#except for that part when the girl licks his face because girl SAME

[synintheraven]

Arnas Fedaravičius as Kolyma - Siberian Education 

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!chan, afab reader, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1420

a/n: my favorite chan is back<33

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

masterlist

loser!chan who was now thoroughly and utterly addicted to you to the point where he couldn't function unless he had his daily dosage of you.

ever since that first encounter, chan knew that he would never get enough of you, but it wasn't until that fated day in which you finally took his virginity that chan knew that he was thoroughly fucked.

he couldn't think of anything but you. during any lulls in class, his mind would go straight to you and all the things the two of you could do together. when he woke up in the middle of the night, it was in a cold sweat as he awoke from a filthy dream about you. even in the moments you were in front of him, in the most innocent of circumstances, his mind would go straight to the gutter.

you had ruined former chan.

after that first time experiencing what it felt like to be with a pretty girl like you, chan had become instantly addicted to the feeling, now constantly seeking you out as much as possible.

he had become a bit of a pervert, in short terms.

instead of you seeking him out, knowing chan was too shy to do it on his own, the dynamic had shifted. now chan would text you asking to come over every other night. he'd occasionally beg you for nudes any time he you were too busy to see him. and the best worst of all had been a few days ago, when you'd caught him sniffing your panties after the two of you had slept together.

chan couldn't lie. he did become a depraved version of himself through the months in which he'd been fooling around with you. it had all just hit a peak when you took his virginity. he now understood why everyone around him was so obsessed with sex. and he believed himself to be insane for not having lost his virginity sooner. except he was thankful he hadn't, because that meant that he now had the most gorgeous girl to please and to please him in return.

at first you seemed surprised by the change, gasping whenever chan would try and take charge and jump you as soon as you stepped into the threshold of his dorm room. but you clearly seemed to enjoy it, feeding into it by teasing him or enticing him into fucking you faster and harder. you'd even left behind a few pairs of panties after having noticed that first missing pair.

~

"m-more, fuck. please ... p-push it back, i need it," he mumbled against your cunt, lazily licking at it from behind.

his arms were holding onto your hips, dragging them against his face as he ate you out.

this was yet another thing chan had recently grown infatuated with – eating you out.

whether it was day or night, chan would take any possible opportunity to get himself between your legs or bend you over in order to get his mouth on your cunt. these escapades would always result in the two of you fucking like animals on the bed, but nowadays chan always insisted in eating you out beforehand.

it was always quite a filthy sight, the way in which he'd still whine and beg for you, even when he didn't get any gratification from the act. crying against your cunt, he'd get more desperate by the minute, forcing you to arch your back more so he could get an even better angle to lick and suckle at you.

like now, as he manhandled you to his desired position in the same fashion of a petulant child, demanding things go his way. you aided him, grinding against his face, only causing him to groan against you yet again.

"cum for me?", he mumbled against you, "wanna taste it so bad ..." he pulled away for a moment, simply staring at your cunt, "its so pretty ... fuck, your cunt's so fucking good to me," he moaned before going back at it even more intensely this time.

it didn't take long for you to cum for him. with the combination of praise and his messy way of eating you out, it was impossible for you to hold back. the worst part was how he moaned and thanked you as he licked every drop of arousal coming out of you. the combination of praise and pleasure made the experience entirely blinding, eventually forcing you to drop on the bed in exhaustion.

he climbed over you, giving you a nasty kiss so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

after months of seeing each other, chan had perfected the art of those messy, wet kisses he loved to share with you so much. sometimes he'd even have to hold back from giving you short and sweet kisses while in public, knowing that his tongue might sneak into your mouth and create a scene of public indecency.

equally as depraved as him, you grabbed onto his hair and pushed his face against your own, moaning as you suckled on his tongue. you made out and felt each other up for some minutes until chan's hands grew too greedy, attempting to flip you over so that he could fuck you from behind.

this was yet another new development in your relationship.

having taken his virginity only some months back, you had shown chan every position you could think of, teaching him the ins and outs in order to optimize his pleasure. as time passed, he became more confident in his ability to fuck you, now often opting to fuck you rather than have you take full control (though he still went crazy any time you manhandled him and rode him all the way to oblivion)

positioning you, he ignored the thought of a condom altogether, having been informed by you that you had a iud and did not feel the need to ever use one with him. chan was yet to know what it was like to fuck with one, and he didn't ever want to find out.

he also learned that he enjoyed teasing you. this would usually take form in him rubbing the tip of his cock against your folds, making you whine and push back against him to get him to slide in.

rubbing himself against you, he hissed at the warmth he felt at barely dipping his tip in a tiny bit. you were always so wet and warm for him. only him. the thought made him push in with no warning, needing to feel the physical manifestation of how much you were his.

groaning at the feeling, he leaned forward, pressing up against your back as he fucked into you. the feeling of naked skin against naked skin was one of his favorite things. he couldn't help but fall in love with the intimacy of it.

"how do you feel s-so fucking good?" he groaned, pace of his hips going crazy against your ass.

"you, channie ... you do this to me. so good. such a good boy," you sighed.

even when he was in control, you managed to take it right back with just your words. your claims of ownership over him along with your praise were things he could no longer live without. he loved that you had been the only person to claim him. he was enamored with the fact.

"y-yeah? i think its you. you gorgeous, gorgeous girl. im yours? y'know what?", he leaned as close to your ear as he could, "you're all mine too."

whining at this, you tightened around him, making him lose his composure yet again. this had been the first time he had rebutted at your usual mumbles of him being your good boy. and he loved it. he loved knowing that even as he was your good boy, you were his pretty girl. his and no one could ever have you again.

continuing to hump against each other like wild animals in heat, your highs came to you at an almost equal speed, optimizing your orgasms all the better.

chan fell limp on the bed, being immediately dragged by you so you could lay by his side and cuddle him like you always did. your aftercare of him always made him cry inside. you took care of him so well, giving him all the affection a boy like him could ever hope for.

the usual i love you's were shared, falling into your slumber without having enough energy to even clean up.

[kazekagevi]

Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: dark themes, mention of suicide attempt, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam, reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, Jake Sully appearance, random Human!OC's, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies. 

Summary: You settle into your new home at High Camp. You have a conversation with the Olo'eyktan, Jake Sully.

A/N and Disclaimer: If anyone would like to be notified/tagged in future updates, please comment on this post! Forgive any present tense inconsistencies.

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work. 

Your adrenaline plummets. You rest for hours without interruption. 

The room Max has put you up in is nice, but you know it’s too spacious to be permanent. You lie comfortably on a lumpy couch. Sometimes the dim lights flicker, there’s a constant mechanical hum, and the blankets are scratchy, but you nap peacefully for the first time since cryosleep. It’s homely. You need this moment of respite. 

Hours later, you wake to the smell of something fragrant cooking. You’re so hungry that you feel nauseous. 

As badly as you want to leap from the couch and venture into the kitchen, you lie still. You continue to cherish this time to yourself—you’re unsure when you’ll get such an opportunity again. 

You let the events of the past week wash over you like a tidal wave. Tears come and go, just like mental flashes of the faces of the many women and allied wardens long gone. As demoralizing and dehumanizing the experience was, you became a tight-knit family because of it. Your pain is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before—as much as you miss them, you know they’re better off dead than being torn apart and transformed into the RDA’s breeding machines. It leaves a tart feeling in your mouth: it’s upsettingly bittersweet. 

Wading through the water of your thoughts and emotions is treacherous. If you swim too long, you know you’ll drown. 

You push away the blankets, then fold them neatly. You swipe beneath your tear ducts. After standing by the door for ten minutes, you gain the courage to place your palm over the entryway censor. You make it two steps out before you’re stopped. 

You’re startled by a woman’s whistle—it’s reminiscent of a catcall. She leans against a doorframe with a toothpick between her canines. She’s human. She’s stocky and muscular. The woman wears a navy-blue jumpsuit and combat boots. You can tell her hair was once jet black, but it’s starting to grow in gray. “Welcome, new girl,” she says.

“Hi,” you reply sheepishly. You introduce yourself—first name only. 

She does the same: “I’m Mia.” 

You shake hands—you note that her palms are very calloused. Mia must be involved with hands-on labor. 

“Listen, I don’t like to beat around the bush,” says Mia. She leans in closer, like she has a secret to tell you. “You need to shower,” she confesses, this time much quieter. There isn’t a lick of malice in her tone. “Like, immediately.” 

You appreciate her honesty, but your cheeks flush. Mia pulls a chuckle from your chest. “I know,” you reply feebly. 

And so, Mia takes this moment as an opportunity to give you a proper tour of the human’s facility at High Camp. You’re going to be living there, after all. 

Admittedly, there isn’t much to see. Together, you stroll through the science shacks and a few vacant laboratories. You meet a few more scientists. You return to the two flex rooms, like the one you napped in; Mia shows you the barracks and bunk beds, the link units, and the kitchenette. Norm is cooking what he describes to be his very own fusion recipe: a soup that combines both human and Pandoran ingredients. In passing, you apologize to Norm for spitting on him, again—you’ve already apologized four times, but once more couldn’t hurt. He makes it abundantly clear that everything is well between you both. 

“I would do the same if they captured me,” Norm confesses. “Much worse, in fact.” 

Your tour ends at the showers. Mia leaves briefly, then returns with a towel, a new bar of soap, a plastic hairbrush, a few garments of clothing, and a toothbrush and paste. “This is all we have right now,” Mia explains. 

It’s more than enough, you think. 

Tears well in your eyes at the sight of these items; although necessary for most humans, to you, these things feel like a luxury. 

“There’s hot and cold water knobs. The hot water alone won’t last long. Try to maneuver the knobs to use hot and cold at the same time,” she says with a short demonstration. Warm water spits out of the shower head onto the tiled wall in front of it. You hold out your palm—it’s bliss. 

You’re solaced. You thank Mia one last time. She takes her cue to leave and gives you some privacy. 

---

Despite the lukewarm water diminishing to icy-cold after only a few minutes, you spend a long time in the shower. You wash your hair. You scrub everything, at least twice. Your pruned fingertips feel foreign angst the metal knob—you haven’t been allowed a long enough shower since your past life on Earth. 

The clothes Mia left for you don’t fit quite right. The pants drag on the floor and aren’t secure around the waist; you take a step, and your trousers pool at your knees. You have no choice but to create a makeshift belt with spare twine and an aptly-sized piece of elastic from Mia’s sewing kit. As you weave the components together, you realize her sewing kit doubles as her first-aid box. She must use the same thread to stitch seams on fabric and cuts on skin. You take this opportunity to gently reapply scar ointment and new dressing to the stitched slash beneath your collarbone. 

The tanktop she gave you, on the other hand, was made for someone with slightly smaller anatomy. In comparison to the pants, it fits skin-tight snug. Luckily, the undergarments are trouble-free. 

When you re-enter the common area, everyone is there. It’s down-to-Earth, you note—the thought makes your lips curl into a smile.

You spend a few moments observing. Most of the scientists look like regular people. They’re plain. Modest, simple. There’s nothing particularly special about any of them, barring their bright smiles. People involved with the RDA don’t smile like that. 

It isn’t long before the “plain scientist” exception enters via the airlock entrance. 

At first, you think he’s naked. You instinctively cover your eyes with your palms to give the guy some privacy. You faintly hear him yell something out the door through the glass—you can’t discern any of it, so it must be in Na’vi. You peek through your fingertips. 

Once the front airlock closes, the human male removes his oxygen mask, hangs it on a hook by the entrance, and presses his hand to the entryway scanner. He strolls in casually, like he owns the place. The young man wears nothing but a loincloth and carries an old leather satchel. Painted, blue streaks mark his body in horizontal stripes. 

It clicks for you quickly—he sees himself as one of them. He wears his loyalty to the Na’vi. It’s… admirable. 

When he speaks again, he greets Max in English and makes an inside joke with Norm that flies over your head. He chucks his bag onto a nearby stool and smoothes his hands over his ash-blonde dreads. 

Inevitably, you’re curious to know more. Your thoughts buzz with questions—instinctively, you’d like to interview him. 

“Food’s ready!” Norm calls. 

That’ll have to wait. 

The room descends to orderly chaos. A scientist you’ve already forgotten the name of is gathering silverware. Another gives everyone a bowl or mug. Metal chairs scrape across the floor as people line up in front of the kitchenette. Mia is adamant about having her mug, which is bright pink with a broken handle. Norm serves stew with a metal ladle. Someone else passes out dethawed bread rolls from the walk-in freezer. 

They make jokes in passing. They ask each other questions. Occasionally, they bicker, like when one of the scientists scolds Norm for giving him too big a portion. They’re a family. It’s lovely, you think. 

Then Mia calls your name. “Please,” she says, “join us!”

The room quiets down. You briefly make eye contact with the semi-nude young male. He’s around your age—maybe a year or two younger. 

Entering the common area takes only a sliver of bravery in comparison to the courage you had to collect in order to survive thus far; it’s still scary, nonetheless. You gulp. 

You’re provided a bowl. Norm serves you a heaping portion of soup. Max pours you a glass of water from a large pitcher at the end of the table. You’re offered two dinner rolls—just this once, Mia says. People move their chairs to make room for you. Your heart swells. 

“This is-” Mia begins. 

Your interruption is far from rude—you introduce yourself instead. First and last name. 

---

Dinner runs its course. It began with juvenile questions; the community simply wanted to know more about you as a person. They never banked on someone taking one of the empty bunks. They were all being used as precious storage. What’s your name? Where did you come from?

The spotlight is uncomfortable—blinding, even—but you squint through it. You want to interview these people, but it’s your turn instead. 

When some of the scientists begin asking about the RDA, however, the group rears towards an unsettling interrogation. What was it like? they ask. How many were there? Could you spare any details on the escape plan?

With every intrusive question, you intake another mouthful of the fusion stew. It tastes funny, like a bad pun or cringey joke; but you’re too hungry to care. 

“Did you ever see the General?” The human male whom you now know as Spider asks. “She was short. Blonde lady, resting bitch-face. General Ardmore?” 

Mia snorts. Norm clasps his hands together. “Alright, everyone. I think that’s enough,” he states. "Let's not overwhelm the newcomer."

The scientists look at each other, humbled and slightly ashamed. They give you apologetic stares and quiet redresses. 

Max offers to do the dishes. He knows he’ll regret this act of selflessness, but he does it for you. The rest of the scientists leave their empty bowls at the table and retreat to the barracks. Mia pats your shoulder before exiting with the others. 

You turn to Norm once everyone’s left. You hold out your bowl. “Can I have some more?”

---

You’re on your third helping of soup and fourth glass of water when there’s a series of raps at the door outside the airlock. For a split second, you’re back in your cell. You’re reminded of your least favorite warden’s early-morning roll calls. 

You flinch—your body instinctively jerks. But you don’t realize this until you’re swiftly saving your water glass from falling off the table. You rub your brow with the back of your head; you can’t break two things on your first day. 

“Is it him?” Max asks Norm. Max is elbows deep in soap suds and dirty dishes. He starts scrubbing faster. 

“Think so,” Norm replies. 

Who’s him? You’re left to wonder as you scrape the bottom of your soup bowl and take your final bite; there’s no more stew left. 

Norm stands from the table and strides over to the airlock. “Come in!”

You nearly twist your neck trying to turn around before the door opens. 

A tall, blue humanoid enters. He has to crouch when breaching the threshold—the door frame is just too short. It’s the first Na’vi you’ve seen since your interaction with the Na’vi in the forest; spare for Grace, the one in a glass tube full of liquid in the common area. 

For a moment, you think this Na’vi is the one who saved you. But as they grab a respirator mask and enter once the airlock is closed, your assumption is proved to be false. 

The Na’vi nods to Norm. “Good to see ya, Max,” the male Na’vi says, peering into the kitchen. Notably, his English is fluent; but above that, his accent is strangely commonplace among humans. Nothing like the Na’vi from the forest. 

Max peers at him over his shoulder. “You too, Jake,” Max calls back. 

Your eye twitches. You face forward. Your visage pales. 

“Let’s talk about all of this for a moment,” Norm tells Jake Sully. He agrees. Their footsteps get quieter as they walk away from the common room and round the corner. Max dries his hands with a dish towel and follows them. 

You hear bits and pieces of their hushed conversation while you chug another glass of water. 

“You’re sure?” Jake Sully asks. “Completely positive?”

“There’s no way,” one of the humans responds. “When she thought she’d been recaptured by the RDA, she tried to slit her wrists. A spy wouldn’t do that.”

Someone adds something to that point, but it’s indiscernible. 

“You’re right,” replies Jake. 

There are footsteps again. You keep your head forward. 

Max clears his throat. “You have a visitor,” Norm says. 

You push away the empty glass and bowl, then rise from your seat at the table. Your eyes meet pale yellow—the same shade as the other forest Na’vi’s irises. 

Jake opens his mouth to speak. “I’m-”

“You’re Jake Sully,” you interrupt. He’s like a myth come to life. During your imprisonment, the girls and wardens talked about him nonstop. He’s a Pandoran celebrity. 

Your face turns crimson. It’s one thing to interrupt Mia, but it’s another to interrupt the goddamn Olo'eyktan, the leader of his people. Not just any, but Jake Sully in particular. You’re mortified. 

You’re unsure how to greet him properly. Should you kneel? Your body scrambles to do the right thing—you bow, curtsey, and offer your hand to shake all at once. 

Jake Sully breathes into the respirator around his neck, veiling a small chuckle. He takes your hand and shakes it gently; due to his size, his engulfs yours. 

“Have a seat,” he says. You do.

Jake Sully can’t possibly fit in any of the chairs, so he defaults to sitting on the floor. “I may be asking for a lot,” he says. “But in order to grant you asylum here, I need to know everything.”

He is asking for a lot. You’ve been through nothing but hell. Your face heats up just thinking about the things you’ve witnessed. You don’t want to relive it. Maybe Norm stopped the others earlier because he knew this was coming. 

As you look into Jake Sully’s eyes, you know malignity isn’t his intention. It quite literally has nothing to do with you, actually. You know that the Olo'eyktan’s job is to keep his people safe. That’s Jake Sully’s motive. He has to know you’re safe. It’s a two-way street—in order to grant you safety, he must be able to ensure his own. 

---

You relay your history on Pandora thus far. It takes over an hour to get through everything. It doesn’t help when Jake asks a dozen questions, and tangents branch off into more tangents. Half-way through the conversation, however, you already know you’re earning his trust. You pinpoint the exact moment, in which Jake admits the reason he joined the RDA and decided to come to Pandora when he lived in a human body. 

It’s just the two of you now—Max finished the dishes a while ago and Norm left because he needed rest. 

Jake avoids your eyes every time you mention something particularly harrowing about your imprisonment. You’re as precise as you are descriptive. Towards the end of your testimony, he looks at his feet for ten minutes straight, while you reiterate the prison break. He can’t say much in response. He acknowledges that the ordeal must have been horrific. 

“Sounds like something out of this old dystopian novel,” Jake mutters. “I think it was called The Handmaid’s Tale.” 

Lastly, you tell him about the Na’vi in the forest who saved you. 

“Do you know him?” you inquire. 

Jake nods. “I do. His name is Neteyam.” He chooses not to elaborate. He omits the fact that Neteyam is his first-born son, next in line for his title. 

“Neteyam,” you echo. 

Jake nods again when you mimic his pronunciation. It’s not bad, he thinks. Not as bad as Neteyam said, when his son was harping on your horrible accent after bringing you, a human, to High Camp on his ikran. Something Jake never thought he’d see. 

“I’d like to thank him,” you say. “He saved my life. How do you say thank you or show gratitude?”

Jake rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should spend a week or two or three here. Take some time to yourself before you consider leaving the science shack and interacting with my people,” he says awkwardly albeit bluntly.

Your brows furrow. His tone of voice suggests there’s no room for protest. 

“Spider, Norm, Max, and everyone else will teach you the ways of the Na’vi,” Jake says. “They all speak the language fluently. And if you want to interact with and live amongst my people, then so will you.”

You nod. You consider telling him the very reason the RDA chose you and your talents—that that was exactly what you came to Pandora to do. “So I will,” you reply simply. 

