at the sight of you smiling, despite the tears that fall. “You’re beautiful, Ayaka.”

Her hand draws closer to your face, hovering just above your cheek. Warmth radiates off it slightly, barely warmer then the slightly cooler air around you. You press your face against her hand, silent permission for her to gently wipe the tears from your eyes.

She helps you stand back up, leading you by the hand over the river. She sat on a rock in the clearing beside a cooking pot, left behind by a certain trio of chefs.

“I hope you don’t mind letting me cook today, I learned some recipes I want to try out. You shake your head, taking a seat beside her.

“You’ve improved a lot. I trust it’ll be good since you made it.” She smiles and pulls ingredients out of her bag.

“Turn around, I want it to be a surprise,” she huffs in amusement. You roll your eyes playfully, complying to her shenanigans.

A flower brushes against your foot as you turn to sit the other direction. It makes a soft noise as you pick it. Within a few minutes, you had the beginnings of a flower crown, braiding the stems of the flowers together. The silence that sat between the two of you is comfortable, simply basking in each other's presence.

She hums, tapping your shoulder. “Close your eyes, I want you to guess what it is.” You set the flower crown in your lap, turning to her with your eyes closed. You hear something crunchy cracking, and something not moist, but not dry either get moved around. It's spicy, that much you can smell, and the smell of sir fried ham has been making your mouth water.

The heat radiates off the chopsticks she holds out in front of your lips, not so hot it would burn you but not so cold it would taste weird. A smile tugs at your lips and your mouth closes around the chopsticks. It’s fiery at first, the sheer spiciness taking you by surprise which leaves as soon as it comes, leaving you with only the reminiscent flavour as the spices burst through the dying flames. The ham is crispy, a salty sear on the outside giving way to a mildly flavoured, juicy interior. A dry piece crunches in your mouth, a faint flavour of rice mixing with the other flavours that leave your mouth warm.

“...Can I have more?” She giggles, giving you another bite of her dish. “What is it?”

“A recipe I got from the traveler. They said it was a Liyuean specialty, jueyun guoba.” You open your eyes, seeing a warm blush on her cheeks and a dish in one hand, chopsticks in the other.

“It’s delicious, you should make it more.” She smiles and nods excitedly.

“For you, y/n, anything.”

Woah it has been a long minute since i posted- thinking abt putting the banner above the cut? how are we feeling abt it? Also I'm in love with Ayaka !!

[sukirichi]

sweet lies [02]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. explicit smut, slight body worship, public sex, dirty talk, praising, toxic megumi, fwb dynamics, slight angst, body marking, sukuna bullying megumi, age gap, scratching, mentions of oral (m receiving) and mutual masturbation, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 also UHM do you guys want me to make the ending angsty or fluffy? i wrote out two versions so LOL let me know what you think! we’ll get more of the megumi scenes on the next chapter though~

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Sukuna isn’t kidding when he said he’ll have you unable to walk by the end of this.

You’ve lost count of how many times you guys have fucked.

Once more in the stalls when you thought of repaying the favor by sucking him off, followed by him growing impatient and hauling you inside his car. Both of you were too tired to go for another round, but were still very much addicted for the other’s touch that mutual masturbation seems like the best option.

Thankfully, Sukuna’s cut his nails, so having three of his fingers buried knuckle deep in you feels like absolute heaven. He’s not complaining about your smooth hands wrapped around his shaft either, especially not when you’ve had enough practice with Megumi to know just how to make a guy lose his mind. By the time you’ve made it back home, Sukuna’s grown hard again, too impatient to make it to the bed before he just fucks you raw against the wall. You’re trembling at his hold, left with no choice but to trust his strength to drop you on his cock and bounce you to his pleasure.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it on the bed.

His digital clock reads a quarter at three in the morning, and for a moment, you worry about how tired you’ll be in class tomorrow when Sukuna’s large hands grips your thighs sharply.

“Goddamn,” he hisses through clenched teeth, chuckling at the irresistible sight of your breasts bouncing before him. Limbs tangled, minds controlled with the primal need to fuck, and moans shared with his deep grunts – you somehow end up on top of him, your thighs feeling like they’re on the verge of giving up as you continue to ride his thick length.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he slaps your ass and causes your hips to rut deeper, forcing that delicious curve of his cock to meld with your walls. You throw your head back, palms planted on his chest, focused only on that burning pleasure between your thighs. “I could fuck you all night long.”

