#it was a mind fuck and it took so long to figure out how to process and unpack all that...

[writeriguess]

Heyy so I’ve been feeling very lonely lately and I wanna see a fluff fic of reader x Katsuki or shinso. Reader thinks that none of her friends actually like her and thinks that she’s really annoying and stuff idk I just need some comfort rn if your not feeling it or don’t wanna do it don’t feel pressured but yknow if you want toooooo

TY SMMMMMM!!!🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Stay Right Here

You don’t know when the thought started creeping in—maybe it had always been there, lingering in the back of your mind like a shadow. Lately, though, it had been getting louder, refusing to be ignored.

You weren’t sure if your friends actually liked you.

They always invited you out, sure. They responded to your texts, yeah. But wasn’t that just them being polite? It wasn’t like they’d ever seek you out. You were always the one initiating plans, the one sending the first message, the one chasing after them.

And lately, you’d started noticing how they’d share glances with each other when you spoke—subtle, quick. But enough to make you wonder if they were silently wishing you’d just shut up. Maybe you talked too much. Maybe you were too loud. Too annoying.

That thought alone had kept you from messaging anyone for the past week. You figured if they wanted to talk to you, they would.

But they didn’t.

Not until a sharp knock on your dorm door startled you out of your spiral.

You hesitated, blinking at the door like it had personally wronged you. Nobody ever really knocked on your door. You had half a mind to just ignore it, but then—

“Oi! Open up.”

The voice was unmistakable. Katsuki.

Your stomach twisted. Why was he here? He never just visited people. And he definitely wouldn’t come all this way for something pointless. Maybe he was about to tell you to stop being so annoying. Maybe someone finally told him how suffocating you were, and he was here to confirm it.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to open the door.

Katsuki stood there, arms crossed, looking pissed. But not in the usual way—not like he was about to blow something up for the hell of it. No, this was different. His brows were furrowed, and his jaw was clenched like he was holding something back.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve been acting weird. Avoidin’ everyone. Not answering my damn texts.” He narrowed his eyes. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

You hadn’t even realized he texted. Your heart squeezed at that.

“N-Nothing’s wrong,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Just… needed some space.”

“That’s bullshit.” He took a step forward, forcing you back into your room as he shut the door behind him. “What’s really goin’ on?”

You swallowed, your throat feeling too tight. “I just—” You hesitated. “I just… don’t think anyone actually likes me that much.”

Katsuki’s entire expression shifted. His eyes widened slightly before his scowl deepened. “The fuck did you just say?”

You winced. “I mean, they put up with me. But I don’t think they like me. Not really. I think I’m just kind of… there. Y’know?”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence felt suffocating, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth.

But then—

“You’re a goddamn idiot.”

You flinched. “Oh. Okay. Cool. Thanks, Katsuki—”

“Shut up.” He stepped closer, eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. “You seriously think nobody likes you? That people are just putting up with you?”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. “…Yeah?”

Katsuki groaned and dragged a hand down his face like you were being impossibly dense. Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him.

You froze as your forehead nearly bumped into his chest, and his grip on your wrist tightened just enough to be grounding.

“Listen to me, dumbass,” he muttered. “If you were annoying, I wouldn’t be here.”

Your breath caught.

“I wouldn’t text you. I wouldn’t train with you. I wouldn’t put up with your dumbass questions or your stupid jokes if I didn’t like having you around.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting in shock.

“And it ain’t just me,” he continued. “Everyone’s been worried about you. Deku wouldn’t shut up about it. Shitty Hair wanted to come check on you, but I told ‘em to fuck off ‘cause I was gonna do it.”

Your chest tightened. “You… noticed?”

Katsuki scoffed. “Course I fuckin’ noticed. You think I don’t pay attention?” His grip on your wrist softened slightly. “We like you, dumbass. You’re part of the damn group. You think we’d waste our time on someone we didn’t wanna be around?”

Your throat felt too tight to speak. You wanted to believe him, wanted to cling to his words like a lifeline, but the doubt still lingered.

“…Then why does it feel like I’m always the one reaching out first?” you whispered. “Why doesn’t anyone ever come to me?”

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking like he was trying to hold himself back from yelling. “Because you always reach out first.”

You frowned.