“If you see us, then we will see you,” Jake says in Na’vi. 

You catch none of it, but nod confidently anyway. He scoffs. 

“Good talk,” Jake says lastly. He takes another breath through his respirator, then leaves through the airlock, just as he came. 

---

A/N: Feel free to leave any and all comments on this chapter! The exposition is almost done, just hold on a little longer! The exposition continues in the next part, but Neteyam will make an appearance, I pinky promise!

Next part is projected to come out a week from today, Tuesday. I will try to keep a consistent posting schedule.

Thank you all so much for the kind comments and notes thus far! <3

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part three]

Summary: Girls' brunch!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: swearing, description of scars, light self-deprecation in reference to past abuse (this sounds harsher than it is, really), Gwyn crushing on Azriel, accidental outing of someone else, piercings, Cassian hurting someone's feelings

Minors, do not interact

A/N: im so happy this story has gotten some attention! i was half expecting it to just go in the internet void but if only one person is enjoying then thats enough for me. enjoy some light gay content

part two

"'Cause you're just a man

It's just what you do

Your head in your hands as you color me blue."

Lana Del Rey, Norman fucking Rockwell

“-And he smiled at me! I really think he liked it,” Gwyn gushed, popping a blueberry into her mouth before reaching over for the cinnamon butter to spread over her slice of toast.

“How can you tell?” Eowyn asked curiously, licking at the muffin crumbs in the corner of her mouth, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him show emotion before.”

Nesta and Gwyn laughed at that, both nodding their heads. 

“I guess you just have to pay attention,” Gwyn replied mildly, shrugging.

It had been two days since her venture out into the city and all had been exactly the same as it was before, other than the minuscule shift between the Illyrians and herself. It wasn’t a drastic change, or anything particularly noteworthy for any other person, but considering the fact that the only people Eowyn spoke to on a daily basis consisted of Clotho, Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie, with the exception of a priestess here and there that either delivered a message from Clotho or asked where she’d left a parchment, she did, of course, take notice.

While Azriel remained as emotionless and distant as he’d always been, she’d developed somewhat of an awareness of him. It was random and rather irritating to have that small sliver of consciousness of his nearness, especially when she was supposed to be partaking in the Valkyrie breathing exercises they practiced during their breaks from the grueling training, but for some reason, she simply knew when he was there. To her right, only a short distance away, or towards the far left corner of the ring — she was even half convinced she could feel when he approached, like some kind of echo-location. And then there were the times where she’d discreetly glance at him, from under her veil, unnoticed by anyone looking at her, only to find his eyes already set on her.

As if feeling her gaze, he was always quick to look away, in such a smooth manner she couldn’t quite be certain he was looking at her at all.

And then there was Cassian, who had already become more familiar with her the more time she spent with Nesta, and who had taken a particular liking to calling her ‘Wynnie.’ She’d made sure not to correct him on the name again, not wanting to encourage him to use it even more, but she had already accepted her fate and knew there was no going back. He’d been just so boisterous and happy when he spoke to her, slapping a heavy hard hand on her shoulder as greeting and had begun a light sort of teasing with her that it just felt wrong to deny him something so small.

Finally carrying out her promise to set up a luncheon, Nesta had the girls join her in the House of Wind kitchen to eat after a particularly grueling day's training. Emerie had mysteriously disappeared soon after training was over.

“Is Emerie not joining us?” Eowyn wondered, glancing at the door once more, half expecting the Illyrian female— or anyone, really— to come in any second, still feeling slightly panicked at the thought of anyone seeing her. They'd been eating for a while now and the Valkyrie had yet to appear.

She had been reluctant to join her friends for lunch, not because she didn’t want to join them, but rather out of diffidence, for their reactions to her unveiled face or the questions they might ask.

But Gwyn, like the majority of the priestesses, had already seen her uncovered face and knew better than to ask her about her past, Emerie was currently gone and Nesta? She had barely blinked at her, eyes going immediately to her nose instead.

Her sharp gray blue eyes had barely scanned her face in a fraction of a second before they focused on the center of her face, “what the fuck is that?” Her eyes widened slightly in a very un-Nesta like way, “on your nose?” She added quickly, not even giving Eowyn enough time to take offense or feel remotely ashamed.

But Nesta’s blunt question caused her mind to go blank for a second. Her nose?

She had let out a tuh sound of incredulity, “I’m showing you my fucked up face and you’re asking about the jewelry on my nose?”

“Is that what it is?” Nesta tilted her head to the side, “I’ve never seen anything like it. As for your face, I see nothing wrong with it. I’d say you even give Elain a run for her money.”

Something had ignited inside Eowyn then. Not the tinge of fraternal irritation Cassian had drawn out of her by calling her by a long forgotten nickname, but by the insinuation that she— with the jagged distorted scars pulling from the corners of her mouth, one ending in the outer center of her cheek, while the other extended longer and higher, almost to her cheekbone— could even compare to the flawless beauty and unsullied brightness that was Elain Archeron.

But the feeling itself— the sharp anger that rose within her was immediately thwarted by the recognition of the emotion itself. How long had it been since she’d felt something so powerful, so passionate, something that was once so familiar? Something that had been her second nature? Had it truly been over a century since she’d been anything but detached and apathetic?

Gwyn had been quick to come to her defense, although for an entirely different reason than what she assumed. “It's a great honor to bear jewelry on that part of the nose, known as the septum” she lit up, pleased to have the opportunity to share her knowledge, “septums are only bestowed upon those that have dedicated some of their eternal fae life to their studies.”

Septganiums, Eowyn mentally corrected, but figured it didn’t really matter. 

Nesta squinted at her, a curious human characteristic that Eowyn found quite endearing. “But you have two rings.”

“They symbolize every seventy-year cycle, based on the location and the name itself, the sept-um. It’s also kind of a joke… to pierce that which is always buried in a book.”

And that was that.

Nesta had assured them before they joined her that they had the house to themselves, as Cassian and Azriel had business with Rhys in the River House and knew better than to disturb her and her friends in their private time.

“She left with Mor,” Nesta answered her question with a smirk. Gwyn gasped excitedly and waved her toast around.

“No way! She finally mustered up the courage to talk to her!”

But Eowyn’s eyes only widened, holding her tea halfway up to her lips, “Mor was here?”

She didn’t miss the look Nesta shot her. Damn, she really needed to learn how to interact with people again. 

“Mhm, she spent the night last night,” Nesta smirked, “I overheard her ask Emerie if she wanted her to winnow her back to Windhaven.”

“No wonder she didn’t even bother telling us she wasn’t joining us for lunch,” Gwyn chuckled lightly, eyes alight with delight.

“Has Emerie been interested in Mor a long time?” Eowyn asked, the words feeling strange in her mouth.

“Oh yeah, she’s been in love with her forever,” Gwyn giggled and rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder exaggeratedly, “talking about how beautiful she is, how perfect her hair falls, how she wished she was interested in females and would just look-"

“She is,” the words were out of her mouth before she could take them back and for a moment, the sardonic little demon in her mind that often mocked her and watched amusedly as she made a fool out of herself, whispered that perhaps her captors weren’t entirely in the wrong when they'd quite literally sewn her mouth shut at an attempt to keep her from berating them so much.

She cringed, face aflame as Gwyn and Nesta turned their focus to her, wearing different looks of scandalized surprise and curious dark amusement respectively.

“Wha-“

“Whe-“

“Forget I said anything,” she hissed at them, shaking her head ashamedly, eyes falling to the table, “I-I don’t know if Mor is out to the world like that and I’m not going to be responsible for-“

“Don’t worry about it, we won’t say anything,” Nesta assured nonchalantly in a way Eowyn truly did not trust for a second.

“Really,” Gwyn nodded encouragingly, noticing Eowyn’s reluctance, “we won’t say anything.”

Eowyn thought about it.

“Sorry, that’s not enough. I need you both to swear,” she looked at them both seriously.

Nesta scoffed, “I’m not striking a bargain with you because you let it slip that Mor eats pus-“

“That’s exactly why you have to do it. No offense, but you’re pretty hottheaded Nesta, there’s no knowing when you might just fuck up as I did now without meaning to hurt anyone, but what if you do? And Gwyn, I-I just-“

“You’re a busybody,” Nesta agreed, if a bit reluctantly, as she turned to Gwyn, “you’re going to want to tell Emerie to help her out but that’s not for us to share.”

“Exactly,” Eowyn breathed in relief, “I’m not asking for anything drastic, I’m just thinking that we don’t talk about Mor’s business unless she or Emerie announce it first, does that sound alright?”

“And what do I get from this bargain?” Nesta smirked, glancing at Gwyn who grinned back, looking almost mischievous in a very un-Gwyn like manner. “You tell us what happened between you and Mor.”

“You two are busybodies,” Eowyn rolled her eyes, “but fine, it’s a bargain.”

Eowyn couldn’t help but chuckle when the girls jumped in place in surprise, if not for the smallest pinches of pain, as there, in mirroring sides of their elegant fae pointed ears sparked two pieces of jewelry.

The house, ever so attentive, provided a small hand mirror for each of them to inspect their new singularly pierced ears.

“Fascinating,” Gwyn gushed, prodding her gold ring lightly.

“I was expecting a tattoo,” Nesta admitted, head tilted as she inspected the small silver jewelry piece, wrapped around the cartilage of her ear, “but I kind of like this better.”

“That’s an Illyrian tradition, right?” Eowyn licked a bit of jam off her finger.

Nesta nodded but then her eyes sharpened with glee, “you bargained a dirty little story, Wynnie.”

Beyond amused, Eowyn felt just a fraction— just the smallest hint of her old self— possess her body once more, that same spirit driving her to glance down at her plate in amusement as she glided her index finger over the sweet confiture before raising her gaze to look at them innocently from under her eyelashes as she brought her finger up to her tongue, “you never specified when, Nes.”

Their jaws dropped.

"Oh."

"Wynnie, I swear to the-"

“Woah, what is going on in here?” Cassian’s voice boomed through the luncheon setting the house had so lovingly crafted for them. “It smells like a female pleasure house in here.”

"You're not supposed to be here," Nesta scowled at her mate.

"Over a dozen rooms in this house and you pick the kitchen?" he huffed but then stopped and eyed them warily, “seriously, what's with the scent on you? Is it because I’m here or were you dirty females reading smut again?”

His statements, neither of which were true, caused Eowyn to genuinely laugh, if only lightly, which brought Cassian’s attention to her. She lost her grin when she saw his eyes flicker over her face, down to her scars, and almost laughed again at the clearly drastic differences between the mated pair.

She braced herself for the comment.

“Huh. Never noticed you had those septganiums, Wynnie— or should I say, Maestress Wynnie,” he spoke matter-of-factly, saying no more on the simple statement before reaching towards the center of the table and grabbing a handful of bacon.

She blinked at him. Perhaps the Mother truly knew what she was about when it came to these two.

Deciding that she wouldn’t care if he didn’t either, she stepped out of her comfort zone and left herself uncovered. Truthfully, the main reason she even covered herself was mostly out of habit now, for the comfort of others who might feel any disgust or objection to seeing her healed wounds, as some of the priestesses did. 

Eowyn would never forget the day, in her early days of exploration in the library, when she caused a priestess to fall into a fit of panicked breaths, clutching at her chest because the sight of Eowyn’s scars had triggered a memory of her attacker, who bore the same scars.

Eowyn knew it wasn’t her they were rejecting, but the fact that her own exposed trauma could trigger such a disconcerting response had been a penetrating blow to her psyche.

“Cassian, did you see Azriel’s bronze blade?” Gwyn lit up again, still riding the high from having interacted with the surly Shadowsinger that morning after training.

“Yeah, I saw it at the River House,” the General chortled, shoving a handful of berries into his mouth, “I told him to stop letting Mor get him shit he doesn’t like and won’t really use.”

There was a pregnant pause, the space suddenly devoid of air as if the house itself was holding its breath. Gwyn’s chair scraped the floor as she stood, eyes bright with tears. Saying nothing, she simply stepped away from the table and rushed out of the room.

“Good job,” Nesta glared at him, standing up to follow after her.

Eowyn stood up as well, eyes following Gwyn in concern, and despite it clearly being Cassian’s fault for opening his big mouth, she couldn’t help the guilt that bit at her stomach because she knew, she knew, she knew, the blade was not right for him. The color, the length, the feel, of it had been all wrong but she had decided to ignore her nosy little inner voice, reminding herself that those closest to the Shadowsinger would clearly know him better than her. Who was she to him but just another one the many neophytes?

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her,” Nesta barely grazed her shoulder with a hand before she was out the door, leaving Cassian and Eowyn alone in the fancy tea luncheon.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Cassian grimaced, mouth still full of bacon and sweet biscuits.

But Eowyn only quirked a brow at him and began to collect her things. As she went to pull her veil over her face, he spoke again. “You really don’t have to wear that around us, you know? I mean, you do whatever you want, but I just want to make sure you know we don’t see you any differently for any scars you may have. All of us have our own share of them.”

But she did have to wear it, if not for her own comfort than that of others, but she decided against saying so.

“Have you seen scars like mine?” She asked instead, finding herself suddenly curious.

He nodded, “I’ve seen all kinds of scars. If you ever see battle, which I hope you don’t, you’ll see plenty of scars worse than your own.”

Worse.

Her grip on the back of her chair tightened at his brief dismissal. Knew, logically, that he intended to soothe what he assumed were physical insecurities, but that ultimately felt like a disregard to the pain she'd endured to only leave such scars.

She nodded stiltedly, “right. Good afternoon, General.”

“Aw Wynnie, not you too!” He called out after her but she was already out the door.

part four

taglist: @lilah-asteria @a-courtof-azriel

[potatomountain]

CIY- 8

Chapter Eight

📍pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader

📍word count: 3.3k

📍network: @pirateeznet

📍Warnings: mentions of mxm relationships.

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 , @yourfatherlucifer, @yessa-vie and @daesukiii

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Before you knew it, a week had flown by and a routine was formed. Mornings were spent going to your deli and getting your coffee, where you started picking up San's as well. You weren't sure if you should grab it today since he informed you on Thursday that he had to go undercover for the weekend. 

You hadn't seen Yunho or Mingi until Friday, which you expected when you heard Mingi the night before loud and clear. Of course, you bitched at him when you saw him, surprised by how easy the banter that followed and the insults. The same thing happened Saturday and even last night you had heard him. It was getting annoying, even if you had ways to block out most of the sound, you didn't like how it made you feel.

San didn't make it any easier, casually flirting with you, laying on the charm and compliments whenever he could just to leave you flustered but he was respectful about his timing. All week until he had left, leaving you frustrated in a whole new way with his absence. The fact you missed him during the weekend left a bad taste in your mouth, you didn't want to get attached. This position was temporary at best, the unlikelihood of it being permanent better than at first but still slim.

Two weeks didn't make you part of the team after all. Even if you had a growing routine and the reception was less icy, you knew that.

Getting your hopes up was a bad idea, yet here you were, standing in line at the deli for the coffee and breakfast you got almost every morning. You debated on getting San's coffee, since he said he should be there today. Would he be beaten up like last time? The bruises and cuts had barely healed before he went off and you had to admit you were a little worried.

That might be because of your old unit. Hyunjin would complain if he had a cut on his pretty face and Jisung couldn't handle a cold. Neither could Binnie, with both Felix and Minho mothering whenever anyone was injured or feeling sick. Then there was Chan- 

Sighing, you shook your head, not ready to go down that road just yet. Today was the last day of your probation and you still weren't ready to talk to him or half of them- Hyunjin had been the exception because, well, he was Hyunjin. And he didn't give you the option to be ready, he insisted on being a part of your life as if nothing had happened: which you truthfully appreciated.

“Why’s such a pretty thing like you sighing? The week just started.” A voice behind you garnered your attention, so you turned to look. A pretty attractive man widened his smile, which surprised you wasn’t sleazy in the least; despite his outfit screaming a typical sleazy man. The animal print button-up, sunglasses pushing his dual-toned hair back, and the hint of a tongue stud as he licked his lips- normally it would have you sneering but on him it looked damned good. Maybe it was the eyeliner?

Either way, he was hot, and he called you pretty. “Mm no particular reason, maybe I’m just not feeling up to work today?” You offered a smile, deciding to take it a step further. “Definitely don’t want to now, not when my day just got more interesting.” 

You were glad that his charming smile turned more flirty, even more so when he stepped up next to you. “I’d have to agree, not really in a hurry for my coffee now. You are much more refreshing, pretty girl.”

“Already onto pet names? Before I get your name?” You couldn’t help but tease.

He chuckled, holding out his hand. “Friends call me Mito. Nice to meet you-” Once you gave your name, he hummed thoughtfully. “Pretty name for a pretty girl. Gotta say I think I’d remember seeing such a beauty around here. New job brings you this way?”

You didn’t regret your words when he was looking at you like that, as if you were the best damned meal he ever saw and he couldn’t wait to get a taste. Hell, you were ready to let him have it. Maybe it was because he was the first in a while that had flirted with you? That was a lie, there were plenty. You just had your eyes set on someone else before… now just about anyone was up for grabs.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I recently moved to the area too. Do you come here often? To this cafe?”

“A friend of mine told me to check it out, I usually go to another one about a block away.” He hummed out, stepping with you as the line moved. “But if you’re here, that’s plenty of reason to make this a regular stop.”

“Or you could just ask for my number?” The words were out before you could even stop yourself, fighting off the heat that flooded your cheeks. Were you that touch-starved that you would be so bold with a man you just met? Who didn’t even give you his real name, just a nickname?

Did that make you easy? Should you be ashamed? Maybe, but it really had been so damned long and it wasn’t like you were going to pull your clothes off for him right now.

“Then how about your number first? And I buy your coffee?” He finally offered once he pulled his eyes back to yours.

No harm in at least seeing where this goes right? “I’ll put my number in for you.” Holding out your hand, you couldn’t help but be a little giddy when he handed you his phone, contacts already open. Few seconds later and you sent yourself a text from his, handing it back just in time for the both of you to step up to the counter to order.

He rattled off four different drinks, while you rattled off two- one of them the same as one of his. You thought it was interesting, San having a common order. “Drinks for friends?”

“Co-workers. What about your extra?” Mito countered, a cheeky grin on his lips as the two of you stepped aside to wait.

“Co-worker.” One that definitely got to you in a way a co-worker shouldn’t… you could blame your sudden boldness on him. Yeah, this was all their fault. San with all his flirting and teasing and Mingi with his constant annoyance and sex sounds the past few nights.

You tried not to show how heated that train of thought made you, nor did you want to admit it any further than that.

“Mm well they’re lucky to get a coffee on me.” He winked, not at all bothered to have bought it.

“I’ll let him know the hottie at the coffee shop hopes he enjoys his coffee.” Laughing, you relaxed against the counter next to him, the two of you sharing a flirty glance. “I also appreciate it, it definitely makes my day better.”

He shrugged. “My absolute pleasure dear, I can always make your day better in other ways too. Help you relax at the end of a long day of work.”

Now that sounded really tempting. Before you could further flirt, your drinks were announced. “Well, that’s our cue, I really needed to get to work anyways.” You didn’t think they would care, but if San was there you did want to get him his coffee and check up on him. “Call me?” 

You wanted to tell someone about the hottie at the cafe… was it too soon to text Hyunjin about it? Would San listen? You grimaced at that idea. Sure, tell one man you wanted to bone about a complete stranger that was much more likely to get into your pants and fast.

“Oh definitely. Good luck, beautiful.” He sent a wink in your direction before he turned to start grabbing a few of the good sugars and things. You didn’t stick around to see what he did with them.

It wasn’t until you were halfway down the street that you realized you had forgotten your usual breakfast; instead of turning around to go grab it, maybe giving you a chance to see him again, you shrugged it off. Just meant a bigger lunch or you could always order something.

Such an amazing idea for sure.

Sighing as you headed into the office, you could hear the voices in the back, but you weren’t in a rush to see them just yet. You took your time setting your bag down and your laptop before grabbing San’s coffee to see if he was back.