Even though you truly have no wish to, you shake your head, fingers balling into a fist. “I have class tomorrow, need to wake up early,” you protest, the words falling into deaf ears as Sukuna thrusts up into you. He must’ve noticed how you’re growing tired and took matters into his own hands, feet grounded on the mattress to pound deliriously into you. You’re debating whether to be thankful or frustrated he still has so much energy even after hours of fucking, but it honestly doesn’t matter. You’re falling into his chest, arms slipping on your equally sweat-covered bodies. Right now, you just wanted to cum – once more, again, one last time! “Ah, Sukuna, t-too much!”

“Too much?” he laughs and tangles his hand to caress your scalp, the gesture too soothing that you almost forgot he’s fucking you into oblivion. “Want me to go slow?”

“No…”

“Thought so, sweetheart,” his grin is absolutely cocky as he bends his knees in a fold, pushing you until your back rests on his muscular thighs. Your mouth falls open at his hands wrapping around your threat, keeping you right there, hips flat and grinding on his cock. “Come on. Come for me,” Sukuna urges, tightening his hold around your neck a little harder.  

That’s all you need for your vision to blur and see stars, your body’s shaking uncontrollable. He’s thrusting with all his power and energy that it feels like you’re nothing but a hole on top of him, tongue falling open in a wanton manner as your drool trails down your chin.

You look filthy, you feel filthy, and yet, Sukuna sees it entirely different.

“So – fucking – gorgeous, fuck. I woulda fucked you sooner if I didn’t feel weird about it.”

“What?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he smirks at your half fucked out state. Sukuna rolls his hips in such a mind numbing manner that you end up staring at the ceiling, trying your hardest to decipher the colors of his room to get a grip of yourself. But he feels so hot, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, your puffy lips encasing him with a translucent ring of cum and it feels so fucking good you don’t really understand what he’s saying anymore. “Did you really think I never saw you in my dreams?” he slaps your ass again, the reflexive response of tightening around him pulling a deep groan from the beautiful man beneath you. “I have such a sexy roommate, I couldn’t help it.”

“Then why didn’t you – ah, right there, shit – tell me?”

“Cuz,” he snickers and finally lets you breathe, your pupils blowing wide from the sudden flow of air. Sukuna kneads your breasts greedily, never stopping his mind-numbing rhythm of ramming deep into you. Your body burns, your thighs ache, your pussy feels sensitive but you can’t find the energy to stop him. Instead, you fall prey, failing in your mission to keep him wrapped around your fingers because now you’re wrapped around his cock, and you were quite fucking addicted to it. “You’re my friend’s student. Felt so fucking wrong.”

“What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is,” Sukuna’s face contorts into something of discomfort for a moment before he leans forward, his sturdy grip homing in on your hips again. You feel his searing breath on your ear, so parching it puts the warmth of your pussy to shame. “Having you like this has never felt so right, and I’ll keep fucking you if you let me.”

“I-I’d let you,” you concede absentmindedly and capture his lips for a sloppy kiss, tongues giving up on a battle of dominance. You’re always so clingy when you’re about to come, something Megumi never fails to chastise you for, and you fear Sukuna might push you away as you wrap an arm around him, nails painfully scratching down his back. Red marks leave a trail on its wake until his blood pierces through the sheets, the pain manifested through the increasing roughness of his pace. Now it’s your turn to whimper in his ear, pulling the man close and tugging harshly at the ends of his hair. Gosh, were you actually crying? “Sukuna, I’m close! Yes, yes, right there!”

Sukuna groans at the erotic sounds you reward him with. “Come for me, that’s right, ohhhh,” he stills inside you, his seed spilling deep inside you. You wince at the burst of warmth spreading all over your belly and Sukuna chuckles at your bulging belly. He presses down on it to coax his cum to trickle all over his cock, and he’s fucking filthy – you learn easily – to watch you make a mess on his cock with a childish smile on his face.