You might have gotten a little too excited to hear his laugh when you approached the office door, only for it to drain away when you did see him. “Fuck that looks bad.”

“I’m so touched, sweetcheeks.” He had fully taken the pet name from Hyunjin and made it his own- considering how it still managed to fluster you a bit even if you were rolling your eyes at him.

San glanced up when you hissed out, brightening up despite his black eye and arm in a sling. “I’ve missed that beautiful face.” With a dimpled grin he slid off the desk to make his way over to you, stopping only because of the glare you gave him. “What? It’s not as bad as it looks!”

Rolling your eyes you approached. “Sure it isn’t, that sling is just for show. Sit your ass down, I brought you coffee.”

“Aw, but you didn’t know I was going to be here today-”

“Can you two not with the damned couple bullshit?” Jongho sneered from his desk, currently cleaning his weapon. “If it’s not you two flirting up a fucking storm, she’s at Mingi’s throat and I can’t ever tell if they are gunna fuck or fight… or both.”

Yunho laughed from his spot, nudging his friend next to him. “Well that would be great to see regardless. Think you would come out on top?”

Mingi scoffed. “Of course I would, that tiny thing couldn’t handle me. All bark, no bite, like a damned chihuahua.”

“Chihuahua’s bite.” Yunho pointed out with a grin. “And I think this little pet would claw and do some damage. Might be hot as hell though.”

Jongho gagged, pointing his empty mag at the two. “Truth be told my money is on the chihuahua, we forget Mingi is scared of dogs that bite.”

You ignored their banter for the most part, considering it was becoming a daily thing for you, and instead made San sit at his desk while he was watching you with an expression that was almost sweet. “I was hoping you would be, sue me if that makes me soft but at the moment, you are the only thing keeping me from putting a bullet in half the idiot's heads here.” You matched his grin, taking his coffee over to the little coffee station to look for the sugars he liked.

There was a loud bang from a door down the hall, what you recognized as the back entrance, but you ignored it until an unfamiliar- or perhaps somewhat familiar- voice rang in through the office.

Only to freeze.

“I’m back, bitches!!” In a high-pitched singsong tone, a new person stepped into the office. Curious, and suspecting this to be the final detective of the unit you hadn’t met, you glanced over your shoulder.

The gaudy shirt gave him away immediately, the man from the cafe setting the coffee’s on the unused desk as he began talking a mile a minute. “Sannie my man, looking better from the fight already. Got us quite a bit of rep this time around and what better way to celebrate than with a great fucking pussy? Seriously met the hottest fucking broad getting coffee, had no idea such a beauty would be around here but like fuck- got her number.” He giggled like a schoolgirl, bringing a coffee over to San.

San grinned up at him. “You do seem to work fast but I’ll pass on the coffee. Got one already.” He motioned over towards you, Mito turning to finally notice your presence.

Seriously, what was with you and wanting to fuck your coworkers?

“How’d you get one- OH!” It was with great amusement, and perhaps dismay, that he dropped the hot beverage when he realized you were right there in the room. San was quick, catching it mid-air and cursing as he set it aside. “Holy fuck what is my luck today? This is that new job huh?”

Now you weren’t so sure you would take him up on his offer of after-work pleasure; not that you didn’t find him attractive just that you were attempting to draw a line. The whole reason you really hadn’t taken it past flirting with San; he was a co-worker.

“Hi there again, Mito. I take it you would be the famed Jung Wooyoung?” With a light laugh, you waved, attempting civility.

“You two know each other?” Mingi grumbled, leaning in as if this was juicy gossip. He wasn’t the only one, even Jongho had stopped cleaning the barrel of his gun to glance at the still-shocked detective.

Wooyoung recovered quickly, cheeky grin back. “The hottie whose number I got- was hers. Mmm, I get to see you in the office too? Damn- wait, how the fuck had no one told me we have a drop dead gorgeous Goddess as part of our unit now?” He swiveled on the others.

“Didn’t think it was relevant.” San bristled, glancing over at you and the coffee you brought. “Plus you were undercover.”

“Undercover?” Wooyoung asked in obvious confusion. “She doesn’t know how we do things does she?”

Something about the way he said it piqued your interest. You already questioned some things they did here, writing it off as part of the job and necessary: Like Mingi’s constant fucking, how bad the fights were with San, and how deep of an undercover this new detective had to be to have the same influence as Hwon- a known freelancer in the underbelly of the city. That seemed like a pretty solid reputation that would require some years, and better product than just one fighter to get.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “They set the bar pretty low, I'm sure you’ll be fine. Already making a better impression than most of them in the full two weeks I’ve been here.” You shrugged off his advances, turning to finish making San’s coffee which you just now realized you knew by heart… after barely a week.

So why did he act as if being undercover was news to him?

Before you could question him, Captain came in with Seonghwa right behind him. “She’s still in a trial run Wooyo, calm yourself. We were also waiting until you got back to see about field work…” The look he shared with his vice didn’t go unnoticed, not when you were on edge, observing every little tick between the seven of them.

“Oh so she gets to work with me now? Fucking sweet.” Cheering a little, he turned back to you with a wide grin. “So beautiful, I know I can’t compare to some of these fine gentlemen but I promise to treat you good- in the field and out of it.” With a wink he made his way over to you, more flirtatious than he had been back at the cafe. Which would have been nice if you weren’t actively fighting off attraction now.

Fuck.

Wooyoung whistled next to you. “Man were they that disappointing in bed? Wow their game must have dropped considerably. I can make it better for ya.”

Mingi and Yunho both looked up at his comment, stopping the little conversation they were having, just as you glanced up at him. “If you’re implying I slept with any of them, no. Aside from mostly San, they were more ready to kick my ass to the curb.”

You took a second to glance around the room, noticing that Yeosang had joined in and was grabbing a coffee from the few that Wooyoung brought. Seonghwa looked much more stressed than normal and even Hongjoong seemed a little ticked off, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Jongho had gone back to cleaning his gun but there was an ever present smirk on his face while Yunho seemed to be enjoying the chaos unfolding. Mingi’s reaction struck you as the oddest, as he almost appeared as panicked as San did.

“WHAT?!” The holy shriek he let out had you flinching, but he was already turning to the others. “You are telling me that you have been gazing on this fine fucking beauty for two whole fucking weeks and none of you have even gotten a taste? Shameful. All of you are absolutely shameful.” He tsked dramatically, taking in the view as you brought San his coffee. “Not even you Sannie?”

“Not all of us think with our dicks-”

“Mingi does- Fuck not even Mingi fucking Malik had a taste? Ya’ll trippin. Where does she even sit? Was she at my desk? Please say yes-”

“Receptionist.” Seonghwa finally stepped into the conversation, fixing Wooyoung with a glare while Hongjoong was giggling under his breath behind him. “Wooyoung, can you please quiet it? It’s Monday-”

He was broken off by Wooyoung’s flabbergasted gasp. “Up front alone? Damn they really gave you the cold shoulder. It’s okay, beautiful, Wooyoung is here now. Need a nice warm seat, my face is available- or dick. Wouldn’t mind being a step stool either.”

It seemed he would have ranted more if San hadn’t ignored the coffee in your hand to reach out and grab the man’s jaw instead, squeezing it still. “Wooyoung- stop. Fucking stop. Do you think it’s nice to be talking about how you want to fuck our new addition to the unit in front of her?”

“No-” Wooyoung got out through the grip, glancing over at you as you watched with a lifted brow. “I really don’t get why you haven’t- yall fuck around a lot. And she’s beautiful.”

His constant praise was a bit touching, and a few things he said had been very tempting, but you were determined to keep it professional. “I don’t want to sleep with my unit members anyways.”

“Why not?”

“Complicates the job.” You admitted, finding yourself much more calmer despite the turn this morning had taken. Back to square one really.

Wooyoung scoffed, pulling out of San’s grip to look you right in the eye. “Can’t imagine how- or are you unaware that half the time we are on each other’s dicks? I mean Captain’s office is locked half the time because his pants are down and he’s having a grand ol’ time with-” His mouth was quickly covered by San who appeared panicked.

What the fuck were you missing?

“So what, you all fuck each other? In the office too?” You looked around for clarification but the only one who would look at you was Yunho and he just smirked wider.

San seemed even more panicked, glaring at Wooyoung only to be pushed back down on the desk. With his arm in the bind, he fell back. “See for yourself, beautiful.”

Out of all the things that you could expect, watching the new detective lock lips with San was definitely not on the list. Your mouth dropped open, eyes going wide as you tried to comprehend just what you were seeing.

You didn’t have time to process at all, Hongjoong calling out your name before he grabbed your arm and pulled you to your office. The only thought in your head was why were you getting pulled into the office?

Seriously… what the fuck.

Taglist (form): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse | @philijack | @lelaleleb | @idfkeddieishot | @isiloiale | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  | @cloudysannie | @sugarnspice630 | @hongjoongswifefr | @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu |  @sousydive |  @fatalt | @bts-army380 | @iwishiwasrichasfuck | @bitchwhytho | @st4rhwa | @thesafecafe

Taglist will be continued in a reblog!!

[gooseloverfiction]

Crimson Rush

Colt Seavers x afab!reader +18

It was supposed to be 'chill with some drinks' type of the evening, but nothing is ever so simple with you two...

Warnings: bit of violence, blood, wound... Some blood kink? Or just *urge to lick that bit on your sexy bf*, other than that smuuuut, piv, no protection, fluff and some Colt's goofiness (?)

AN: All thanks to one comment of @bluehody at bts photos from Man's Health mag

Word count: 2512

You really needed that. 

The bar, drinks and karaoke. 

And Colt… 

He was late as always, steaming hot after some run for a few blocks when shots took longer than he anticipated. But he still showed up as he promised. You had to give him that, he would move heaven and earth to get to his date. 

It was almost perfect. 

Except for the bunch of a-holes who wouldn't stop screaming to microphones, some bachelor party going into a mess, ruining your mood as you finally get your hectic schedules aligned for that one outing to have some fun. And you couldn't even sing. 

You downed your drink with a loud gulp, making Colt side-eye you with raised brow. 

“Slow down cowboy, we still have the whole night ahead.”

You rolled your eyes and mumbled something under your breath, showing to the bartender that you wanted the same drink again. 

The warm, scratched hand caught your knee and rubbed soothing circles through the fabric of your jeans. He turned you on the barstool to face him and used his thumb to collect a single, orange drop from the corner of your mouth. You're suddenly too painfully aware you're in public, because you would definitely catch this finger with your lips and suck it, watching Colt's blissful face.

“Don't make those eyes, please…,” he leaned closer to you but it was too loud anyway for anyone to listen. 

“What eyes?” your voice was far from innocent, when your lips ghosted his. 

“OI GIRL, YOU CAN DO MUCH BETTER!”

You looked behind your man and saw drunk guys making some obscene gestures towards you. Colt wanted to turn around and see what it was about but you caught his stubbled chin, pulling him into a hot kiss. With the other hand you showed those guys international sign to fuck themselves and forgot about them once the eager tongue snaked into your mouth, making both of you moan.

Awful noise around you silenced and you managed to pry yourself from Colt much to his disappointment and almost run toward the microphones. Once on the ground, you knew he was right, you definitely went too hard and too fast on those drinks, your world suddenly spinning. 

But before you could entangle yourself in cables around, a strong arm steadied you and the familiar scent made you weak in knees for a moment. When you looked at him, he had his goofy smile plastered to his face, his eyes showing the same amount of affection and drunkenness tho you had to admit he often had this dazed gaze when around you. Drunk with love, as he always said… how cheesy he could be. Colt definitely watched too many romantic comedies. 

“What do you want to sing?” 

You looked at the monitor he rolled in front of you and squinted your eyes. Your finger pushed the list up and a wide grin was instantly on your face. 

“No… Come on… You know how terrible I sing,” he tried to leave you on a tiny stage but your grip on his leather jacket stopped him. 

“Come on baby, no one can sing here. And it's not true, I like your sweet falsetto,” you kissed the tip of his nose and made him huff. 

“You're not making it better,” he growled into your ear sending goosebumps down your neck. 

Using your ultimate weapon, The Pout, made him finally push the play button and grab the microphone. 

A familiar tune started, making you want to snap your fingers to it until Colt's part came, a bit too sudden for him but he quickly caught the tempo. 

“I got chills, they're multiplying

And I'm losing control

'Cause the power you're supplying

It's electrifying (electrifying)” 

You couldn't not break into a laugh for his high pitched voice trying to sound like John Travolta. 

“You better shape up

'Cause I need a man

And my heart is set on you

You better shape up

You better understand

To my heart I must be true”

Colt made a hurt face, flexing his broad shoulders and wordlessly showing his all muscled up stuntman body. You slapped him as he made you break a few notes and he almost forgot to jump into the last line, “Nothin' left, nothin' left for me to do.” 

With the chorus you both were so invested, you didn't hear any commotion except for music around you. 

“You're the one that I want (you are the one I want)

Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey

The one that I want (you are the one I want)

Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey”

Someone stood in front of you, making your voice falter. 

“Oi, cut that crap, give us those mics, we will show you how real men sing.”

The song still played but you stopped and looked at the same assholes from earlier with what you hoped was fearless anger. 

“Oh yeah? And how do you know how real men sing?”

You could hear Colt groan behind you, knowing you were in a ‘making troubles’ mood. 

“Listen bitch…” one of them started but quickly stopped when the stuntman caught his shirt and shook him. 

“What did you say to that lady?” his voice was almost a low growl, making your stomach drop… Not only because of the sense of oncoming fight. Colt was a walking epitome of peacemaker and hardly ever turned into any kind of violence, but God he looked hot like that. 

And then the chaos broke… 

You couldn't even see the fist coming from Colt's left side, only when he ducked and made the punching guy hit his fellow, who was still in your man's grasp. 

Stuntman moved back, turning his body to shield you, pushing you in at the right moment, when the third drunk roared and ran into him, slamming his body into a wall. Colt gut punched him and tried to get away from the attacker, circling him in some almost like dance move. Before the guy could turn, the kick in his ass sent him to the wall and the ground. 

“Guys, guys! It's delicate equipment!” you've heard the bartender's pleading voice and shout to Colt when one of the men picked up the microphone and swung with it. He dropped at the last moment and made the guy tangle in the cables and fall… 

A hard knock to his forehead made Colt stumble to the back, not getting exactly where it came from but before he could take another blow, you screamed and punched the man holding a heavy ashtray, square into his jaw, just like Colt taught you, sending him to the ground. 

You turned to your man swaying on his feet, catching his open jacket and jeans shirt under it, pulling him into an embrace. 

“God Colt, that looks awful…” blood trickled from his busted brow, caught up in his short beard. 

“You were amazing,” he smiled and let you move him toward your seats. 

You called for the bartender and asked for some clean cloth and he reluctantly brought one from the back and looked at you with narrowed eyes. 

“Now pay up and leave before I call the cops… And don't come back…” his tone was more of a pleading but you still huffed in amusement. They're the ones who started it all! 

Colt already put the bill, with some extra ‘for a trouble’, on the counter and headed for the door, pushing balled material into his throbbing head. 

You whisked the keys from his pocket and he didn't protest, going right to the passenger seat in his truck. 

---------------------------------------------------------

“What if it's a concussion?”

“I'll be fine. This is made of concrete,” Colt knocked on his head, wincing with pain. 

"Concrete my ass…” you mumbled and peeled the jacket from his broad shoulders, took off his shirt and reached for his already blood dirty, formerly white t-shirt. 

“I'm sorry, did I miss the moment where it was my fault?” the man asked with a silly smile. He always found you adorable when you were so frustrated and annoyed. 

You took the crimson cloth from him, slowly, not sure what will be behind it. His whole brow was swollen, making his eyelid slightly covering his sparkling, blue eye. It looked bad… 

But there was something mesmerizing in his ash covered, beaten up face, the tiny trickle of blood still coming from the wound. 

“Hon… You have this look again…” he swallowed a bit of a shaky voice, the adrenaline making way for entirely different type of rush in his blood. 

“What look…” your voice dropped into murmur, your face inches from his. “I'm sorry… But you look so hot right now.”

Colt didn't have a time to protest, when you slowly dragged your hot, wet tongue on the side of his face, tasting the metallic trail right up to his wound. He whimpered when your tip lapped not too gently on the cut, your lips trying to soothe the sting. 

You didn't even know when you migrated on his lap, his hands clutching at your flanks. You weren't sure if he shook underneath you because of the pain or pleasure, but his hard bulge digging into your groin gave you some hints. 

With some, not so subtle, moves of your hips you made Colt root into you, the friction definitely too little for your likening. 

“Too many layers…” you groaned into his jaw, nibbling your way to his thick neck. Your hands desperately tried to undo all buttons in his jeans, feeling him doing the same to you. 

Your lips captured Colt's moan when he felt your hand slip past his boxers and fixed his strained cock, taking some pressure of it, teasing his leaking head. 

“Too tight, babe, you need to get rid of them…,” his hands pushed you abruptly and caught the waistband of your jeans, taking them off in one motion, almost ripping his own pants right after. 

Before you could sit back at his lap, he held you by your butt, your knees wide with his muscled thighs between them. 

“What are you…,” you've started but quickly shut up, when Colt slide down the seat, his wide chest pushing your legs even more apart. You brace yourself on the backrest of the couch and swallowed the shout ripped from your throat by stuntman’s skilled mouth attacking your already oversensitive pussy. He licked long strip between your folds, probing your dripping interior, pushing as deep as he could, making you shiver, pulling you closer to his face. His beard scratched but you didn't dare to say a word when he was licking you into oblivion. It felt almost too much when he sucked at your clit but still too little for you to come. 

“Colt, Colt, Colt…” you tried to catch his attention and he stopped middle lick, tongue buried in your core. 

“Whot, whot, whot,” he mumbled, moving his face with your raising body. 

“I need you… All of you…”

You didn't have to tell him twice, being suddenly thrown on your back, your knees pushed to your chest. 

The man above you didn't even play a tease, not even align himself, just impaled your pussy with his thick, veined cock, his heavy balls hitting your exposed butt. 

“Oh…my…Go…” your moan died when he hit your cervix, but before you could feel any real discomfort, Colt moved back a bit and was too eager to keep himself deep long enough. He quickly picked up the pace, his breath uneven, wincing when the sweat from his forehead fall right into the cut on his brow. The salty drops mingled with fresh blood and dropped on your cheek and nose, leaving pink dots there. Feeling around, you caught the sleeve of Colt's t-shirt and gently wiped his face, keeping it for a moment on his injury. 

He leaned into your touch, guiding your legs to hug his hips, pushing your chests together. 

With hands thread through your hair, he kissed you, his moves becoming sloppy and irregular. 

“I'm close baby, are you close?” he huffed into your mouth at one breath between kisses. 

You nodded and then slightly shook your head. You were balancing on the edge for some time now, you just needed something little bit extra. 

“Okay… Okay,” he mumbled and reached with his hand between you. His thumb found your clit right away, the arousal you felt making it impossible to miss. 

You literally shook when he swiped the pad on your nub and before you knew, your pussy clenched his cock, driving it deeper, almost locking it inside. 

Your eyes shot to his swollen brow and you felt almost embarrassed for how this look made you cum immediately. 

Colt, feeling you contracting around him, your mouth letting a string of cut off moans, grunted into your neck, biting it, chasing his own bliss that made you full of his seed in seconds. He rode the high, pushing himself on his locked arms, looking into your eyes. 

He didn't even have to tell you The Big Word. You saw it in his gaze. And you hoped he saw it too in yours. 

With Colt's long puff and sudden cold embracing your sweat covered body, the sudden realization of everything that happened dawned on you. 

“Oh God… Baby, I'm sorry,” you sat quickly, squirming at the cum flowing out of you and strain on your hips. You kneeled next to your man who now tried to catch his breath, wincing at the throbbing pain he suddenly became aware of. 

“What are you sorry for?” he sighed and looked a bit dazed at you fussing around, your hands gently cupping his face. 

“T-this and… you know…” your thumb reached but omitted the swollen part of his face. 

“Your blood kink kicking in?” he chuckled and winced again. 

Your eyes shot wide and you slapped his arm. 

“I don't have a blood kink!”

You left him, rushing to the bathroom for a first aid kit and fresh water in a bowl. 

When you got back to him, Colt managed to just tucked himself back in boxers, the whole day of shooting, the bar fight and your last quite intense session finally crushing down on him. He just hardly registered your gentle hands washing his face, cleaning his wound and putting some steri-strips on the cut to close it. With his injury secured you put his shirt on and helped him untangle from his jeans caught at his ankles and almost dragged him to bed. 

---------------------------------------------------------

“How are you feeling, baby?” you took the glass from him after he swallowed some painkillers and let him pull you to lay on top of his body. He hummed and held you close. 

“Dazed and amazed. You have a nice punch there, Rocky,” you felt him kiss the top of your head and wanting it or not, you let the weariness and lingering alcohol take over you, sleep suddenly heavy on your body. 

Before blacking out, you only mumbled, more to yourself than Colt, “I don't have a blood kink.”

[god-complex-12]

Anomia

— Paring; Sgt. John “Soap” MacTavish x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III

Anomia: (n.) the inability to recall the names of people or things.

Quote; “John MacTavish.”

Description; When someone is gone for so long, you can only remember so much. Disclaimer; SPOILERS TO THE NEW COD:MW3!! Angst, grief, major character death, sad, established relationship, forgetfulness, loneliness.

Word Count: 0.7k

Masterlist

A/N: No, I haven’t watched anything on the lore part of Modern Warfare III, however I have had plenty of spoilers and I’ve seen the specific cutscene of both Soap and Graves (was it Graves?) and TF141 being all sad and pouty.

It’s been months. Months and yet still grief resonates in Y/N. It feels like just yesterday he was embracing such the warm presence of his now dead lover. Y/N can’t sleep. His tired, exhausted demeanor was evident to everyone, but no one dared to ask what was wrong. They too grieved, but not as hard as Y/N did.

Everything feels so dull. So dull and cold. Y/N lies wide awake in his once shared bed. He doesn’t dare lay on John’s side. Even when gone, Y/N couldn’t bring himself to mess with John’s things. The bed felt so much bigger. He never notices when John was deployed, but the sudden immortality of it left Y/N no choice but to realize it.

Y/N doesn’t talk about John and no one asked about him. Y/N finds himself forgetting how to say the man’s name, or maybe it’s just because the name has become so foreign to him. He’s forgotten the sound of John’s voice, desperately searching his camera roll for any recording to remind him. He’s forgotten what it felt like to hold him.

Y/N hates he can’t remember now, but it’s become so hard. The only thing he can’t seem to shake is when he found out.

Y/N stares at the ceiling. His hand wrapped around the metal slabs with numbers in the name “John MacTavish” indented onto it. He plays with the dog tags, looking at them, his thumb running over his boyfriend's name. He doesn’t cry. Not this time at least.

Y/N holds the tag up, so the moonlight from the curtain makes the words more visible. He ignores the rest, his focus just on that name. The room was dead silent except for the sound of a dog breathing.

“John MacTavish.” He whispered. Y/N’s nose scrunched up, cringing. It doesn’t sound right anymore.

Y/N kissed it. He then rolls over and puts the dog tags back in the nightstand drawer. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. This catched the dog’s attention. Y/N stands up and puts his shoes on. He clicks his tongue at Angel. “Come on, girl. Get up.”

She happily gets up, excited for a new adventure as she follows Y/N downstairs. Y/N grabs a jacket, quickly putting it on. He puts Angel’s harness and leash on, grabs his wallet, and out he goes.

Y/N has completely convinced himself he’s just getting fresh air. Getting fresh air and buying flowers at a gas station with a light up sign that says “OPEN 24/7”. Getting fresh air and walking a mile away from home. Getting fresh air and standing in front of a rock with that same damn name.

Y/N’s shaky hands lace the flowers in front of the grave. He knows John’s not really buried there, but he can pretend. He sat down on the damp grass, Angel using this as a chance to try and lick his face to which Y/N quickly pushed her away.

He stared at the name. He nudged Angel and gestured to the gravestone as if she could understand. “Say hi to him. I bet he misses you so much.” He then chuckled. “Probably mad you have to sleep on the floor now. He’s not around to convince me to let you in the bed anymore.” He teased.

Y/N ruffled the dog’s fur. He then kissed Angel’s head. “I bet you miss him too, huh? Upset you have to live with me instead of him?” He asked. “Well, I miss him too, girl.”

[shalotttower]

Sweetcheeks

Title: Sweetcheeks

Fandom: Black Christmas (1974)

Summary: You've been getting these odd calls for several months now.

Word count: 2000+

Characters: Billy Lenz x Reader (female)

Notes: Yandere!Billy (I'm not sure if there's a point to specify it, seems like his normal state), stalking, voyeurism, explicit and degrading vocabulary, some regular Billy perversions, NSFW, noncon touching, implied noncon by the end.

You've been getting these calls from a stranger for several months, ever since you moved into the sorority house. When the phone rings, what you might hear is easy to predict: creepy panting accompanied by lewd remarks. There's a breathy, slightly raspy voice on the other end; Hello, sweetcheeks, whatcha got down them pants?

He calls you that, "sweetcheeks". Says your name as if it were the loveliest word ever. "Naughty girl," he croons, "let me lick your hot cunt". Nasty bitch. Angel. He has an extensive collection of nicknames, and keeps expanding it with every passing day. Some of them are quite creative, others made your skin crawl at first, but eventually you got used to his bizarre expressions.

He never gets tired of these calls.

The sorority girls named him the Moaner, because he does it quite a lot - moans. Moans and says obscene things, which make your face flush in a hot wave of pink.

"Did you think of me?" he asks.

Do you ever think of me?

"I could-" he groans those filthy words, and you want to wash your ears with soap, "fuck your brains out. Dirty whore. Your... mmm."

You slam the receiver down. It always happens when least expected. In the middle of a conversation with other girls, during study hours, when you're cooking or getting ready for bed, he calls. There's no pattern, so it's impossible to anticipate; normally you just answer the phone when there's no one else around or let others tell him to fuck off.

Today is almost the same as usual, with the only exception that you don't pick up.

What follows can't be described: the unbearable, insane trilling of the phone ringing without a pause. You don't want to go downstairs, there're finals, tests and assignments weighing heavily on you and no time to indulge the ever-breathing presence behind the line. So you don't. Luckily, a set of ear plugs from the local pharmacy helps a lot.

***

You don't bother answering for the whole week, yet despite your neglect he still calls as if desperate for something you can't place.

***

If only Billy could tell you how sweet you look when getting ready for bed. Through the attic floor cracks he sees every small detail of your routine, the room which is nice and smells of a woman - clean, soft with the hints of perfume, it makes him want to bury his face in your sheets.

If only Billy could tell you how exhilarating everything about you is. From the way you move through the day to the sound of your bare feet padding on the wooden floors in the evening. His favourite part is when you shake off your jeans; it's a clumsy movement which makes your ass wiggle.

Billy has a small box where he stores the pieces of your life. There's a receipt from the bakery, two pencils, a silver chain that broke off from your neck and he grabbed it like a treasure, a lip balm. You are all his, every bit of you in those little things you leave behind, even if you don't know it yet.

He knows so many things by now. What time you usually go to shower (late at night when all other girls are asleep), what you are going to wear in the morning (he saw you ironing a blue fluffy sweater and a checked skirt). He knows what's in each of your drawers, from cosmetics to panties, soft cotton that smells like laundry detergent.

The box is hidden carefully in the dusty corner of the attic. Sometimes he opens it, caressing the items you left so carelessly on the desk or bathroom counter - they burn his fingers.

You have a mole under your left breast, a beauty mark on your inner thigh. He also knows that you haven't been answering his calls for a week.

Engrossed in your books with sticky notes, you don't even pay attention to the ringing when he's trying so hard. Too bad Billy can't read, letters dance before his eyes, mocking him with their squiggly shapes; maybe he'd know what exactly is keeping you so occupied if he could. He heard some girls talking about upcoming finals but didn't understand what that meant.

Billy knows how to handle a girl who doesn't answer the phone, a naughty, mean girl who ignores him and gets under his skin like the itch he can't scratch, irritating, driving him crazy.

Patience is a virtue - that's what they told him in the looney house, but it must've been a lie. Patience won't bring you closer, he thinks, sitting cross-legged on the attic floor with a phone clutched in his palm. Patience won't help him touch you, lick your soft skin and hear you moan for him. In the cramped space smelling of old wood, dust and cobwebs, patience only leads to days crawling by like sluggish worms.

He knows how to handle the girl who doesn't answer his calls, but you do look tired, the shadows under your eyes are too heavy and prominent. Billy watches you rub your temples for the fourth time in an hour, yawning. He's seen this gesture before, saw you massaging the back of your head after reading for too long.

He likes watching you when you think no one's looking, because then you're most honest. Just you.

Maybe Billy will let you rest. Yes, maybe...But his hands itch so much. Itchy-itchy-itchy when he holds the phone. He wants to dial your number again, listen to your breathing and tell you something that will make your voice waver in confusion, just like that time when he asked what sounds you make when touching yourself.

He strokes the cord and imagines when you'll finally start picking up again. You'll say your name and ask, "Who's this?" and Billy will laugh, because you're silly, so silly and should've known it's him all along.

***

When did it begin to snow?

You remember the sun peeking from behind the clouds a few days ago and now there's nothing but whiteness outside. White paths, white street lights and white flakes melting on the glass windows. The kitchen feels quiet today, walls drip with the evening chill which crawls inside your veins; it's a week before Christmas and the radio is playing jolly songs about sleigh bells and presents.

Something's been off lately.

Another pair of your favorite socks is gone; you bought five, but three vanished without a trace. Maybe you lost them, maybe they got mixed up with others' laundry. Yet you distinctly remember washing the two and putting them away in the drawer. Usually you're not that forgetful, but perhaps it's finals stress shows.

You glance at the clock - past six - the sorority house is mostly empty, everyone's either in the library or went home for Christmas. The last few hours passed in decorating the living room area with tinsel and ornaments, you even put a wreath on the door. A festive mood is slowly seeping in, and all that's missing is a tree. You know that one should be in the attic, Allison told you there's a lot of stuff up there. The house is old, and whoever owned it in the past had a lot of things, from clothes and books to trinkets, all stored away in cardboard boxes and plastic containers.

Sturdy and narrow, the attic ladder is hanging down to the hallway, beckoning with its crooked wooden rungs. Allison mentioned some odd noises coming from there sometimes. Probably rodents. "Go take a look, girl," she laughed and made spooky sounds, wiggling her fingers. "But don't tell me if you find something nasty, I don't wanna know about it."

Your eyes wander over the ceiling and stop at a small trapdoor. There are rusty hooks holding it closed, and you wonder if it's safe to go up alone. It's probably dirty, a real mess, but the living room looks empty and unfinished without a Christmas tree.

Just a quick look. As long as there aren't spiders swarming the corners it'll be alright.

Everything's dark up there, nothing moves and the sound of your quiet breath is the only thing breaking the silence. You pull a flashlight out of your pocket. Flick. Nothing. Stacks of boxes crowd the space, pressing together, on the side of a particularly large container is scribbled: BOX 23. You look through the labels - toys, photographs, china, books - dozens and dozens of them, some haven't been opened for years.

Dirty. Stuffy-dusty, Billy's saliva gets sticky, leaving wet stains on his sleeves as he wipes his mouth. He can see you from where he's hiding. It's hard to breathe. Harder when you bend over to open a box with Christmas decorations; you've got nice thighs. Nice legs. It's so good to have you here, sweetcheeks, you won't leave soon, pretty kitty. Dumb bitch. Sweet angel. You really should've stayed downstairs, in the warmth and light of the fireplace, instead of crawling up here into the darkness.

Into him.

You go through the attic space looking for something, and Billy thinks that your soft slippers will be covered in dust after you're done poking around, all filthy, so messy. But it doesn't matter, Billy will clean you up later with his tongue, and you can sit on his blanket while he licks your hot cunt till you scream.

Billy knows exactly what kind of sounds you'll make.

He's heard them countless times already.

A sudden clank makes you jump. Your heart flutters, but there's nothing except for shadows dancing on the walls under the ray of your flashlight. Maybe a rat? Oh, there it is. A green plastic branch of a fake Christmas tree is sticking out from the nearest pile, just what you were looking for. You tug at it, trying to free it from the clutches of old furniture and junk, but the thing is stuck tight.

Billy wants to grab you. Wrap his arms around your waist, press his face to yours and whisper in your ear that you shouldn't worry about the Christmas tree anymore, because now you're going to stay forever and ever with him. He'll let you stroke his cheek and kiss him softly on the lips before carrying you down the ladder to celebrate together. Billy will take care of it, he's always liked Christmas; there was a time when everything was different, a man dressed up as Santa brought gifts, he even remembers what he got - a shiny red truck and a candy cane.

The flashlight slips from your grasp and rolls over the dusty floorboards. You curse, crouch down and reach for it though the hole between the boxes.

The trapdoor shuts close with a loud thud.

Your hand freezes.

There's a breath. Not yours, it tickles your fingertips and the skin of your palm like a feather; it shouldn't be there - you scramble away from the darkness. Or try to. Something warm catches your wrist in a vice grip, pulls and next you're tumbling forward, right through the hole with Christmas ornaments spilling everywhere.

"Nasty piggy," says someone's raspy voice, "why don'tcha pick up my calls anymore?"

In the dim yellow of your flashlight too far out of reach, you can barely see anything, only glimpses of dirty auburn hair, brown eyes and a green stretched jumper.

It's not a rat in the attic, you think. It's not a rat, he smells like a wet dog and has hot lips which press into your throat. His hands shake as they travel up your sides, touch your breasts through the sweater, squeeze, and then he moans.

You've been getting these calls for several months now, from a stranger who pants on the other end of the line and makes obscene remarks. And you know him by voice, the one who likes talking filth and making you blush every damn day.

"Santa brought presents," he whispers in your ear. A hand slides down between your legs and cups your mound through the fabric. "Merry Christmas, sweetcheeks."

[vampirebloodie]

Cat and Dog | Mark Hoffman x Reader

Summary: the sexual tension between you and Hoffman is greater than the hatred you feel for each other

Warning: NSFW Smut 18+, violence, rough sex, degradation kink, puller hair

You were a local police detective and were trying to solve murder cases involving the serial killer Jigsaw. This was the second body you and your team found that week. You felt frustrated because you couldn't solve all the puzzles in that scene and someone was having fun watching you rack your brains.

That someone was Mark Hoffman, your co-worker, or rather, enemy. You hated each other more than anything, it was like a cat and dog in the same room, the two of you in the same room don't last more than five minutes and then you start arguing always, but it never turned into something physical because Hoffman was bigger than you and you were a woman, yes, of course.

The five minutes of peace ended as soon as he entered the room where you were making some notes about the lists that Jigsaw had left at the last crime scene, it was night and everyone had already been released and gone home, except you and him who decided staying up late.

“Having difficulty, Detective Y/N?”

That voice filled the room and you rolled your eyes. Damn, he is so annoying.

“I don't think that interests you, Hoffman. Weren't you in charge of the other case?

You turned around, crossing your arms when you saw the detective with a smile on his lips.

“Actually, the boss put me on both cases in your place, I don’t think you’re doing a good job, Y/N.”

He spoke with fake sadness and you were furious. How did they take you off the case without communicating and put him in your place?

"What? How do they remove me and put you in?"

You got up from your chair and stood in front of him, face to face, confronting him.

“Who knows, if you hadn’t done a good job, I wouldn’t have taken your place, right? ”

“Honestly, you’re an asshole, Hoffman!”

“If I am the asshole, then you’re the dumb bitch.”

The loud noise echoed throughout the room and you felt your hand tingle, your immediate reaction was to slap Hoffman in the face, who was shocked, then his expression became aggressive. Hoffman grabbed your arms and pushed you against the wall, where he had his face almost glued to yours, your arms were held in the air with one hand while the other held your face, squeezing your cheeks tightly and making you look at him.

“Do it again and you’ll be a dead woman!”

He was furious and you were strangely enjoying it. The atmosphere of tension and desire was present every time you spent a long time alone in the same environment. Mark let go of your face and licked his lips, you had really gone crazy, and you only realized it when you joined your lips to his.

You couldn't hide it anymore, you wanted so bad be fucked by him. His strong arms, his angry expression, everything on him makes you feel so attracted. He put his hand on your throat, squeezing it, slightly choking you.

To your surprise, he didn't deny it but continued, his free hand roaming your body while tongues danced. Mark squeezed your thigh tightly, eliciting a moan from you, which made him smile. You squeezed your legs together feeling your arousal appear. You was so excited.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

His husky voice whispered in your ear, making all your hair stand on end, you agreed. Hoffman's hand went to your blouse where he opened it, leaving your bra exposed. Then he went to your skirt, where he lowered it, leaving you in just your underwear. He took off his blazer, throwing it on the floor and took you to the table, where he threw all the papers on the floor and pushed you against the table.

He went to the door and locked it, closing the curtains and soon came back. Hoffman squatted behind you and squeezed your ass, pulling down your panties and spreading your buttocks. Before you could respond, you felt his tongue invade your core, letting out a loud moan. His tongue went over all your parts, smearing them as much as possible. He nibbled and sucked your clit, making your legs tremble, while slaps your butt many times, until get red and painful.

“H-Hoffman, I...”

You couldn't complete it because a scream escaped, you had just cum in Hoffman's mouth, who did the job of cleaning everything with his tongue from top to bottom. He stood up again and pulled your hands away, knotting his tie, tying you up.

"Shut your fucking mouth, cunt."

Oh yes, him being so rude to you was such a turn on. You would like to be insulted more often by him after this. You heard the zipper of his pants unzipping, waiting anxiously. He brushed his member a few times on your pussy before thrusting himself completely inside you, he was bigger than you imagined, before you could get used to it he began to make quick and sudden movements.

It was as if he was taking out all the anger of months in a single fuck, he moved extremely fast, making the sound of your bodies hitting each other and your loud moans mixing in the environment. Hoffman grabbed your hair back and began depositing hickeys on her clean neck.

“I hate you, girl. But you're so hot.”

He spoke with so much anger and you just smiled sarcastically. Suddenly he pulled out of you and pulled your arms, throwing you against the ground and spreading your legs, leaving you completely exposed just to him.

“I hope you have a painkiller in your bag, you’re going to need it.”

He said before thrusting himself fully inside you again. The night would be long.

[redahlia-writes]

only if for a night. | joel miller

Abstract: “It’s midnight,” you whispered, lips tingling with the aftermath of his hungry kisses. He looked down at his wrist, where a watch would be but the skin sat empty, and then turned his head slightly to look at your watch. His mouth was bruised as he licked his lips, a light furrow crossing his brow as if he could not believe the audacity of time to interrupt him. You leaned in - the distance was not really distance, his frame still caging you against the counter - and pressed a quick, almost ridiculously chaste kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Words: 5.7K

Content: f!reader; pre-outbreak + post-outbreak, show timeline but references to the game, a lot of kissing, suggestive language but nothing explicit, mentions of child death, mentions of death in general, reader has a broken leg, guilt, angst, a little bit of hurt/comfort, some fluff, joel gets Clingy

A/N: who’s surprised? not me. the original idea was longer but i ended up trying to compress everything in a single one-shot because i have no chill.

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

September 25, 2003.

Joel’s hand was warm against the small of your back, soothing and electrifying at the same time as he led you from the living room to the kitchen, one last glance over his shoulder in Sarah’s direction.

The girl had fallen asleep on the couch next to him, the movie’s volume getting lower and lower as the night went by, forgotten by all three of you in favor of each other. Sarah kept asking you questions about your job, about your life, poking fun at her father every now and then, and in return he would good-heartedly scold her for being too nosy, tethering the annoying, to which the girl would pout but immediately return her attention to you instead.

You were just glad she’d liked you. Things with Joel hadn’t been going on for long - you’d known about Sarah right away: she was his favorite subject of conversation, his whole face brightening when he mentioned his daughter, and you’d understood it was also his reason for certain boundaries of his - your house, not his; not staying the night; taking things slow.