You push yourself off him and fall to his side, him following suit not long afterwards. The room feels completely stuffed from your intense fucking, the bruises on your body and scratches on his back a huge attestment to that.

Your legs remain wide open as you clench around nothing, his cum oozing out like a waterfall. Sukuna (that damned pervert) dips two fingers into your hole for one last moment just to drench his fingers in it, his eyes lit up in wonder while he lets it web around his fingers. You snicker at his actions and roll to his side, eyes fluttering close from the wave of exhaustion that comes into full force.

The lingerie set you intended to wear for Megumi was now ripped at the other side of the room, discarded, forgotten – merely evidence of a moment that had never been given to him.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel bad, not even when Sukuna faces you, his cheeks squished by his soft pillows. “I’m spent. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. My gym sessions can’t compare to this.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t born this gorgeous, you know. I had to work hard for this,” Sukuna gestures to his body. You can’t help but follow the gestures and admire the hard planes of his muscle ripped above one another, the smatter of dark hair leading down his hips adding to his already immense sexual charisma. It makes you want to jump on him all over again, and you have to bite your lip to resist that urge, rolling your eyes at him in favor of letting him know you could totally go for another round.

“Dork.”

“Got me laid though, was worth the effort,” he jokes, and you both laugh.

It’s actually…weird, to laugh so casually with someone like this. It might be normal for Sukuna in his past sexual endeavors, but it’s totally a different thing for you. You and Megumi had never even bothered with aftercare. As long as he’s satisfied himself, he’d clean himself off in the bathroom and wear his sweatpants, winking at you before he leaves you alone all over again. The memory – albeit not really a regrettable one – is still painful each time you’re reminded you’ll keep coming back to him.

But are things different now? Could you go back to Megumi? You only ever wanted to fuck Sukuna because you’re sad and horny, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, especially when your roommate has been nothing but nice to you. Besides, him being a little more decent doesn’t immediately equate he’s different than Megumi.

For all you know, you could just be another cheap fuck. Sukuna is older and sexier, after all, he’s clearly had a lot more experience than you do.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna rests his head on his palms, elbows flat on the bed as he turns to you. The expression on his face is unreadable, but there’s some sort of softness behind it – a softness you’re not really familiar with.

“Hey. I don’t exactly know what you’re going through, not everything, anyway, but whatever we have right now, I want you to know it’s not because I see just as a pretty pussy, okay?” he says with a straight face, but you really shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up because Sukuna smirks, mischievous eyes darting back and forth to your soaked pussy and bare breasts. “Although you do have a pretty pussy. Can I eat you out again?”

With that, you snatch the pillow underneath him and whack it straight at his face. Sukuna laughs at your protests, the sound growing louder and a lot more mocking the harder you hit him. “Gosh, Sukuna, shut up!”

You end up hitting him way too many times in the face that he can’t get his words through, and before you could react, Sukuna’s ripped the pillow away from you. He cages you in his arms and hovers over you once more, his boneless dick grazing the insides of your thigh. It’s not meant to be sexual, and nothing about his stance gives off anything that shows he wants to do it again, but you can’t help but feel aroused, shifting your legs up and down the bed as you squirm.

“Seriously though,” he repeats, “We can be casual, or this could be a one time thing. Card’s all yours to play. If you want to forget everything tomorrow, I’d gladly do it. Let’s just go back to the way we were-”

“Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Did you really think I was only using you to distract myself?”

Sukuna’s lips flatten into a line. “I’m not stupid,” he says somberly, “I could tell you were still thinking about him. Not that I mind, though, you can’t stop yourself from loving someone,” Faintly, you’re distracted by his thumbs rubbing at your pulse point. It’s so lulling you want to fall asleep, but Sukuna isn’t done talking. “My point is…you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. We could just be friends with benefits, if you want, and not the kind you have with your boy toy either. ”

His blatantly catches you off guard and your eyes widen before they narrow at him, trying your best to hide your embarrassment. If Megumi was painfully honest, Sukuna’s ridiculously blunt that his mere words make your heart do weird things you’d rather not feel.

Careful, you remind yourself, Megumi is the one you want. You have to keep reminding yourself that before your feelings get the best of you. It’s Megumi, it’s always been Megumi and it always will be Megumi. Sukuna is just your roommate who’s nice enough to take your mind off things. You only wish you weren’t lying too much in case he gets the wrong idea you’re leading him on, but then again, isn’t that what you’re doing?

Friends with benefits or not – you still have no plans on getting involved with this guy any longer.

It’s always Megumi. You just really needed a quick fuck, someone whose dick didn’t belong with the guy you’re so hung up on over. The change feels nice and you definitely feel a lot better than the last time you met Megumi, but this guilt…it tastes bitter on your tongue, too heavy to swallow and ignore. It’s always Megumi, you tell yourself again in an attempt to relieve your pain.

Though it doesn’t subside and you huff in exasperation, turning away from Sukuna. You can’t stand looking at him right now.

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, but the tears – the guilt, the heartbreak of not being Megumi’s lover, the regret and the ironic need to be closer to Sukuna feels all so confusing – all threaten to burst through. You don’t want him to see you cry, that would be lame, so you scoot closer to him and kiss his shoulder as you shyly ask, “C-can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to sound too nervous to ask.”

“Sorry, it’s just-”

“He never does that?”

“…Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not him,” Sukuna answers confidently, surprising you when he grabs your ass to press you flush against him. You’re both sweaty and hot to the point it’s uncomfortable, but Sukuna smells so sweet with his lingering cologne that you can’t help yourself from planting your face in his neck, breathing in the little hums he makes. Sukuna kisses the crown of your head – which is a little too sweet than you’d like – while his other hand runs down your back in a slow, sensual manner. Hell, it feels close to body worshipping, and you hate that you silently want more of this. “I’d cuddle you every day if you asked me to.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet,” you voice with a smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles from the low laughter, and like that, you cling to him like he’s the only sturdy pillar in your life. It’s pathetic, maybe even desperate, but if he doesn’t mind, then why should you?

However, the moment is quickly ruined when the bell rings. “Shit, I forgot he was coming over!”

Sukuna glares at the door and holds you tighter, almost possessively, and refuses to let you go even as you squirm under him. “At three in the morning?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet him right now,” you groan helplessly.

Sukuna shoots you a blank look after that, then shoots out of the bed in an instant. You watch as he quickly dresses up in a fresh pair of sweatpants, grabbing a random hoodie from the back of his chair, presumably to hide the scratch marks. You have to hide your smile behind your hand because he looks so drool-worthy with marks littered on his already marked skin, and the fact he lets you mark him is even hotter.

He pauses at the door for a moment, pointing a finger at where you peered up at him curiously. “Stay there. I’ll talk to him and say you went out or whatever. Just make sure to silence your phone in case he calls. Better yet, turn it off.”

Sukuna closes the door behind him, already on the way to the entrance just as you press your ears against the door to eavesdrop. There’s a slight shuffling before the door unlocks, then, “Why the fuck did you lock-” Megumi pauses in his words, and you can perfectly picture his infamous scowl painting his handsome features already. Gosh, you wish you could actually see it, but if Megumi catches you sleeping with someone else, he might totally lose interest in you. That’s not something you could afford to happen.

“Oh. You’re her roommate.” You snigger at his usual what the fuck tone – how Megumi of him.

“Hey, kid, it’s a little too late for a visit, don’t you think?” Sukuna taunts, and it takes everything in you to not burst through the door at that moment. You’re stuck between wanting to laugh and crying, mostly because you would love and hate for Megumi to get riled up. “Do your parents know you’re here? Kids shouldn’t be out this late.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, I’m in uni,” he defends, “Do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her.”

Deciding fuck it, you open the door by an inch, just enough to peek. As expected, Megumi is glaring behind Sukuna’s shoulders in search of you. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s completely calm, checking his nails boredly as if Megumi isn’t fuming in front of him. And boy, do you know how much Megumi hates being ignored. “Oh, I think she went out, I don’t know why though. House was empty when I got here.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

At Megumi’s imposing tone, Sukuna tilts his head to scrutinize Megumi. Now that you’re seeing them together, Sukuna’s twice the size of Megs, their height and shoulder width too different to start comparing. But knowing Megumi, he’s not going to back down from a tattooed guy twice his size, not even as he sarcastically remarks, “Ain’t you her friend? She should be telling you that kind of stuff.”