And then he’d asked you over for dinner, and the girl had told you right away she’d already known of your existence because her father was so gone. Plus Tommy had ratted him out for the one time you’d brought Joel lunch at work - a casual thing, really: he’d mentioned forgetting to pack it for himself during a call and you were gonna pass that way anyways.

“Can’t believe how much that kid manages to humble me,” he muttered, turning his head to look at you. Laughing softly, you drew closer to wrap your arm around his middle, creating a temporary odd tangle of arms before he turned to face you. “You sure you can’t spend the night?” he asked then softly, hands coming up to cradle your face.

Joel’s hands were rough and calloused from his work, but warm and gentle as he touched you. He cupped your jaw, fingers spanning down your neck except for his thumbs, tenderly brushing at your cheeks as you leaned into him. It had been fleeting touches all night, both out of respect and nerves - a quick peck at the door, hands brushing when walking past the other as you got ready for dinner, knees bumping underneath the table, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch as the movie played and Sarah talked.

“Got an early morning,” you shook your head slowly, movements limited by his insistent touches as he leaned closer or pulled you to him. “I need to go to the hospital for a check-up.”

He groaned softly as you wrapped your arms fully around him - there was no space left between the two of you, his shirt wrinkling against your chest and uncovering a sliver of his skin while the buckle of his belt pressed into the lower part of your stomach. You craned your neck a little to kiss the noise away from his lips.

Joel sighed, chasing your mouth with his - he glanced once more towards the living room from above your shoulder before letting his eyes flutter shut. He dropped one hand to your side, thumbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it slightly, enough so he could slide his hand underneath and caress your bare skin.

Melting against him, you felt your lips part at the mere brush of his tongue across them, fingertips tracing mindless patterns against his back from above his shirt as he moved slowly, turning you both around and backing you further into the room, back and back and back until you were pressed against the kitchen counter, leaning slightly backwards under his weight as he crowded you. In the meantime, with the hand still cupping your jaw, he caressed your neck with his small and ring finger, right over your pulse point.

“Joel Miller,” you reprimanded in a breathless whisper after pulling back, his name slightly muffled by his mouth searching yours right away, making you lean back towards the counter, one elbow resting against the marble surface as you looked up. “Are you trying to get in my pants?”

He grinned, the hand underneath your shirt rising a little in a slow caress. “Is it working?” he wondered quietly, dipping his head again for another kiss. You turned your head, his lips landing on your jaw instead as you scoffed.

“Not with your teenage daughter in the other room, it isn’t,” you warned, another groan leaving him in protest as he trailed his lips down, jaw to neck to a small spot behind your ear he’d found one afternoon by mistake that had you close your eyes with a deep inhale, legs threatening to give out underneath you. “I really like her, Joel, and I really, really really want her to like me and this,” you tapped his back, moving up his spine, “is not the way.”

“She does like you,” he hummed, still nuzzling your neck. “She might even like you more than she does me,” you snorted, detangling your arms from him to wrap them around his shoulders, head tilted to the side - you exposed even more skin to him, and he pressed himself closer.

For a moment longer, you just let him have his way with you. It was easy to succumb to the bliss of his touch, of his lips tracing patterns on your skin back up towards your mouth, to linger in his kiss that went on and on and on until you swore your head was spinning and you were fifteen years younger, teenagers stealing kisses when nobody’s watching. And then you stole a glance towards your watch, wrist resting over his shoulder, and Joel exhaled as you broke the kiss again.

“It’s midnight,” you whispered, lips tingling with the aftermath of his hungry kisses. He looked down at his wrist, where a watch would be but the skin sat empty, and then turned his head slightly to look at your watch. His mouth was bruised as he licked his lips, a light furrow crossing his brow as if he could not believe the audacity of time to interrupt him. You leaned in - the distance was not really distance, his frame still caging you against the counter - and pressed a quick, almost ridiculously chaste kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“You kept me up this late on a Thursday night,” he turned to look at you again, both his hands now resting on your sides - one still underneath your shirt that rode up your back, leaving the cold marble to cool your skin down. “Wretched woman,” he accused with mock-sternness, and then looked over his shoulder, arms winding around your middle as he checked that Sarah was still asleep before pulling you up on the counter. “I think I deserve a birthday present for that. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The space was small, leaving you to wrap arms and legs around him as you did your best to not yelp at the sudden shift. Joel grinned, satisfied as you kept him caged between your thighs, his hands slowly trailing down your sides. With his chin tipped up to keep looking at you, in the faint light of the kitchen, you ran your hands gently through his curls, brushing them back from his lovely face.

“How about you let me go home instead,” he began protesting, hands gripping your thighs to pull you to him, as if by getting closer he could melt his very being with yours and keep you there - you shushed him gently, still raking your hands through his hair, down to the nape where the cut was a little ragged. “I’ll call you when I’m done, and we’ll discuss Saturday?”

“Saturday?” he repeated, a small pout crossing his lips. It was difficult to not lean in and kiss it right off of him - it was difficult to focus when he looked at you with those eager, big eyes.

“Yes,” you cupped his jaw, the same way he had with you, small finger curling underneath and scratching lightly at his stubble. “You spend your birthday with your daughter, and then I’m taking you on a date on Saturday. Deal?”

His lips turned in a quick, surprised smile, still looking at you as if the thought of letting go of you was the least appealing thing he could think of at the moment. But his hold on you eased little by little, until his hands were simply resting over your thighs, and when you unhooked your ankles from behind his back he did not protest.

Instead, he leaned in - one last time - and left a lingering kiss to your mouth before pulling back, leaving enough space so you could get off of the counter as he took your hands. A brief brush to your wrist, looking at you with his head slightly tilted before he sighed, almost resigned, and brought your hands to his mouth.

“Deal.”

20 years later, and then some.

There were many things you’d missed from before the outbreak. Traveling. Going out for dinner. Going to the movies. Showers. Baths. Music. The sea.

Painkillers. What you wouldn’t have done for a painkiller as you twisted again on the creaky bed - an actual bed, more than you had had for the past 20 years - attempting to find a position that did not make your leg scream.

The makeshift cast was heavy and uncomfortable, and all you wanted to do was reach inside and scratch until your skin was raw. But each movement sent jolts of pain up your spine, and it was back to missing painkillers.

It was unbearable, making you groan and wish, yet again, for some sleep.

“Hey, Captain Ahab,” a light knock on the door made you screw your eyes shut, head sinking deeper into the pillows. “How are you doin’?” “Screw you, Tommy, I still got both my legs,” albeit one didn’t work.

It had been a surprise, seeing Tommy again after 20 years. You weren’t sure how you’d recognised each other - covered in filth, having seen each other just once before the outbreak - but the name Miller had had every muscle in your body tense as he and Maria brought you within the community and she tended to you. For a week you’d inhabited their house, unable to stand up for longer than ten minutes, the woman forcing you to do so every now and again.

“Is that how you greet an old friend?” he scoffed in mock-offense, then stepped into the room. “I brought you something.”

“Is it Oxycodone? An aspirin? I’ll take anything if -” pulling your head up from the pillows you groaned softly as you spoke, shifting your weight on your elbows to try and sit up - and then froze as you looked towards the doorway. Tommy stood against the wall with a smirk on his face, and on the other side of the door was a girl, looking confused between the two of you and then behind her shoulder.

For the first couple of days, Tommy had kept aside, leaving Maria to help you - it had felt like a reason enough not to ask. Tommy was there in Jackson, and he wasn’t, so of course something had happened, something must have happened, because he wasn’t talking about him, nor had he asked anything, so of course Joel -

Joel.

Twenty years gone by and, grays aside, Joel Miller still looked the same as he stood in the doorway. Almost. Not quite. It was the same face, the same arched nose, the same lips, the same neck and shoulders, if dusted. But his eyes were all wrong - brows knitted, a stern, harsh look, wrinkles at the corners.

And he was staring at her, his lips parted, throat bobbing, hands shaking. Or maybe it was the whole world spinning for you, a distant ringing in your ears and tightening in your chest.

“Joel?” a whisper, incredulous and trembling. Was it the pain? Had it just been a week of hallucinations, and that was it? The final one, the cruel joke of seeing him again, and then it’d be over.

“You -” one word, his voice low and familiar that snuck its way into your chest, wrapping itself around your aching heart. His chin turned towards Tommy, as if he’d intended to look at him, but his eyes stayed on you. “It can’t be.”

Tears and pain blurred your sight as you tumbled out of bed, a protest coming from Tommy as you staggered forward, movements faster than they’d been all week - just a few steps before you felt your injured leg give out, but the ground never came.

A pair of arms wrapped around you to keep you upright, and there was a tightness in Joel’s hold that made you believe you would stop breathing as he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and your ribs were hurting, too, but it did not matter because it was Joel, and you were clinging to him, fingers and hands brushing every part of him that was available to your touch just to make sure he was real.

“Oh my God,” a prayer, a thanking - you weren’t sure. You weren’t sure God was listening anyway, or that he’d care at all, so it didn’t matter as you buried your head into his neck and sobbed, and perhaps you were trembling against him. On the ground by the door was his backpack, the girl still looking between the two of you with her eyebrows slightly arched, mouth sealed shut.

He smelled awful, like sweat and smoke and that pang of blood that had seemed to permeate everything outside Jackson. But underneath there was Joel, the scent of his skin like a punch right to your stomach, achingly familiar and yet so distant in time. When you pushed your fingers against his back, his muscles shifted, real and surreal at the same time.

“It’s you,” you exhaled at last, and felt the ground vanish from under your good leg as he pulled you up just slightly, just enough to not risk you shifting your weight onto the injured leg. “It’s really you, tell me it’s you. You’re real, aren’t you?” his arms were wound tight around you as you pulled your head back to look at him, reaching for his face.

“Real as it gets, darlin’,” he sighed as you brushed his face, eyes fluttering shut for a moment at your fingers running across his cheeks and temples and up through his hair. “How are you here?”

Tommy was the last thing he still had from life before the outbreak - or so he had thought. When his brother had told him there was someone he might want to see, he hadn’t been able to picture this - you, in his arms again, touching his face and awfully real.

“She got jumped by a group of hunters on her way here, actually,” Tommy called, and the temporary bubble of isolation you’d created around yourselves popped, leaving you suddenly exposed. “Which is why she needs to stay in bed. Leg’s broken,” he added as a warning, nodding towards the bed with its pillows lingering on the edge.

“Tommy -” you protested, but Joel was already moving, carrying you back to the bed - you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, of Joel being there, of him holding you, of the way he plopped you down on the mattress and knelt between your legs, the uninjured one bending as if to cage him in. You looked away from his brother and back to Joel, hands coming down to brush at his cheeks over and over again, his beard tickling your palms as some of the filth came away under your insistent touch. “Christ, Joel, you -” you breathed out, the ache in your ribs making it all more real with each inhale, exhale. And then you glanced up all-too-quickly, a gasp trapped in your throat. “Where’s Sarah? Is she here?”

Silence was something you’d gotten used to - it was a necessity in the world you lived in. But after a week in Jackson, waking up with people talking and laughing below your window, and music and movies heard faintly from house to house, the sudden quiet felt unnatural and heavy. Tommy’s face dropped first, and he was quick to turn his gaze away, shuffling on his feet and away from the wall. Next to him, the girl frowned, looked over her shoulder and then back at Joel.

Joel - he had been looking at you all the while, and at the mention of his daughter’s name his gaze had just gone unfocused, the hands resting over your thighs clenching and unclenching as his shoulders shook a little. You felt your hands grow cold against his flushed face, the euphoria of seeing him dropping in your stomach and leaving space to dread, because 20 years could make anyone recognise that look that had taken over his darkened eyes.

“Kid, c’mon,” Tommy’s voice was distant, and at the corner of your vision you saw him moving, reaching to rest his hand on the girl’s shoulder - she flinched out of his touch but stepped back, her eyes still glued to the back of Joel’s head. “Ellie, leave them a moment, alright?”

A broken watch sat on Joel’s wrist, the glass shattered, hour hands frozen in time somewhere above the 3 and he kept fidgeting, his jaw shifting under your touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you whispered, the all too familiar sting of tears at the corner of your eyes making your eyelids drop. Joel grunted, his mouth sealed shut and nostrils flaring as you bowed your head. His fingers dug into your thigh as he pulled away, turning his head as he slipped out of your hands.

“I’m filthy,” he muttered, slowly sitting back on his heels, escaping your hold and touch altogether. When you looked up at him again, he did not look at you. Shifting at the edge of the bed, you reached for him - he was just out of arm reach, making you lean forward and strain your leg. “Stop that, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Then don’t make me chase after ya,” you called back, resting one hand next to you for support while the other fell to the injured leg, his gaze following the movement as he kept his head bowed. “Look at me, Joel.”

He hesitated. Fingers drumming over his thighs as he clenched his jaw again, the shift barely perceptible - how could someone be so familiar yet look like a total stranger all of a sudden? Holding your breath, you waited, and waited, and when he shifted his chin up just barely you tilted your head to meet his gaze.

“Could you get back here, please?” you murmured, tapping your fingers to the mattress at your side. When he didn’t move, you sighed, leaning forward again. “At the very least get off the floor.”

A moment longer, and then he stood, dusting his knees off as he shuffled on his feet, unsure of where to look - at you, your leg, the window behind you. Rocking side by side, he lingered on the spot until, with his head lowered again, he made his way to your side. The bed creaked when he sat down, mattress dipping slightly with his added weight, and silence fell again.

It stretched on, minutes of quiet interrupted only by the distant sounds from outside - when he didn’t protest your hands resting over his, you interlocked your fingers together, pulling it towards your lap, gaze lowered to the broken watch. His knuckles were bruised as you rubbed your thumb across them, and the shadow of dirt lingered around his nails as he squeezed your hand - once, twice, I’m sorry.

He’d never been one to apologize with words, not even before.

“You said you’d be at the hospital,” he murmured after a while, his eyes cast down again. It was odd, seeing the contrast of your almost too-clean hands against his. “That day - you weren’t home, were you?”

“No,” you shook your head, kneading your thumb into the palm of his hand. He sighed, turning his head ever so slightly to focus on the movement. “I was trying to get back home when they closed everything - city was losing it, communications were jammed. Ended up making that road-trip I told you about,” he scoffed, daring a gaze up towards your face.

“California?”

“Too far. Made it to Laredo though, and then my car died - there was a shelter in San Agustin. Held up a few years, but patrols at the border were insane, and the Rio Grande attracted the infected,” you shrugged as Joel slowly turned in your direction. “Then I heard about this place and I thought - why not? Might as well try,” he began returning your touches, thumb tracing the small scars and scabs that had formed across your knuckles, Joel’s hands were rough and calloused, but warm and gentle as he touched you. “Got to Houston, then New Orleans and then up North to here. Almost made it all in one piece,” you tapped your free hand to the cast, groaning softly. “Could’ve been worse.”

“On your own?” at last he looked up fully, and it was difficult to focus on the rest of the conversation when you met his gaze. It was difficult to realize he was no longer your Joel, that as much as the past years had changed you, they’d changed him even more.

Your Joel lingered there, far behind the cloud in his eyes, and the rigidity of his posture - you wondered if his shoulder still bothered him, or if, like many, he’d simply learned to live with the pain and didn’t pay it any mind anymore. He was still so far away.

“Small groups, never more than four, never more than a few months - but we covered each other’s back,” fidgeting, you squeezed his hand. “Last stretch was on my own, hence the leg. I believe I owe Tommy my life.”

“That’s rough - don’t let him hear that,” he attempted a smile, perhaps reassuring, but the corners of his mouth twitched - up and then down, a little frown almost vanishing underneath his beard. “I think I was hoping he would’ve told you already.”

“He didn’t even tell me you were alive. When I saw him here and not you I just assumed -” you hesitated, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth with a shuddering breath. You leaned in slowly, bringing his hand up towards your face, resting your cheek to his knuckles while looking up at him. “I’m so sorry, Joel.”

“She asked about you, that night,” he cleared his throat, carefully swiping his thumb over your cheekbone. “Almost made us drive back to get you,” he lowered his gaze to the bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, turning his hand so that he was cupping your jaw, your own hand falling to his wrist, right underneath the watch. “A soldier shot at us while we were trying to get away.”

“Christ -” “It’s been 20 years, it’s not -”

“Don’t do that,” you squeezed his wrist, cutting him off. “It’s me, sweetheart. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” while he didn’t snap, and his touch was still gentle, Joel’s voice was firmer. Somewhat colder. Lips pressed together, you pulled your head up, breaking the skin-on-skin contact - his fingers curled at the absence, gaze flickering between the empty space and your eyes, shaking his head lightly. “I can’t,” he repeated, a little breathless.

“Joel,” a whisper, pleading. He was so close to you, yet he could still have been miles and cities away - it could’ve still been any day of the past 20 years spent in unawareness.

“Are you both decent?” a call from outside the door, down the corridor, Tommy’s steps louder than they needed to be.

“Joel, please,” you whispered again, clutching his hand as his jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” he called right back, standing from the bed in spite of your hold on him only tightening. “I’ll be right out.”

“Joel,” he broke free from you easily, his palms tingling in his absence.

The last time you’d seen each other, you hadn’t known that could be it. He’d kissed you, smiled at you, walked you to the door and kissed you again, keeping you a little longer from getting into your car. He’d watched you go with a grin on his face and his cheeks flushed.

That bye had not felt final - his later now did, awfully final and definitive, pushing the air from your lungs when he turned his back on you. You’d gotten used to goodbyes, but seeing Joel go was dizzying and painful, and the tears returned unprompted as soon as he was gone.

It was late at night when the floorboards creaked - still used to being on edge at all times, you pulled your head up and reached for the nightstand, reaching for your sheathed knife.

“It’s me, darlin’,” Joel’s voice was a rough whisper, and in the faint moonlight you managed to make out his shape. “Just me.”

You lowered the weapon slowly, the noise seemingly echoing throughout the house before you turned on the light and squinted towards him. He stood in the doorway, hands half-way lifted, washed down and in new clothes that clearly belonged to his brother.

“What are you doing here?” you sat up to face him, weighing on your hands placed behind your back. He shuffled on the spot, lowering his hands and tugging at the sleeves of his shirt.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, first thing in the mornin’,” he murmured, gaze lowered to the knife rather than towards your face. “Gotta take Ellie someplace, but -”

You waited in silence, looking at him look anywhere but in your direction, his lips parting and closing, parting and closing, searching either for air or words, you weren’t sure - but you waited. Joel Miller needed time - the very thing you’d believed was not an option anymore, but that Jackson made seem possible. Though a part of you believed that, for Joel, you’d have waited three more apocalypses and then some.

“I didn't like the idea of leaving the way I was,” he said then - one step forward, lingered.

“Without saying goodbye?” you offered, head tilting slightly to the side. “Without even lookin’ at you.”

Your lips parted for a moment, taken aback - it was a snapshot of the old Joel, the one you used to know, a thread of light in the darkness of the past 20 years. Not smiling, but almost grinning, looking at you the way he used to. For a moment you’d believed nothing in this life could surprise you anymore, and Joel Miller had proven you wrong twice in a day.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he repeated, his voice lower as he took another step forward - his hands twitched at his sides. The watch was still there, still broken. “But I can’t sleep, because you’re right here, and it somehow feels like I’m dreaming.”

“I would’ve preferred if you dreamt about me with both my legs working,” you scoffed, leaning back - a half-sitting, half-lying down position. He chuckled, the sound devoid of proper humor, and reached the side of the bed. “Walk around, Miller. This hurts bad enough without you accidentally bumping into it,” you warned, gesturing towards your leg.

He kicked off his shoes at the foot of the bed as he went around, the last few steps quiet before he sat at your side, bed dipping under his weight. He hesitated a moment longer, watching at the corner of his eye as you settled back down against the pillows and opened your arms - suddenly it was homecoming.

Joel wrapped himself around you, head resting over your shoulder (it would grow numb through the night, but you didn’t mind it that much, or at all). One arm draped across your stomach and the other tucked underneath your back, he tucked you closer and sighed raggedly when you brushed the back of his neck, a soft, gentle caress up to his hair.

“I should’ve come looking for you. Sarah would’ve told me to,” he choked up on her name, squeezing your ribs a little, pressing himself almost harshly against your side. “Had I known you were still out there, then maybe -”

“You didn’t know, Joel,” you brushed your hand through his hair, and his head followed the movement as you looked down towards him. Up close, with the faint light on the nightstand, you could see his eyes - dilated pupils, wrinkles at the corners, dark shadows underneath. “We cannot afford to have regrets in the world we live in. It’s difficult enough to survive already.”

“But you did,” he murmured, shifting a little higher on the bed.

“Yes,” bringing your free hand to his face, you ran the tip of your fingers over his beard, the gentle scratch against your pads a reminder that it was real. He was. “So did you.”

“Not so sure about that,” he muttered, gaze flickering away.

You grabbed his face then, thumb and middle finger pushing into his cheeks to guide his head back until he was looking at you again. He blinked rapidly, slightly taken aback, a sharp exhale flaring his nostrils.

“You’re still alive,” each word was enunciated slowly, soft-voiced. Joel flinched, throat bobbing. “And it sucks that Sarah isn’t. It’s unfair, and stupid, and nothing will ever make the knowledge go away, or make it easier, I know,” he tried to shift back, a slight quiver in his mouth before he pressed his lips in a tight line, your arm around his shoulder keeping him in place. “Wouldn’t she have wanted you to survive, too? To live?”

Of course, the response came immediately to him, but there was a tightness in his throat and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth the last 20 years would catch up on him. So instead he just nodded, slowly, and the hold on his face eased - he buried himself into the crook of your neck, feeling the shift of your ribs as you inhaled slowly and wrapped both arms around him.

“Having survived is not a fault,” the hold on you tightened furthermore at the whisper against the top of his head. “Don’t blame yourself for it, sweetheart.”

The bed shook with his exhale - part sigh, part sob, gripping you so tightly it almost hurt. One of his hands dragged down your side, to where your shirt had crumpled up, and he pressed his fingers directly against your skin - he was still warm as you remembered.

“It shouldn’t surprise me that you managed to keep your humanity after all, should it?” when he spoke, his beard tickled your collarbones, a gentle shudder running down your spine.

You wanted to say that it was not the case, that it was difficult each day, that sometimes you felt more inhuman than the infected probably were, a wretched creature hanging on by a thread - but that would mean admitting how often you’d thought of him, of Sarah, to find your sanity again. How, each city you got to, you hoped to catch a glimpse of them. How you prayed that the Jackson community was real, and that they’d be there.

“I’ve missed you, darlin’,” Joel filled in the silence, his lips brushing your skin almost by accident. “How am I supposed to leave you again?”

You wondered briefly if he’d meant to say that out loud.

“You didn’t leave me, Joel,” running your hand through his hair again, you felt him shift closer, part of him now over you - could you stay like this forever? Could he mold himself around you and never let go of you? “And you’re not leaving me now.”

“I have to go,” he said softly, nosing at your jaw. A small smile crept up across your lips, unwilling and unaware, eyes fluttering shut at his gentle nuzzling. “I can’t leave Ellie now.”

“I know,” you nodded - pieces of information pieced together between Tommy and Maria as they came and went through your room, knowing the man at your side had grown to care for the girl but wouldn’t admit it just yet. “But you’ll come back to me. You do what you gotta do and then you’ll come back to me, Joel Miller - and I’ll be here waiting, because I still owe you a date,” he chuckled, leaving a quick peck to your neck that made you sigh. “Deal?”

Joel lifted his head, planting his elbow between the two of you on the bed for leverage, and looked down at you at last - the light from the nightstand was feeble, casting shadows across your face as he brought his free hand away from your side and up, tip of his fingers tracing a line up your throat and jaw until he was cradling your face. His thumb brushed across the apple of your cheek, tender and slow, while his small and ring finger curled at the side of your neck.

He could feel your pulse jumping underneath his touch, a mute question in his eyes.

A nod was all he needed before he was leaning in, shifting up higher on the bed until the tip of his nose bumped yours - once, twice, your warm breath caressing his mouth as you rested both hands on his shoulders and then up, up the curve of his neck. He closed the gap between your mouths in the next breath, his lips oddly gentle against yours, almost tentative.

One moment, two, and then your bodies recognized the other, and with a sigh Joel was kissing you as if no time had passed, pressing himself against you with need and desperation, and your lips parted for him as you locked him in your embrace where he would spend the night.

One kiss after the other until your lips felt numb and you almost laughed, ignoring the dread creeping up your spine because it was this one night, with no certainty of what came next. It was easy to pretend it’d be forever - to bask in the bliss of his touch, of his lips on yours, on your neck tracing patterns on your skin and back up towards your mouth, to linger in his kiss that went on and on and on until you swore your head was spinning and you were thirty-five years younger, teenagers stealing kisses when nobody’s watching.

When he pulled away, you could’ve sworn outside it sounded like morning, and you held onto him a little tighter, a little longer, drinking in his whispered reply.

“Deal.”

[lowcosmic]

HELLOO CAN I GET PROMPT 10 FROM “ hey — ! people are gonna see that!! ” — “ …that’s the point. ” WITH NAGITOTO 😍😍 I absolutely love him and I don't mind who says what for the prompt dialogue 👍

—— bites like these .

— 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 : a girl from your university has been hitting on nagito recently. you take it upon yourself to stop it. ( ns.fw list prompt 10 )

— 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 : fluff ( with some suggestiveness )

— 𝙘𝙬 : biting , self degrading ( nagito ) , suggestive themes , sexual references

— 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 : ahah so i didn’t know if you wanted smut for this , because the last requester didn’t , so i left it at a cliffhanger. feel free to request for another prompt or a do over of this if you’d like!

↳ she was relentless. so terribly blunt about her feelings towards him. it was sickening. and you were going to do something about it.

→ “ could you follow me , dear? ” you asked , clinging onto his jacket and feeling the material with your fingers. you summoned enough honey in your voice to cover up the bitter taste of that girl in your eyes , making sure that nagito wouldn’t know what you were doing till you both were in a secluded area.

→ he knew how scary you could get when you were jealous. oftentimes , he’d thought about making you like that on purpose — but he figured that someone like him didn’t have the right to wrong someone as heavenly as you. this time around was no exception , and he dropped hints of that by shrugging the persistent girl off and simply spiting her quietly ; not that she ever took the hint.

→ he’d followed you through the door inside the empty classroom , which was currently out of use due to the lack of subjects and teaching facilities to occupy it. you’d heard a rumor that it might be made into a students’ lounge or maybe just an outlet room , but either way , right now it was used as a separate area for you and nagito to “ settle things out. ”

→ nagito started to speak. “ so … why did — ”

→ you cut him off quickly by shoving him against the wall. he shut up immediately , gasping at the rough treatment contrast to your usual , sweet gestures towards him.

→ he winced to himself , rubbing the shoulder you pushed.

→ you left a chaste kiss against his lips before talking. “ sorry. didn’t mean to be that harsh … ” — you pressed yourself onto him — “ … but i thought you liked that? ”

→ his face flushed as memories from his last intimate encounter with you flooded his head. you forced back a grin as you moved your head closer to his ear. “ i’m going to make it clear that you’re mine. got it? ”

→ his head nodded furiously as you dragged your lips over to his , pressing them against each other. you felt his more than slight chapped lips become more soothed as you licked over them. you held his arms tightly against the wall.

→ pressing your tongue against the opening of his mouth , he swiftly granted you access inside. small access , as his mouth didn’t fully open for you. you changed that by raising your knee to softly grind against his crotch. as his breathing hit a high note , you took that opportunity to sink inside.

→ “ mmphh — !! ” nagito groaned against you. he felt as if you were suffocating him slowly to be full of you in his peripherals. he tried not to be weird about it , but you just felt so good against him.

→ you reluctantly retreat from him , moving to his jawline and neck. you move a finger to lower inside his shirt collar , pulling it down as you drag it along the edge.

→ you hear him grunt as you bite down on his neck sharply. “ (s - s/o) — ”

→ “ hm? ” you moved down and identically marked him there.

→ “ hey — ! people are gonna see that !! — ” he grabbed your arm as you were still holding his with the hand that wasn’t playing with his collar.

→ “ … that’s the point. ” you offered back as you lifted off his neck , nagito finding that you’d left three more marks on the same side. you moved to the other part of his neck and added five there.

→ you pulled down his collar to fully expose his collarbone and some parts under to explore as well. “ if you’re not going to do anything to the situation at hand , then i’m going to have to break you to make sure everyone understands. meet me , my room , right after classes. got it? ”

→ he nodded before you pushed for words to confirm. “ … got it. ” his voice came out strained and tired.

please don’t repost , translate , or claim my works as your own.

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 18

(Chapter 17; Chapter 19)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

A Curse

You wake up to the soft crackling of the flames in front of you. Sukuna must’ve lit it back on soon after you fell asleep, because otherwise you probably would have frozen to death. It’s not dark anymore. A grey blue colour and fog looms through the woods. It must be early in the morning. You look to your left, where Sukuna sat last night. He’s not there. You get up and take look around. Locking your eyes with a trail of his footsteps in the snow, your eyes wander along, until you see him. You almost didn’t because he put on the upper part of his white kimono, making him almost vanish between the snow and trees.

Sukuna walks slowly in circles, almost looking thoughtful. A lot has happened yesterday. Both of you went through a ton of emotions. At least, you think he did, too. You watch him for a while. The way he moves through the snow and trees seems so graceful. Your heart drops, as you see him being beautiful like that. He hurt you and many others and yet, you don’t stop to be fascinated by him, heart being engulfed by him. The way he let you embrace him last night, it makes you think, if he ever let others do this before. You didn’t even ask him for permission and he let it happen. Did he feel the same as you in that moment? Was the clench of his jaw not a sign of annoyance but of something you don’t know yet? You can’t help but to think that this moment between the both of you was exceptional. Special.

You don’t try to get your hopes up, because you remember, that the kitchen maid once told you, that girls ran away before. However, she didn’t mention him going after them. And yet, he’s still here with you.

Why?

You sigh, before your tummy rumbles audibly. Hunger spreads in your guts.

Remembering the mochi that you put in your cleavage, you pull the fabric back, to see if they’re still intact or smashed into into mush.

Mush.

Must’ve happened when he pinned you down, when he caught you.

Asshole.

You sigh a second time, before you sit down in front of the fire. Gently you start to scratch the remains of the mochi from your skin and nibble the bits and pieces off your finger. While you’re busy with your breakfast, you hear Sukuna’s footsteps approaching.

Stopping right next to you, you try your best to ignore him. Despite your hopeful thoughts earlier, you don’t want to give in to him too soon. He does make it easy for you, though. The way his stare bores into you and possibly your cleavage starts to annoy you. As your eyes meet, he musters you, eyes you up and down with a frown on his face.

“What?“ you ask annoyed, chewing a bit of mochi between your teeth.

“Nothing.” he grumbles, turning around to sit back on the log.

You turn back to your fingers. Licking, nibbling and biting the sticky texture off your skin. You still feel his stare.

Nothing, you mimic him mockingly him in your head, while you can’t suppress the mocking in your face. He keeps staring, not saying anything and it starts to piss you off.

“What?” you raise your voice, looking back to him.

“You look like a homeless kitten, gnawing that stuff off your fingers.” he mumbles, his head resting on one of his hands, leaning on his thigh.

That fucking nickname.

“Well, I am homeless.” you roll your eyes at him, suppressing your anger. He chuckles, not answering, as you keep eating.

“You hungry?” you ask him, without looking at him.

“I am.” he responds. You lick your thumb.

“Well, I guess you had your chance last night.” you say arrogantly, being busy with your fingers.

“Oh yeah? What happened?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. You pause. The last piece of mochi goes down your throat. You put your cleavage back into position, pat it smooth and turn to him.

“Nothing.” you say emotionless. He smirks right back at you.

This fucking smirk.

He knows, that he still has a grip on you and it annoys you, making you regret showing him so much affection last night. However, your cramps didn’t come back. Your plan worked. So you convince yourself that you only used him to get you off for this purpose. And you know that’s a lie.

You still feel blood coming out of your cunt, but not as much as before. It’s probably going to stop soon. However, the need for some personal hygiene grows and grows.

You get up and walk past Sukuna, your feet entering the snow. Pulling back your kimono at the slit, you crouch down, taking a handful of fresh snow and rub it between your hands to get your hands somewhat clean of your saliva. Then you take another handful and rub it against your inner thighs. It stings. Melting against the heat of your skin, painting it red, it washes off the blood that’s been sticking there.

“That’s my clever little kitten.” you hear him purring behind your back.

Hearing it almost makes you furious. You know, he wants to provoke you and it works. His arrogant way of calling you that only reminds you of the time he thought he could do anything to anyone. Not caring about anything or anyone. Break your heart and mind, acting however he pleased. It pisses you off. You shoot back up and walk up to him. Leaning into his personal space, you give him your best angry look.

“I’m not your little kitten anymore.” you glare at him. He smirks at your anger.

“I am pleased to hear that you once was.” he coos.

“You’re so full of yourself, that you probably can’t even remember my name, considering how many cunts you had in your chambers.” you spit back. He clenches his jaw while listening to you.

“Most names are not worth remembering.” he squints his eyes at you.

“Asshole!” your insult only makes his smirk grow.

“Asshole?” he raises his eyebrow at you, before he leans in. “Mhhm I remember yours so well. Sucking in my thumbs and cock. So needy. So willing. Like a bitch in heat.” he purrs. The sudden change of topic sends a blush to your face that makes your blood boiling. “Same goes for your lil’ cunt. Didn’t have such a tight, lecherous woman in a long time.”

Woman.

Your breath hitches as you hear him calling you that. His little speech makes you angry and horny and you hate it.

“Remembering holes, not names. Interesting words, fitting the mouth of the most lecherous man I know.” you spit back. He chuckles.

“Oh yeah?” he bites his bottom lip “Yet you were the one begging.” You huff in response, as you watch him muster your face, before you lean to his ear.

“Let me make you mine, you said” you repeat his words in a whisper. “Sounding so needy yourself.”, you coo arrogantly, before leaning back, to glare into his eyes. His lip twitches, a rumble moves through his chest, before he chuckles deeply.

“You should watch that mouth. That’s not how you talk to your King.” he whispers, his eyes fixated to your lips once again.

“You’re not my King.” you whisper back. He pauses, eyes shooting back up to look into yours.

“Let’s fuck.” he breathes.

His responds mutes you, his arrogant boldness makes you wet immediately. Heart is pounding in your chest and cunt, but you can’t let him win.

“So needy.” you breathe back, as you squint your eyes at him. He cocks his eyebrow at you, as you straighten your back, leaning away from him, as a grin spreads on his lips. With an aching cunt, you turn around, leaving him there sitting on the log. The pool of wetness between your folds smears on your inner thighs, as you walk around a bit to calm your nerves. Knowing he can smell you, makes you ask yourself if you really did win, but in a way, you did. Walking next to the footsteps he printed into the snow earlier, you smile to yourself. Thinking how thick and throbbing his balls must be since last night and how you denied him any satisfaction right now, it makes you so proud.

A crack in the woods interrupts your thoughts. You look up. Something moves between the trees. You can’t hear anything except the movements. Seeing only a shadow that’s moving within he fog.

Is it another one of those beasts?

“Silence” he whispers, before you can voice your question. Sukuna appeared right next to you, bowed down to your level, eyes fixated between the trees.

So fast and silent.

You look at him in confusion, notice that he undressed the upper part of his kimono. Sukuna keeps staring between the trees, when suddenly a hand crawls up on the back of your neck, holding you in position. He nudges his chin forward, motioning you to look into the same direction. Your eyes follow his gaze

“Do you see it?” he whispers, while you feel him leaning into you, stopping only an inch apart from your face. You squint your eyes to see better and in the blink of an eye, you see it.

A stag. Moving gracefully between the trees.

“Yes” you breathe. After a moment you turn your head back to Sukuna, only to catch him staring at you. He chuckles at the look on your face, before he straightens his back, turning his gaze to the stag. Angling his upper body into your direction, he lifts his left arm right in front of him, curls his ring and pinkie finger while he stretches out his thumb, index and middle finger, the inside of his hand facing to his left. The hand on your neck retreats and folds itself in front of his shoulder.

You remember.

The light of a flame lights up your face, as a fire arrow appears at his hands. You muster him, standing so tall next to you, his biceps flexing, his chest slowly falling and rising, his abs tensing. A soft breeze flows through his hair, as his gaze grows more concentrated. So intimidating, yet so majestic.

Shoot.

The flames leave Sukunas hands and with a low swish through the air, it pierces right into the neck of the stag with a dull impact. Your breath hitches at the sight.

Dead.

Without a word, Sukuna walks into the direction of the animal. You stay where you are, watching the predator get its prey. Another cold breeze flows through the air, as you watch the muscles on his back move with every step he takes, walking through the snow. Sukuna crouches down to heave the dead body up on his shoulders. So effortlessly. As soon as he turns around, you do as well, slowly walking back to your spot in front of the fire. Sitting down cross legged, you stare into the flames.

With a loud thump Sukuna drops the dead stag against the log. The sound sends a shiver up your spine. It’s not like you don’t eat meat. It’s the way he killed it without hesitation, that stresses you. He said he’s hungry, yet you didn’t expect him killing the first thing that comes into his sight. Especially since all he eats is human flesh. Women. You still thought his next meal might be you.

“Hand me the dagger, kitten.” you hear him say. It sits right beside you, still buried in the dirt. You don’t comply.

Enough.

An annoyed smack of lips reaches your ears, as you hear him stand up.

“Bitch.” he curses under his breath. You didn’t expect that. Hearing him call you that makes you sad. Thinking he doesn’t remember your name makes you sad. This whole banter with him tires you. You’re not a person that seeks conflict, you rather run from it. But he didn’t let you.

A sting reaches your ears as he pulls the dagger out of the dirt.

You feel caged. Caged in the wilderness of this forest.

Seeing him move the dirty blade through the snow, cleaning it up, you remember that you didn’t drink anything since yesterday.

You feel tired. Dehydrated. Hungry.

The hormones of your period surely put the cherry on top.

Sukuna starts to cut through the fur of the animal, cutting, ripping, tearing. The sounds remind you of the ones six years ago. A metallic, tangy smell crawls up your nose.

The day goes on. You keep sitting in front of the fire, listening to Sukuna’s butchering. Sometimes you even doze off and wake up again, only to hear him still being at it. Crows shout and fly through the trees sometimes, making you remember, that in this wilderness, there is still more living, than just you and him. With the only exception, that they are free and you’re not. Soon it grows dark. That’s how December days are. Short and cold.

In the light of the fire, you peek to Sukuna. The slabs of meat he cut off the stag lay in the snow next to the log, the remains almost being only bones now. He cut it so clean, like someone who does it on a daily basis. Sukuna himself is sitting on the fur of the stag, that he placed upon the log, staring into the flames. Slowly he munches on a tiny piece of meat, holding it on his upper left hand. He doesn’t notice your glance. Or ignores it. His bloody hands resting on his thighs, holding his dagger in his bottom left hand, his bottom right hand fiddling with its blade. In his upper right hand, he holds another piece of meat.

You stare at him until he shortly peeks into your direction, too.

“What?” he mumbles, while he continues munching.

“Nothing.” you say in a raspy voice, not having spoken in hours.

A pause.

“I thought you only eat women.” you add.

“This doesn’t taste as good as you.” he mumbles, not moving his gaze from the flames. A soft huff escapes your nose, finding his answer funny and oppressive at the same time. Feeling empty, you turn your gaze back to the flames, too.

“Maybe you should eat me then.” you whisper. The crackle of the fire between the both of you. A few minutes pass. He doesn’t answer and you take it as a “no”. Your heart grows desperate. You can’t run but can’t stay either. It hurts so much.

“I mean it. Why are you still here with me?” your voice so tired.