Truthfully, you expected he would put up more of a fight. The two of them share a heated staring competition before Megumi scoffs, the first one to look away. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “Tell her to pick her damn phone up. I’ve been calling for the past hour.”

“I think I should tell her to get better friends.”

“What was that?”

“I said get home safely,” Sukuna chirps. Even with his back turned to you, you could tell Sukuna’s just further pressing his buttons with a grin that’s not meant to be inviting at all. Just when you think it’s done, however, Sukuna finishes off with, “Kid.”

Megumi rages. His blue eyes flame into something feral, his fists balled at his sides. He’s always had a temper issue and you nearly reveal yourself to stop whatever fight is about to ensue, but Sukuna’s already closing the door, ridding any opportunity for the younger one to retaliate. At the sound of the door closing, Sukuna leans against the door, his smile still plastered on his face as if he knows you’re watching the whole time. He meets your eyes from the slight peep of his door, waving his hands sarcastically.

“Sukuna, you didn’t have to be so mean.”

“Sorry,” he isn’t apologetic at all. “Next time I’ll be nicer to your asshole crushes,” he adds with a slight roll of his eyes and you punch his chest playfully. You don’t stop him from grabbing your wrists to embrace you in a hug that doesn’t seem so platonic – but not so suggestive either. Sukuna rests his chin on top of your hand while he sways you both side to side, his voice muffled in your hair. “I understand why you’re attracted to him though. He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” you agree sadly, thinking of how much it’s really all a waste Megumi has to be like that. “Just sucks his personality ruins everything.”

“A pretty face is always deceiving,” Sukuna suddenly pulls away and holds you an arm’s length away.  “Hey, want to have early breakfast?”

“I think that would be late dinner,” you frown at him.

“Whatever, food is food,” he responds rather excitedly, and you watch as Sukuna rummages through the fridge. Now that you think about it, having sex so much really took a toll on you, and your stomach grumbles loudly. Sukuna hides his chuckles through the fridge but you hear him anyway, shouting at him that you’re not hungry. “Wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now go get cleaned and changed, I’ll make something for you.”

If anyone were to tell you that a good fucking is all that’s needed for you to immediately form a new kind of friendship with your roommate, you’d call them weird. Sukuna isn’t necessarily out of reach, you and him just simply didn’t cross paths.

But now, you’re dressed comfortably in his boxers and the oversized shirt you stole from him, eating the slightly burn cheese sandwich he’s made, sharing conversation and laughing with him like you’ve been doing it for such a long time. Your sandwich is actually half forgotten on the plate as you whack your palms on the counter, “That’s how you and Prof Gojo met? I never would’ve expected you guys fought over a girl!”

“He was fucking annoying in high school,” Sukuna grumbles over an angry bite, “He was getting all the girls that when someone confessed to me, the hottest chick, no less, he straight up punched me in the face,” you laugh as you imagine the memory of a younger, already rebellious looking Sukuna getting smacked by the even more intolerable Gojo Satoru. Sukuna is lost in his own memories as well, shaking his head from around the last bites of his bread. It’s clear he hates the burnt crust judging from the way he turns a little green, but he’s bragged about his cooking skills so proudly that he has to save face in front of you. “Ah, such good times,” he muses before wincing at his own words, dropping his bread in disgust. “Damn, I sound old, don’t I?”

“You’re only like, five years older than me, it’s fine,” you giggle, “I like the maturity that comes with older people. You’re a lot easier to be with than guys my age.”

“Please,” Sukuna smirks, “Just say you like fucking older men. I won’t judge.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would be jumping over the counter to strangle your roommate who’s now running like hell, your laughter bursting through the once silent apartment, you would call them a liar. But now, you and Sukuna are panting on the floor, too tired from sprinting all around before calling it quits. Maybe it’s a lie – maybe this connection will never really be that much of a big deal – but as long as this lie and play pretend of friendship lasts, you’ll just enjoy every sweet moment of it.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed) (bold can’t be tagged) @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma​ 

[goldentsum]

━ pretty submissives pt. 2

CHARACTERS: tsukishima kei, kageyama tobio, oikawa tooru, kuroo tetsurou

WARNINGS: smut, 18+ content, sub! males, dom! reader, bdsm, sex toys, whiny subs, bratty subs, bondage, oral sex, handjobs, ass play (male), pet play, age play, mistress kink, mommy kink, guided masturbation, voyeurism

AUTHOR’S NOTE: lol tis filthyyy <3 i am hiding my pain away with smut stfu- dont @ me wanting to cry but wrote porn instead- unedited bleggh

part 1 - miya twins, sakusa, suna

— tsukishima ♡

• this brat likes testing your patience! tsukki may go subby but he won’t go down without a fight. that way it hurts his pride less-- 

• one time, he really tried to take back some dominance from you but you started degrading him and smacking his face.. he came in less than a minute.

• and that’s how you both knew tsukki was a masochist 

• put him back in his place and humiliate him! it may hurt his pride but the hard on between his legs says that he likes it--

• seeing the tall and prideful man on all fours with a tight leash on his neck and a mussel to stop that snarky mouth of his is feeding dangerously on your dom side

• tsukki would try and degrade you but when you snap back, he’ll get teary-- baby would try to serve some sadist type of shit on you but if you do the same to him, he’ll cry

• play and bite his lips until its all raw and red, he likes it. though, he’ll complain about it afterwards as if he wasn’t moaning like a whore just earlier. 

you smirked at the weak glare the man sent you. tsukishima was sitting on his legs, hands neatly on his lap. the strong act he tried to maintain before was going down hill and it was amusing. you snickered and you caressed his aching cock with your feet making him gasp and kneel over but you tugged on the leash, almost sending him on all fours. 

“didn’t i told you to keep your eyes on me, whore” you growled, a teasing smirk on your red lips. oh how tsukishima wants to wipe that arrogant smirk off your lips. he furrowed his brows and went back to his previous spot with small pants escaping him. 

you noticed the way he pursed his lips and tugged on the leash again, choking the man before you, “you have something to say to me, puppy?” 

tsukishima bit his tongue at that and shook his head, though he was beyond pissed at your prideful and arrogant play, he can’t really deny the arousal that was slowly beading on his cock. 

your smirk fell and you gripped his chin, “use your words. do you not want to talk? do i have to get your mussel, pup?” 

tsukishima’s breath hitched at the mention of the damn mussel, his cock twitching against his stomach. “n-no, mistress..” 

you hummed in satisfaction and leaned back a bit, admiring his nude body on display just for you. you licked your lips when his long cock caught your eye, the head was red and leaking with precum already even though you barely touched him. 

“you like this, tsukki?~ look at how hard you are” you teased, pulling the leash once again as the tall man was forced into your arms. tsukishima yelped and tried to steady himself by supporting himself on your arms. 

you sneaked a hand between his legs, caressing his cock. the blond closed his eyes tightly, gasping against your chest as you played with his body. 

stroking his cock with an amused smirk, you tipped his chin towards you. your darkened eyes stared into embarrassed and teary golden orbs. you squeezed his length, coating his dick with the precum that leaked out. tsukishima moaned and tried to close his eyes again but you weren’t having none of that. 

you halted your actions on his cock and slapped him lightly on his cheek, gentle enough to not hurt as much but strong enough to get him to pay attention to you. “none of that, pup. look at me. look at how your slutty body gets off with such dirty acts~” 

— kageyama ♡

• he’s a little :>>

• kageyama has an oral fixation, he likes using his mouth whether that’s on your fingers, nipples, or your clit-

• if you have a nipple piercing, baby boy would be in complete awe! he thinks it looks super good! or even if you wear rings! he likes the feeling of the metal on his tongue. 

• pretty boy looks good when he sucks on your fingers, that slick tongue swirling around your digits, coating them with thick spit. he gets super red and needy while he does it too! he looks at you with half lidded eyes, moaning around your fingers. 

• baby doesn’t even know his cock is getting hard while he plays with your fingers.

• please take care of him </3 he gets super anxious if you don’t say anything, kageyama feels like he did something wrong so reassure this baby!

• buy him toys and stuffies! it makes him really happy and shy~ <3 

• also not @ that one time where you caught him humping one of his teddy bears-- 

“now what do we have here?~” your voice cut through kageyama’s series of needy moans making him yelp and stop his constant humping. his ears turned red at the fact that you caught him doing such impure act. 