“I told you.” he grumbles.

“No, you didn’t. You won’t let me run, but don’t take me back to the shrine either. I feel safe with you, but not at all at the same time. I feel like I’m trapped in a void. Is that your idea of reminding me of my place?” your voice calm.

“It’s your punishment for leaving it.” he turns his gaze to you.

“You made me leave.” you look back up to him. “You fuck and eat however and whoever you please, calling yourself King. So why do you care? It’s not like you’re lonely. It’s not like you have a void in your heart to fill. You have everything you want.” your voice resigns.

His jaw clenches at what you say, eyes fleeing from yours and seek the flames in front of him. Sukuna responds with a huff, but remains silent otherwise.

It‘s no use.

A few minutes pass before he throws a piece of meat into your direction. It lands right next to you. It’s no secret that you must be hungry. Starving in fact. However, you won’t accept his offer. Not yet at least. After a while, he stands up, takes the carcass by the horns and drags it into the darkness.

You grab the chance and take the slap of meat into your hands, eat it raw and hastily. No time to cook it in the fire. The bloody taste hits your tongue, as your teeth cut right through the meat. A familiar feeling, after Sukuna made you eat half of that heart. Some energy and self confidence crawls back into your mind, as you notice your mouth and hands being smeared with blood. However, the thirst knocks on your throat. You need water.

Sukuna didn’t come back yet. It’s been a few minutes. You get up and look around if you see him somewhere, but it’s only darkness. Taking a burning piece of wood out of the fireplace, you start to look for his footsteps in the snow. You see the trail the carcass left in it and you slowly follow it, leaving the fireplace behind you. For a few minutes you walk next to the trail, until you suddenly hear a noise to your left. The sound of water flowing.

A stream maybe?

You hesitate, unsure if you should follow the sound. The trail keeps going straight ahead. He’s gonna be pissed, if he knows you wandered off by yourself.

No. I need water.

You take the turn to your left and carefully walk into the direction of the sound. The ground beneath you grows more rocky, you fight hard not to slip. After a while the light of the moon hits your eyes again, the crowns of the trees open up. In the moonlight, you can see a waterfall rushing down a hill. It lands into a hot spring, like in the shrine, just bigger.

It’s such a beautiful sight for you, calms you. Doesn’t remind you that you’re in a dark forest at all.

You step right onto the edge of water, dipping your fingers in. It’s warm. Laying down the burning wood, you turn around to check if you’re still alone. Cold fingers fiddling with the cords and fabric of your kimono, you undress yourself. Suddenly a crack. You stop, trying to calm your breathing, looking around in the darkness.

Nothing.

Already being naked and nowhere to go anyway, you decide to walk into the warm water. It feels so good. Finally being embraced in warmth, you also feel clean again, washing off the blood, saliva and everything else that’s stuck to your skin. Quietly hopping through the water, until you reach the waterfall. Standing right in front of it, you open your mouth. Droplets of water fall into it, them being colder, than the water you’re standing in. It tickles your tongue and lips and you start to giggle, before you scratch your teeth along them to ease the sensation. You raise your folded hands, to catch some water in them. The rushing waterfall is so loud, you can’t hear anything else. You’re just with yourself and right now, it makes you happy. Drinking the water you caught in your hands, you feel so much better. Makes you feel alive again. Taking a step further, you let the waterfall rush down onto your head and shoulders. It feels heavy and you start to feel more relaxed but it starts to grow cold on you. Hopping out of the waterfall area, you dive into the warmth below you.

Your face tingles from the heat that embraces you and soon you dive up again. Combing your fingers through your hair, you ask yourself, if Sukuna already noticed your absence. Your eyes wander to the burning wood you left at the rim of the spring. It still lights up the place where you left it. Nothing is to be seen elsewhere. You breathe deeply, start to relax more. Being submerged up to your chin, you close your eyes even. Leaning back a bit, resting the back of your head into the water, a melody crawls into your mind. You don’t remember the time you heard it, but the melody itself becomes more clear and clear. Feeling as free as ever, you start to quietly hum it. It’s a beautiful melody, makes your heart feel safe and sound. You hum and hum, feeling your vocal cords vibrate, until after a while, you remember.

Sukuna.

Your eyes rip open, as you remember Sukuna humming the exact same melody when you first followed him into the hot springs. Yanking your head back forward again, your breath hitches, as you stare into the eyes of the person your mind can’t forget. He’s here, right in front of your face. His hair wet, as if he just dived back up, being submerged up to his chin as well.

Your eyes widen, as you realise, that you didn’t hear or notice him at all. His eyes look so soft, not angry, a sight you didn’t see on him in a long time. You recognise the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. Seeing them reminds you of how much you missed them, how much you missed them being meant for you. A sight, that turns your heart soft, as it remembers you of better times. When you felt like being truly his. You stare back into his eyes, the water below your nose gently rippling from your breath hitting its surface. He looks so pretty in the moonlight, his red orbs softly glowing at yours. Small pearls of water dripping off strands of his hair.

“You’re the first one who remembers it correctly.” he whispers.

“It’s beautiful.” you breathe back.

“Beautiful…” he repeats quietly, as if it’s a long forgotten word for him. “Yes.” he concludes, mustering your face. His stare makes you nervous, making your eyes flee from his.

“How long have you known it?” you say as you watch the moonlights reflection in the water.

“A lifetime.” his voice as smooth as silk.

You frown, confused eyes find their way back into his.

“You don’t look like a grandpa to me.” you say as innocent as a child. Sukuna frowns at your answer, before his lips start to curl and a laughter bursts out of his lungs. His loud voice even overpowers the waterfall and you’re startled, crawling closer to him, shushing his lips with your fingers.

“Shhhh” you say panicked, looking around making sure no beasts are coming near you. He chuckles once again, still not over the grandpa thing. After a minute, he calms down.

“Those beasts will come for us.” you whisper.

“Those curses won’t come for us.” he mouths against your fingers. Your breath hitches as you feel his lips move against the sensitive skin. Something clicks in you.

King of Curses.

You remember hearing this title the first time you heard his name. It all makes sense now.

“A curse…” you repeat quietly, as if it’s a long forgotton word for you. “Yes.” you muster his face, as you finally realise that he is one of them. A curse on the outside and inside, a curse in his actions and his mind.

And a curse that took your heart.

King of Curses. The most powerful one.

“You cursed me.” you add quietly. His lips gently push against your fingers, before they grow into a smirk. “That’s why you can’t let me go.” you whisper.

[trashmouth-richie]

Can i request king steve having his eyes set on queen of the damned and eddie feels a lil insecure and jealous because of course a queen would want a king. So reader reminds him shes all his with racy pictures and a bj where she swallows and sucks his balls. And hes just left on cloud 9 lol. 🫣🫣

@sidthedollface2 , this is for you 💋 special thanks to @munson-blurbs @hxllfired @corroded-hellfire @eddiemunsonsmum @jadequeen88 for reading through this + whoever else I suckered into doing that 😵‍💫🖤

part ii for QUEEN OF THE DAMNED

eddie x female! reader

W.C: 2.8k

TW: NO MINORS, blow job, mentions of sex, etc. possessive!eddie, jealous!eddie etc etc etc

Since prom when you had gone public with Eddie, you were inseparable. Word spread like wildfire of your infidelity, and poor Ethan was left confused, in more ways than one. Honestly embarrassed that he didn’t notice that you were cheating on him. The locker room hazing was no laughing matter. Every swinging dick around joked about Ethan and his whore of an ex girlfriend. “She good in bed? Oh yeah guess you wouldn’t know.” “Munson possessed your chick and you had no idea?” Laughter erupts from the locker room as Ethan makes his way to the showers, crying softly.

The person most responsible for teasing Ethan for his misfortunes? Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High. He was a player, easily the most sought after guy to roam the halls. Girls fell at their feet for him, begged to be his flavor for the night. Between him and Billy Hargrove they were swimming in pussy. Everyone’s except yours. But Steve was determined, and Billy’s bet made his determination grow even stronger, almost carnal.

“Hey there gorgeous,” Steve swoons, laying it on thick, sliding next to your open locker, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. He had never spoken to you in his life, why was he starting now?

“Uh, hi?” Glaring, shut your locker, holding your books close to your chest.

Steve looks you up and down like his next meal, licking the fat muscle of his tongue along his top lip, eyes lazily drinking you in, the honey flecks dancing along your curves. “Just wondering if my favorite Queen wants to sit with me at lu— “

Leather arms wrap around your middle the same time a pair of soft lips caress your neck, biting softly and sucking the beginning of a bruise as Steve’s eyes stare annoyingly into your face. Tongue pressed into his cheek as he throws his hands onto his hips, accentuating the bulge in his pants as he cocks a hip out.

Eddie spins you around into him, your back to Steve. He kisses your lips, his thick hands are wrapped tight along your waist, traveling down to cup your ass, squeezing the denim of your jeans. Making eye contact with Steve the entire time, a silent awareness of possession between them, Eddie’s eyes pitch to black, drilling holes into Steve’s. “Something I can help you with Harrington?” Eddie asks him, holding you tight to him so that your focus is solely on him, “or do you normally hit on other guy’s girlfriends?” He stands to his full height, broad shoulders and chest puffed out, head cocked high and to the side as his lower jaw practically comes unhinged from itself. An animalistic stance of dominance invades the air, thicker than mud, hung dense like fog between the lockers.

Steve also stands to his tallest, brushing the back of his neck and leaning in. “We were just talking,” he says, adding, “and last I checked— you were into fucking other guy’s girlfriends— which is exactly why I’m here.”

You wince, it was bad enough that your parents were disowning you for choosing to be with Eddie, kicking you out and cutting you off, the last thing you needed was to hear it from the asshats at school. Especially Steve Harrington. The whole town had branded you an outcast, you could practically feel the crimson ‘A’ stitched into your clothing, burning into your heart. A name you would wear proudly for him. He was good to you, devilishly handsome and all yours. His queen. He’d do anything to protect his queen, a trait Ethan fell short on, not that he wasn’t doting he was just careless, letting a fox into the hen house, an evil wolf amongst his little lamb. And by far, too stupid to realize you had been fucking around on him. But Eddie was much more careful with you, protective and possessive.

Eddie holds you tighter, pushing you into his side and wrapping his large hands around you.

The flick of Eddie’s knife rings in your ears as he twirls it around his fingers, his eyes twitch as his tongue dances around his mouth like a sick eel slithering for purchase. “Choose your next words carefully, Harrington, would hate to cut a few of those Farrah Fawcet locks from your head.” Black orbs making the night sky jealous fill his eyes, poisoned with carnal, chilling drops of insanity.

“Yeah ya see,” Steve says, playing Eddie’s mind games, edging towards masculinity and stupidity, taking a step forward slightly, whispering low for only Eddie and yourself to hear, “I’m the King of this high school, and you?” He sucks through his teeth, wincing, “well you’re not even comparable to the gum on my shoe, so why don’t you do your girl a favor, and let her go, let her have a chance at taking that Queen status to the very top, instead of the depths of despair that you inhabit.”

The blade is cold against Steve’s neck, scraping the hairs along his Adam's apple, closer than any barber could get in Hawkins. “Whoa, easy there,” Steve says, swallowing thickly as Eddie’s breath falls against his cheek. “The mayor is my godfather and the police, they’re on my dad’s payroll. So go ahead, do it. You pull a knife on me and you better deliver, pussy. You’ll be in jail so fast your head will spin, and your girl, aww, she’ll be with me, pretty little feet up resting on my shoulders.”

The anger clouding Eddie’s eyes is demonic in every way, he wants to succumb. Wants to give into the darkness flooding his mind. Do it. Do it. A voice stops him. The angel on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality—you.

“Come on, Eddie, let’s go.” You beg, trying to pull him away. Your eyes wet with tears from Steve’s harsh words and Eddie’s temper.

How easy it would be to give in. Watch the blood trickle down Steve’s neck and paint his perfectly pastel colored polo crimson. But he doesn’t, the veil of hell falling from his eyes, his aura, his mind. Eddie listens to you, backs the knife away from Steve’s neck and folds it back into his pocket. Taking long pulls of humid air through his nose, grounding himself. Rolling his shoulders backwards, cracking the bones of his neck in a twist, “For the record,” Eddie taunts, whispering into Steve’s ear, his musky cologne wafting into Steve’s nose, “I’ve spent nights in jail for far less than this, see you around.”

With that he retracts from him and smirks, a small chuckle reverberating from his lips. Arm wrapped around your shoulder he leads you towards the front doors leaving Hawkins High.

Eddie is quick in his movements, rushing you out to his van. “Eddie?” you ask as he throws open the passenger door and picks you up, setting you down into the seat and shutting the door.

He slides into the driver’s seat and roars the van to life, the knuckles around the steering wheel were white, clenching for dear life as his movements are anything but calm. “I swear to you, I will end that fuckers privileged white picket fence life if he ever tries to touch you.” He’s pissed, angry but also hurt. Jealous, and possessive. “He thinks he can have whatever he wants because of his name in this town, like you should be so lucky to have him? oh no baby— you’re mine.” He’s speeding through town, forgoing stopping at any of the stop signs, dodging around cars as he drives like a bat flying from hell.

Showing him that he’s right instead of telling him, you swivel in your seat, the crunch of the leather groaning against your body shifting. Looking into his eyes you can see that they have softened, the brown pumping back in the more deep breathing he does, you unbuckle yourself, leaning forward to lick a stripe from the collar of his shirt up to his ear. He hisses at your touch, moving his arm to the back of your seat, letting you in. Blowing your hot breath along his spit covered neck, his moans fill the van, the grip on the steering wheel subsides as his hand travels down your back, lingering, burning, clawing at your skin. He hikes you into his lap— eyes steady on the road as he adjusts you where he needs you, the heat of your core pressing into him. You’re straddling his narrow waist, your mouth sucking bruising kisses into his neck. The dangling “e” on your necklace tickling his chest as your panties fill with arousal.

“I’m yours,” you murmur into his neck, “always.” The sway and bumps of the van alert you that you’ve turned into the Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie silently thanking a higher power as his growing erection is ready to bust at the seams. Biting gently into your shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are barely on the road, a few more seconds and his attention will only be yours. Wayne’s truck is in the driveway as Eddie shifts the lever harshly into park, your bodies colliding and grinding together as the van abruptly comes to a halt. Your hands are twisted in the confinements of his tangled curls, pulling to expose the slope of his neck, sucking and licking, painting his neck with your marks, showing him how possessive you could be. How he was yours and you were his, no one else belonged in that equation. The only math Eddie would completely understand.

You grind your hips down into him, your pussy slotting around the outline of his cock, as he kneads your tits. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans into your neck, nipping at your ear as his hands rake your body, burning with want. You climb off of him, moving this sinful act to the back of the van, sparing Wayne’s ears. Hands clenched around his leather lapels pulling him upwards and back with you, legs tangled around the steering column, tripping over cords, cassette towers teetering around your clumsy bodies.

“Let me show you,” you breath, lip locked and breathing heavily against Eddie’s mouth, panting into his neck as you shove him down onto a spare amp. Feverishly undoing his belt, sloppily kissing him, tongues painting each other's mouths. “Show you how much you mean to me.” Eddie’s a mumbling mess as you pull his dick out from the confines of his boxers. Hissing as you pump him achingly slow. Taking your time with the act. Eyes dripping with innocence as you look at him through your eyelashes. Your tongue kitten licks around his ruddy head, tasting the precum that’s beaded.

“Christ, baby,” he seethes, whimpering under your gaze, cock throbbing around your lips. Teasing him as you ghost your mouth around him. His teeth biting into his own lip waiting for you to close your mouth around his length. Another pass of your tongue has him shaking. He moans above you, tucking your hair behind your ear as to get a better look at you. You slap his cock against your tongue, pooling spit around it as it splashed around like rain boots in a puddle. His head is thrown back in anticipation, brown curls cascading down his leather jacket as you finally take him into your mouth, swelling your lips down his shaft until he’s snug in your throat, a saliva slide of glory. Your name rumbles off his dry tongue.

“D’you like that big boy?” You muse, when you pop him out of your mouth and graze your hand into a fist to rub down his shaft. “…my pretty lips around you… making you feel good?”

“Fuck…yes,” he moans, eyeing you again as you swallow him, gagging slightly but loving the sensation. You could suck him off for hours, the feeling of having someone you love whimper and beg you for release stirs your insides with pleasure. “So fucking good… mmm…. Fuck.” His hips lift from the amp as he thrusts into your throat. The lewd noises fill the proximity of the van, as you breathe through your nose and relax the muscles of your throat. His pace quickens. Your hands sit and claw at his thighs. Your pull back to catch your breath— spit dribbling from your mouth onto chest as Eddie kisses you harshly, singing your praises.

The slow roll of your tongue against him makes him weak in the knees. Your lips wrap tightly around him, spitting and drooling, “want me to come baby, fill that throat up with my come?” He whines. So close to coming but want to feel your throat go raw from him fucking into it, burying himself into your mouth, nothing besides your pussy feels better to him. You moan around him, vibrating your throat against his cock, he comes undone, coating your mouth, you’re milking him for all he’s worth to the very last drop, pumping and gently moving your tongue around him, as you swallow his release. He groans your name, thick hands holding your head in place as he quivers beneath you.

Licking your lips Eddie brings you into an embrace, he’s sweaty, bangs stuck to his head, as he tucks you into his chest, nose pressed against your neck. “You’re too good for me,” he mumbles, holding you tight, “didn’t think ‘the talking wig’ would ever get to me, I can usually just brush that shit off, but not when it comes to you.”

He pulls you away from him and rests his forehead on yours, the muddy brows of his eyes swell as he stares into your soul, coaxing a smile from you, “you’re the most important part of me,” he quipped, rubbing his fingers down and back the length of your back moving around your shoulder to hold your neck softly, admiring the necklace he gave you all those months ago. “I wasn’t joking when I said I would kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.” He kisses your neck, marking you as his, branding you forever with his lips. “I love you baby.”

“I love you too,” you whisper as he removes your sweater and lays you down in the back of the van, blessing the neighbors as you yell out God’s name, but you’re definitely not in church.

The idea popped into your head while you showered while Eddie was at band practice with the boys. It was perfect, he would go nuts over it. You raid the dresser for what you were looking for…

The next day at school you tell Eddie you have to meet Mrs. Click to turn in your history paper, he tugs you back to him and kisses you slowly, letting his fingers dig at your chin as he prompts your face up to him. You skip inside, the prized possession hidden in your backpack. You knew Eddie’s locker combination, and fetched the tape out of your bag along with the Polaroids. The black lacy set he had bought you the weekend you dumped Ethan was his personal favorite. The positions you were in suggested only unholy thoughts. The expanse of your neck showing off your hickies and the ‘E’ necklace that never came off with your tits pushed up in one shot, your kiss swollen pussy with your panties shoved to the side in another, and finally your mouth wide open and tongue out, the prom tiara balancing crudely stop your head. If this didn’t solidify that you were his you weren’t sure what would. You find him outside, finishing the last of his cigarette and laughing with Gareth and Jeff. He walks alongside you, holding your waist and inching towards the curve of your boobs as he does, eyes scanning widely for that piece of shit Steve. A lipstick kiss pressed into the metal of his locker made him chuckle as he looked down at you, your own personal brand.

His cheeks go pink and his dick twitches in his black jeans when his eyes land on the pictures. “B-babe, is this? When did y-? Oh fuck.” He thumbs through them quickly and hurriedly shuts his locker, hauling you over his shoulder and running down the halls and out to his van. Your giggles echoing off the brick walls. “Gotta get you home right now, take care of my naughty girl.” Eddie laughs, “damn, and I thought watching Harrington come into school with black eyes and a half shaved head was going to be the highlight of my day.”

[sosa2imagines]

I know where I belong. Part 5

----------------------------------------------------- Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 ----------------------------------------------------- Warnings- Fluff for everyone, tiny mention of Steve -----------------------------------------------------

You had gotten over the pain, Steve had caused you. Talking about Steve, ever since he came back to the tower, he had been sent to back to back missions, and miss Sharon was busy to rise up in her career. Good for you though, you didn't have to see them much or hear their stupid moans.