“m-mommy--” he sniffled, tears welling up on his pretty blue eyes. kageyama turned to you, a pout on his lips. he didn’t want you to think you weren’t taking good care of him cus you are! he was just feeling so needy today and you had to go to work. 

kageyama really tried to control his urges but the more he tried to ignore it, the more it intensifies as every shift of his hips made him more sensitive. 

you shook your head playfully at that and closed the bedroom behind you, stalking slowly towards the trembling man. he slumped on the stuffie and tried to reason but he was just babbling incoherent words. you hummed at his chattering and run a hand through his hair, wiping the sweat on his forehead. 

“is my baby feeling needy?” you cooed, you bit your lips at the beautiful sight. your boyfriend is so fucking beautiful. cheeks all red, eyes teary with tears of frustration of not getting to cum and sensitivity. your hand lowered down to his cheek, stroking the warm skin. 

your eyes darkened when your fingers trailed down to his lips and instinctively, kageyama opened his mouth, already licking the tip of your fingers. the dark-haired male whined around your digits when you started playing with his tongue, thrusting it in his mouth. 

“words, baby boy” kageyama’s eyes rolled back at your tone, moaning loudly. he opened his eyes and looked straight at you, lips trembling around your fingers. 

“p-pwease helph meh, mwommy” he babbled, slurring his words as he still tried to lick your digits.

“atta boy~ don’t worry, mommy will help you cum~” you cooed, removing your fingers out of his mouth and trailed down his stomach, feeling the flexing muscles, then towards his aching cock. you coated his length with his spit, thumbing the swollen tip. 

kageyama gasped and his hips moved at the sudden contact. you smirked down at him slightly as he held your wrist, though not really stopping you just something to ground him. “let’s hear those pretty moans, baby boy~” 

— oikawa ♡

• a wholeass confident sub. he knows he’s a good sub and he takes pride on that

• you can’t even reprimand him cus he follows your rules to the t. so headpats and cuddles for tooru pls <3

• though he follows your rules, oikawa doesn’t really pay attention to his body and it’s limits. all he knows is that he wants to make you proud and feel good. 

• so please take the time to appreciate his body, praise him. yes, he gets compliments all the time but when it’s coming from you and in that moment? it just feels so intimate that he’ll cry.

• kiss his skin, caress his body. make him feel loved and he’s all yours. <3 

• when he gets too into the play, he really forgets everything else but you. so what better way to stop and slow down than make him show you how he pleasure himself <3

• tooru doesn’t really masturbate all that much so he’s a little clumsy so guide him through it <3 HE GETS REALLY SHY TOO

• when you stare at him like that, admiring his body, praising him, telling him how much of a good boy he is, how beautiful he is? oikawa’s offering you his heart pls take care of it :((

you smiled at oikawa, his breath ragged with every slow stroke he does as he massaged his cock. your eyes trailed up and down his body, admiring the way he arch his back and the way his thighs trembles. 

“slowly, baby~ you don’t wanna ruin your orgasm now do you?” you said, leaning back on your legs on the mattress, getting a good view of his cock and his stroking. 

oikawa whined, eyebrows furrowed. the slow build-up once again was making him impatient and it was getting to him. he wants to cum so bad, you denied him a couple of his orgasms already. he hic-ed, feeling his tears trail down his red cheeks. 

you cooed at the sight and leaned closer to him, hovering above him. oikawa gasped at the slight contact of your clothed body on his heated skin. he removed his hands away from his cock and wrapped his arms around you. 

letting a hand caress his cheek, wiping the tear away. you let out soft praises on his forehead, kissing it several times as you do so. oikawa sniffled, biting his lips as he savor your affection. he was always a sucker for it, always the soft boy with a big heart 

“p-please... i want to cum” oikawa whispered, lips quivering as he wet it with his tongue. he gasped when he felt your hands on his cock. you grinned at him then went back to your previous position between his legs. 

you blew air into his cock making the man whimper on the bed, writhing around trying to make you move. you snickered at the pout he sent your way. 