Now it had became a daily basis thing, for you and Bucky to spend the nights together. You mostly spent time with Bucky, Nat, Wanda, Sam and Tony. You guys had become a happy little family.

Bucky made sure you are in good health, mentally and physically. You went for runs together, meditated together, practice your skills together. But little did you both know, that both of you were finding it difficult to control yourself, around each other. Bucky was still stuck on the idea of going to Wakanda, meanwhile you kept every trainee, any girl except for Nat and Wanda as far as possible away from Bucky.

Now spending time with Bucky felt different. Staring at Bucky would make you feel heat in your body, your stomach did do summersaults whenever you got slight touches by him. Bucky would often tease you about your blushing, and you would awkwardly laugh, and he found that cute too. And good lord have mercy on shirtless days, you blamed anything possible, but nothing made sense.

So on a very boring night, when you both were sleepless and had nothing to do, you teased Bucky to sing, and he did, by playing Bruno Mars. "Can I have this dance with you mam?" he bow down offering you his hand, you laughed at his antics, clearing your throat "Well yes kind sir" you took his hand and he began to swing you both, humming to the lyrics "I ain't playing no games Every word that I say is coming straight from the heart So if you tryna lay in these arms I'ma leave the door open" and with one last swing you crashed into his chest. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you closer to him until the two of you are pressed tightly against each other "Bucky" you whisper, your breath fanning out across his face. He licks his lips "Y/n" his breath hits your lips and you whimper softly. Just as he leans down, someone clears their throat.

It was Steve giving you both a hard glare. Bucky ignored him and took your hand and went out of the room, without giving Steve a chance to say anything. But that didn't stop you from thinking about the attempt of kiss, what would have happen if you both had kissed? Will it change your friendship? Would you be more than friends? Stupid Steve! ruin the moment. Little did you know, Bucky was thinking the exact same thing. Stupid Steve!

Both of you were red, from the earlier situation, and the fact that you are still holding hands. On the way to your unknown destination, you heard noises coming from the lab. It was Tony, on rare nights he would crash in the tower. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen. Bucky tells you, you nod and go to meet Tony.

"Hey Tons" you whisper and Tony yelps in shock, "Jesus have mercy on me!" putting a hand over his heart. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you home?" Tony tried to scoff, but when he saw your death glare, he gulped "Pepper and I had a fight" he said it casually as if telling you the local news. "What? why? what did you do?" you ask him. "Why do people assume it's me whenever something happens?" "I don't know maybe because you are Tony Stark?" "Damn right, anyway we were supposed to go out tomorrow, and I forgot, I tried to fix it but the babysitter is not free tomorrow" he quickly tells you, seeing you were about to open your mouth. "I will look after her" you offer. "You will?" he asks with hope in his voice. "Yeah me and Bucky can babysit, we don't have any missions or paper work." you tell him. "Tin man will be okay looking after Morgan too?" Tony smirks "Apart from you?" "Tony!" you warn him and he rolls his eyes playfully. "But really you both can babysit her?" "Of course, I miss my goddaughter" Tony gives you a big brotherly hug "You are a life savior!" "Anything for family" you smiled at him.

"So what are you doing all alone, terminator is sleeping?" You glare at him, and Tony mock surrenders "Fine Barnes" "He's in the kitchen" you blush thinking about Bucky which is not unnoticed by Tony. "Late night dinner date?" " About that, I need your advice" "I'm all ears, tell me" he wiggles his brows looking at you curiously. You tell him every single thing from, when you started to feel jealous, to not feeling anything for Steve, all the way to tonight, you guys dancing and almost about to kiss. "Stupid Steve" Tony scowls. "That's what I said" you both high fived each other.

"But don't you think I'm falling for Bucky too soon?" "Y/N it's ok not to feel anything for Steve it does not mean you didn't love him, it only means you have moved on, you had pain, but now it's time to gain, it's ok if you are falling for Bucky, and you are blushing hearing his name", yes you were blushing, every single time when Bucky crossed your mind you did blushed a lot. "Plus no offence if the idiot golden boy can cheat, you can definitely move on, take your time Y/n feel this new beginning, now go to your man" Tony advices you.

"Marriage and parenthood has made you smart, I love you Tony" before Tony can say anything you gave him a quick hug "Bring Morgan tomorrow and go to sleep" with that you left to go find Bucky leaving a speechless and smiling Tony behind.

When you enter the kitchen you saw Bucky sitting at the dinning table with his head down. You sat across him and grabbed his hand.

He looked at you with a sad smile. You gave his palm a light squeeze "Y/n I didn't meant to make you feel awkward.." "You didn't make me feel awkward Buck, we have been dancing around our feelings far too long now. We need to talk" Bucky nodded, you both just sat across each other, holding hands and staring at each other, before opening your mouths in unison. "I think I'm falling in love with you" "I think I'm falling in love with you"

You both looks at each other wide eyes, and Bucky spoke first "Y/n I don't know when I started to fall for you but..." he was nervous to speak and he started to fiddle with the fabric of his sleeve, you hold his hand making him look at you "Bucky even I don't know, how or when I started to fall in love with you." by this time you both had tears in your eyes. "Y/n you are trying to move on and I have no doubts about you, but I don't want to take advantage of the situation" "Bucky I don't even know when I stopped thinking about Steve. He no longer lives in my heart or mind Buck, you do!" Bucky's head snap towards yours, hearing your confession, a tear roll down his cheek, while you tried to blink the tears away, but failed miserably.

"Doll I don't think I have a heart, all I know is pain" "Bucky do you know why you feel pain?", Bucky shook his head no to your question, making you chuckle a bit even though your tears were flowing down. "It is because when you have a heart then there will be pain, and when there is pain then there will be heart too, and with that you will feel other emotions too, but most importantly you'll feel love." "It's a sweet difficulty isn't it doll?" "Yes it is, but we can over come together" "Doll I'm scared, I don't want to lose you and our friendship" "Bucky, even I'm scared, I don't want to lose you and our friendship, but looks like I'm in love with my best friend" you cried and Bucky jumped from the table coming to your side, he crouched down and took your face in his hands "I love you Y/n" and with the confession, Bucky kissed you, softly but passionately. Then he rested his forehead on yours, "I love you too Buck", you both chuckled, tears turning to sniffs.

"Doll go on a date with me tomorrow" "I would love to but not tomorrow" "Why?" he pouts, you kissed his pout making him blush "Tomorrow we are babysitting Morgan" he looked at you to elaborate more, you shook your head "It's a long story Buck" "I'm not sleepy" "Then I'll tell you"

----------------------------------------------------- Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 ----------------------------------------------------- (Part 5 is here lovely people, I hope you all enjoy. Please as always comments and feedbacks are appreciated. If you have any requests let me know. Pretty soon we will get rid of Sharon, just hang in there. 😅❤️) -----------------------------------------------------

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Mechanic chapter 12

Note: direct follow up to chapter 11.

Warnings: stockholm syndrom.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f) x modern!Masema

summary: Masema wanted to see you again.

wordcount: 2,3k

Masterlist

You felt his big hands all over your body, his touch was warm; a pleasant contrast to the cool night air and his kiss was hot.

He licked inside your mouth with each parting of your lips, and his way of kissing was new to you. He kissed nothing like Sihtric. No, Masema kissed you hard and deep, not tender like Sihtric always did. Masema was confident and driven by lust and desire and obsession, and you could clearly taste the madness but you ignored it. When Sihtric kissed you it always felt safe. And you had liked things safe with Sihtric. But not anymore. You didn't like things to be safe anymore now that you kissed Masema and felt the adrenaline rush through your body, just outside your house after going for a bike ride with him. Everything felt dangerous and it made your heart race. It made you feel alive and that was all you wanted. Masema made you feel alive, and he knew it.

You began to kiss him more desperately and slowly pulled him with you to your front door. You searched for your keys while you continued to kiss him, hungrily, and you somehow managed to unlock the door without ever breaking away. You pulled him over your doorstep with your fingers curled around the neck of his shirt, tugging him inside, and he kicked the door shut behind him. Masema picked you up, his mouth leaving marks on your neck and bruising your lips as he kissed, bit and sucked your skin. He sat you up on your table, the same table where his bouquet of roses had been days ago before you had thrown them out, and he was quick to take off your jacket and your shirt. His warm untattooed hands squeezed your breasts while he continued to kiss you as if he needed it to keep his heart beating and his lungs filled, and you got lost in him. You took off Masema's leather jacket and his shirt followed quickly after, and you trailed your hands up and down his bare muscular torso. His body was perfect, nearly in the same condition as Sihtric's body, except Masema's skin was smooth and unscarred. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his arousal as he grinded his hips against yours and you both began to run out of breath. His fingers tangled in your hair, your heart was pounding out of your chest while your nails raked down over his back, and the desperate sound of each other's ragged breathing filled the air. 

But then you broke the kiss and pushed him away.

'No,' you said out of breath, 'I- I'm sorry,' you wiped your lips and quickly grabbed your shirt to cover yourself up. 'I… I can't do this. I'm… I'm still with- with S-Sihtric,' your words died as you looked at Masema.

A hint of anger flashed through his eyes, but he managed to not show it on his face. He leaned back in and cupped your cheeks, threateningly, but then he smiled sweetly.

'It's okay, my goddess,' he whispered and pecked your lips, 'there is no rush. But… if you want to continue this, us, then Sihtric needs to be out of the picture.'

You felt uneasy while you watched him put his shirt and jacket back on, but something also captivated you and you couldn't tear your eyes away from him and you spiralled in your thoughts about what he just said.

'So, I'll see you tomorrow?' he asked, his voice low and honeyed.

'I… I don't know,' you stammered.

'I promise I'll take you somewhere nice,' he persuaded as he held your chin, 'it will be fun, I promise.'

'Yeah, okay, I guess,' you smiled softly, 'y-yeah, sure…'

'But you gotta remember,' he whispered lovingly, 'you gotta cut Sihtric off if you want to keep seeing me.'

'Y-yeah… okay. I will.'

'Good girl,' Masema smiled and kissed your cheek, 'I'll pick you up at five then.'

Sihtric called you the next morning, almost in tears because he hadn't heard from you anymore after you had stormed out of the repair shop. He wanted to come over and talk, and you agreed. But you wouldn't tell him about Masema. You simply couldn't.

'I've been fine,' you said, 'but I just… I think I need space. I think we need… space.'

'What does that mean?' Sihtric asked, feeling as if his entire world crumbled down in front of him, 'you… y-you want to break up?' he nearly choked on his words.

'No,' you said, then hesitated, 'maybe. God,' you groaned, 'I don't know. I… I love you, Sihtric,' you said and took his hands as he sat next to you on your couch, 'but things haven't been going well for us, have they? And I don't mean the crash. I mean the fact that you're just… you're overprotective. And that sounds cute on paper, but it's suffocating me. I just need space and time to think. And you need to think too.'

'Think about what?' he sniffled, 'I don't need to think about anything. I know I love you and I know I want to be with you.'

You looked at him, tormented by your own feelings of love and confusion and feeling trapped.

'I love you too,' you whispered, 'but this whole tracking me down and keeping me away from the outside world is not good for me. It makes me pull away from you…'

Sihtric stared down at his feet for a few long seconds, and you could tell his mind was racing and he was trying his hardest to not break down in front of you.

'I know I'm pushing you away,' Sihtric said softly, 'and I'm sorry. I… I can give you space, if that's what you want. Just,' he paused and swallowed hard, 'just promise me you'll be safe?'

'I will be safe,' you squeezed his hands, 'I promise.'

'Promise you'll stay in touch every day?'

'I promise.'

'Okay,' Sihtric said as you both got up, 'I… I love you,' he sniffled and kissed your cheek, then wrapped his arms around you, 'I love you, princess,' he whispered, 'forever, no matter what.'

Later that day Masema came to pick you up a few minutes before five. You looked out your window and saw him get off his black motorbike. He took off his black helmet and unzipped his black leather jacket as he walked up to your door, which you opened before he could even ring your doorbell. Your clothing matched with Masema as you were dressed in all black; black boots, black jeans, black hoodie and a black denim jacket on top. And Masema's mismatched eyes looked you up and down after you opened the door, and he smiled.

'Hey, gorgeous,' he said, so smoothly it made your knees weak, and he circled his arm around your waist to pull you in for an intense kiss. 'Missed me?' he purred against your lips.

'Maybe,' you giggled shyly, and Masema smirked.

He took a step back and held your hand, 'Let me see you,' he smiled and spun you around to get a better look at you. Then he pulled you back in, 'Mhm, perfect,' he murmured against your lips and kissed you again. 'Ready to go?' he then asked and handed you his extra helmet, which was also black.

'I take it you took care of that boyfriend of yours?' he asked as he adjusted the strap of your helmet.

You simply nodded, pained, but Masema couldn't tell because your face was hidden behind the darkened glass. Your heart ached when you thought of Sihtric, but you just needed space. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself. And you didn't dare tell Masema that you had seen Sihtric earlier that day and promised you'd text him every day to let him know you're doing okay.

'So where are we going?' your voice was muffled by the helmet, and Masema only smirked in reply before he put his own helmet on and zipped up his jacket.

You held tightly onto him as he drove you to his picked destination, which was a cute fairy-tale-like village an hour away that had a carnival going on in the centre. After he had parked his bike and secured the helmets he took your hand, and he led you into the picturesque festivity. The familiar classic carnival theme music sounded and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy followed as the sky began to paint itself with the colours of a perfect sunset. You strolled hand in hand past the numerous rides and stalls, until you reached the foot of a hill that had a stairs leading up to an old castle which overlooked the entire village.

'My lady?' Masema smiled and pulled you playfully with him as he stepped onto the stairs.

You felt yourself blush heavily and followed him, but before you could step on the stairs, Masema lifted you up effortlessly and carried you all the way up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and watched the view as Masema climbed higher, until the end was reached and he stepped onto the castle's ground. Once back on your feet he took your hand again, and he walked towards the stone wall where you had a clear view over the carnival. He snuck his arms around your waist as you enjoyed the view, and a rush of tingles and butterflies shot through your body when you felt his lips pressed onto your cheek.

'So,' he murmured in your ear, 'a good first date or…'

'It's perfect,' you whispered, still speechless by the beautiful view and the beautiful man who had carried you up to the castle.

'Good enough to go on a second date?'

'Definitely,' you giggled.

Masema smiled, spun you around and pulled you in for a head spinning kiss. Once you had composed yourself again you took out your phone, wanting to capture the view, and after you had done so Masema took your phone. He took a few steps back and snapped a few photos of you with the enchanting background that was a swirl of orange and purple in the sky and the carnival's fairy-like lights down in the village.

'A queen,' Masema smiled and handed you your phone back, then cupped your cheeks, 'a goddess,' he hummed and kissed your lips.

When you eventually wanted to walk down the seemingly endless stairs back to the village, Masema insisted you'd jump on his back because, 'A goddess shouldn't need to tire herself with these stairs.'

You were completely swept off your feet by Masema, literally and figuratively. He was so sweet and passionate and he seemed to adore you, maybe even worship you. And what you loved the most was that, instead of being hidden away by Sihtric, Masema showed you off. He kissed you whenever he could, he held your hand and twirled you around as you walked in between the carnival rides, only to pull you back into his arms to kiss you again. He picked you up for no reason at all and made a half circle before he put you back down on your feet again, and then kissed the tip of your nose. He bought you cotton candy, which you shared, and then he bought you a red heart-shaped lollipop. 

Masema took you on the dream date that Sihtric never could, and you began to fall head over heels. Not a moment did you stop and think about how Masema had forced himself into your life. Not a single second did you think about the fact that Masema had almost killed you and Sihtric both. And not ever did you remember this man was called dangerous by the police. You didn't see any red flags because Masema made sure to keep your eyes covered with the pink glasses he invented just for you; being the perfect potential boyfriend you needed- no, that you wanted right now, and making your world all rose coloured. 

Because Masema knew exactly what you liked. He had stalked you online for a while already, and he had seen your pinterest boards and the instagram pages you followed. He knew everything about you, and you had no idea. And instead of running far away from him, which you should have done, your knees weakened when he held you close and whispered 'Mine,' in your ear, followed by a sweet peck on your cheek. And you held onto him even tighter on the ride back home.

'So, will I see you tomorrow?' you asked, twirling your hair around your finger like a schoolgirl as you stood on your porch.

'Tomorrow's not a good day,' Masema said.

'Sunday? Why is that not a good day?'

'Well, I am at church each Sunday,' he explained, 'for the entire afternoon and sometimes the evening too.'

'At church?' you chuckled, 'oh, okay.'

'Are you religious?' Masema asked, even though he already knew the answer.

'Not really,' you confirmed, 'why?'

'I thought maybe you'd like to join me,' he shrugged and smiled.

'To church?' you snorted, 'eh…'

'If you want to see me tomorrow, it's the only way.'

Masema noticed the doubt in your eyes, and he said, 'It's not boring, I promise. I preach too, you know?'

'Really?' you frowned.

'Really. I'd like it if you'd be there.'

'I'm not sure,' you hesitated, 'what do you preach?'

'I preach what I'm told.'

'Who tells you what to preach?'

He smiled, bit down on his lip and pointed vaguely up towards the sky.

'What, like some kind of prophet?' you chuckled.

'Yeah, something like that,' Masema smiled and cleared his throat, 'join me,' he held your hands, 'what's the worst that could happen?'

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[mikelogan]

TELL ME ABOUT THE OH NO NO REACTION

Okay. Someone hold my hand bc I'm about to get emotional.

This scene happens in 1x24, which is JD's last day as an intern. This episode is already finger-licking good (first JDox hug, anyone?), but this scene is extra important. I'm gonna just start with the dialogue:

JD: So I thought if you looked at Mr. Bober's chart and you agreed with us, you might be able to -- you know -- pull some strings... Perry: Yeah, I'll be more than glad to help you, there, Charlotte. JD (surprised): W-well, thank -- thank you! Perry: Don't ever be afraid to come to me with stuff like that. The simple fact that you actually seem to give a crap is the reason I took an interest in you to begin with. It's why I trust you as a doctor. Hell, it's... it's why I trust you as a person. JD: Are you dying? Perry: I've got a new shrink. JD: You know, Dr. Cox, I want to thank you for this whole year -- Perry: Oh, no, no, no...

Show me literally any other situation where JD says or does something that Perry wants no part of or is annoyed by and I can pretty much guarantee he does one of a few things: he cuts JD off with a whistle, he cuts JD off with another rant, he cuts JD off by calling him a girls' name, and/or he cuts JD off by walking away. I can't think of another situation similar to this one -- where JD is speaking from the heart and Perry doesn't cut him off in one of those other ways -- until My Fallen Idol when JD's at Perry's apartment.

Like. Perry himself just spoke from the heart, gave JD an honest rundown of how he feels. That alone is HUGE and, to me, marks a turning point in their working relationship (until Jordan drops her bomb). But JD can't resist doing the same (and because it's Scrubs, we did have that little "I have a new shrink" funny haha in between). Perry's reaction here is so much different than we've ever seen before and will ever see again for several seasons (oh, except for My Cake, but to be fair, Perry does sort of punch JD in the face first).

In my humble opinion, Perry's reaction to JD genuinely thanking him for all he's done over the past year is that of panic. Because now things are getting Too Real. If Perry lets JD say this, it'll mean Perry admitting not just to himself that he's worked his ass off for the last year watching over this intern who drives him absolutely insane for a multitude of reasons (and they're not all bad), but he'll be admitting this to JD, too. And that? That just can't happen, it cannot! Because if JD knows, then everyone will know, and how the hell is Perry supposed to stay miserable if he actually gets what he wants for once? It's so much easier to hate his life when he's continuing to hate-fuck his ex-wife because she's familiar (and yeah, maybe he does still have feelings for her) and he hates change than it is to admit his feelings and maybe have a shot in the dark at something with JD, whatever that might be. Plus, we all know how well Perry does at being honest and upfront with his feelings 🙃

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED Talk about one (1) scene in an episode of a TV show that aired 21 years ago.