“such a pretty baby, you are tooru~” you complimented and before he can say anything, you took him in your mouth in one go. oikawa choked on air at the feeling of your warm and wet mouth around his sensitive cock. 

oikawa moaned when you swiped your tongue on the red tip, swallowing his length as you bob your head. 

he gripped the blankets beneath him, eyes rolling back. you removed your mouth off him, jerking his length. “wanna cum, baby?” 

he sobbed and nodded his head frantically, feeling the band on his lower stomach threatening to snap once again as he pray that you would let him cum this time. “p-please! i want to cum! need it! it hurts!” he cried

you grinned and took him into your mouth again, moving faster. the pretty male gasped and his hips started jerking making you gag on his length. his eyes rolled back to his skull at the feeling of your throat tightening around him, his mouth wide open as he released several loud moans. 

you sneaked a hand to his balls, massaging it. your tongue traced the prominent vein on his cock and oikawa keened at that and came with a loud broken moan. you hummed in satisfaction and continued to bob your head, your hand jerking the rest of his cock. 

you lapped at the thick cum he released, slurping it up as he shivered and sobbed at the sensitivity. “t-thank you.... thank y-you” 

— kuroo ♡

• okay some of you may think he’s all dom and won’t sub but you’re forgetting something... he’s a simp. he would do anything for you! also, kuroo thrives for your attention!

•  he loves hard shit! i know it! bdsm, toys, bondage? perfecttt!! <3 

• kuroo tried pegging once and now he’s addicted! fuck his ass while you degrade him is his go to to de-stress 

• make him cum several times until he can’t feel his cock anymore. he loves the pain it brings. the sting. the sensitivity. 

• also because of the fact he screams and cries.. so his voice goes all raspy and his throat is scratchy

• choke him. collar him. he will propose to you <3 KSKSKS

• but after all that bdsm shit, please take care of his tired body. aftercare is a must for this baby or he’ll be so detached after. kiss his bruises. kiss his swollen and red lips. mutter sweet nothings to him. tell him how much you love him and he’ll sleep with a tired but soft smile on his face

“yes... yes, moreee. m-moree” kuroo chanted against your pussy, eating you out like a starved man. he groaned against your wet cunt, tongue swiping at your slit as he tasted you. his hands were on your thighs, pushing them together so he can feel your thick thighs against his face. 

he gripped your thighs, moaning like a bitch in heat. he slurped at your essence, eyes rolling back at your taste. his hips moving unconsciously. you moaned, caressing his hair, as you looked down at his fucked out expression with a smirk. 

“such a dirty boy~” you snickered when kuroo moaned lewdly at your words, his eyes rolling back to his head as his mouth worked on your cunt faster. he wiggled his tongue inside you, licking your gummy walls. 

“ahh.. fuck, tetsu” you moaned softly which only urged him to work on your pussy harder. you chuckled breathlessly at his eagerness as you turned your head a bit. you looked at his twitching cock. 

you put the cock ring earlier but the man was still leaking precum everywhere. his cock was so beautiful. thick and long, the tip red and swollen. you grinned and moved away from tetsu’s mouth. 

you heard the man whined at the lost of contact. you faced toward his shaking thighs and sat on his stomach as you turned your head back to look at him. god, he looks so pretty~ 

kuroo was panting, chest heaving heavily. his lower face was covered with your wetness as he constantly licked his lips. his eyes blown wide with lust. 

you smirked at him and touched his cock, snickering when the touch made him whimpered as he arched on the bed. paying no mind to his senseless babbling, you lowered yourself to his cock, using his trembling thighs to support yourself.

kuroo’s eyes rolled back to his head at the way your wet and gummy wall clung to his sensitive length and it was enough to make him cum but the cock ring was preventing him from doing so. 

he looked at you with teary eyes, eyebrows furrowed. you smirked and then face forward to reached for the dildo beside you, slowly inserting it into his prepped ass which earned you a husky groan. “make me cum and i’ll think about it if you deserve to cum as well~” you cooed.

kuroo cried when you started moving, your pussy clenching tightly around his dick, while your hands thrust the thick dildo in his ass, prodding his prostate. his hands flew to your hips, his half-lidded eyes watching your ass bounce in front of him, “f-fuck!”