“You’re the one who makes sure everyone’s okay. You’re the one who checks in. You’re the one who makes plans. You do all that shit, and we just got used to it.” His grip on your wrist tightened slightly again. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

He let go, but instead of stepping back, his hand moved up to squeeze your shoulder.

“…Just means we’re dumbasses who didn’t realize we should’ve been doin’ the same for you.”

That’s what broke you.

A sharp, shuddering breath escaped you, and suddenly, there were tears spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. You turned away quickly, trying to hide it, but Katsuki clicked his tongue in irritation and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered. “Don’t fucking hide.”

That only made the tears worse.

You let out a shaky laugh, covering your face with both hands. “God, I must look pathetic right now—”

“Oi.” He pried your hands away from your face, his expression unusually soft. “You’re not pathetic.”

You sniffled. “I kinda am.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes before sighing. Then, much to your shock, he pulled you into a firm, warm hug.

Your brain short-circuited.

Katsuki Bakugo was hugging you.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time. “But you’re our pain in the ass. And we’d be fuckin’ lost without you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the back of his hoodie.

“…Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just—next time you start thinkin’ dumb shit like this, tell me, alright?”

You let out a watery laugh. “Okay.”

“Good.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Now quit crying before I start calling you a dumbass again.”

You sniffled and playfully smacked his arm. “Jerk.”

But you were smiling.

And for the first time in a while, you actually felt like you belonged.

[writingfics-passingtime]

This Means War

synopsis: When cabin fever reaches boiling point, your teammates' boredom turns into a test of your stamina. After a bit of tickling sends you crumbling to the mat during training, you're goaded into proving you wouldn't spill state secrets if an enemy found your weak spots... by subjecting yourself to the hands of the God of Mischief.

wc: ~5200

pairing: Loki x female reader (flirtatious). Bucky, Thor, Steve also included platonically.

cw: MINORS DNI, swearing, use of physical restraints, interrogation scenario, tickling (a lot of it. this is a tickle fic)

extra content warning: this story contains a faux-interrogation scene. the reader consented to it and has the ability to stop it at any moment. i do not usually allow the word "stop" to be ignored in a tickle fic - this fic is the exception because the reader has a safe word. The tickling in this feels a lot more intense (to me) than my previous fics so please be warned.

Your fate was sealed before it even started.

It happened too fast to control.

It started so innocuously. You were locked in a spar with Loki. Parrying high, pivoting low, flirting around that usual edge of real violence.

You had been sharp today - precise, clean, dangerous. Steve was nursing a bruise. Bucky’s jaw was red where you’d clocked him. Even Thor looked impressed, his cape torn at the hem where your blade had snagged it mid-spin.

But Loki always had a way of slipping past your guard.

You got the sense that he'd figured out the softest spots of you - mentally and otherwise - long ago. That he'd... catalogued them. That he took great delight in silently holding the knowledge of where to press. And how. He could get under your skin like no one else could. Burrowing deeper with heated looks at unpredictable moments, then ebbing back with pure professionalism at others.

It kept you humble when it came to facing him on the mats.

Usually.

Today... you didn't know what it was. Maybe the thrill of landing solid hits on two super soldiers and a Norse god. Maybe you got cocky.

Maybe the curl falling loose from the hair knotted low at his nape was just too distracting.

But you tried a move too risky, and he slipped past your guard. You caught his brow raising brow as he evaded your fist. The micro-second comment in the gesture went something like:

You really thought that would work?

Yes. It would've worked against a lesser fighter. The fact that you thought it might work against him... well, that was paramount to insult. Not something he'd let slide. Not when you made clear, time and time again, to all of these super-people: going easy on you wouldn't help be better.

So they didn't go easy - but that didn't mean they'd meet your mistake with a punch that could shatter your sternum. Usually, you'd just get pushed off balance, or pinned to the mat, or locked in some uncomfortable position until you could explain what you'd done wrong. Which was fine. It all helped.

Today, however, it seemed Loki wanted to teach you an extra little lesson.

His palm swept up, thumb hooking into the soft space under your arm. You slammed your bicep down on reflex, wincing, trapping his thumb as his fingers wrapped around and pressed into the sensitive muscle under your scapula.

His fingers didn't stop at pressing. A choked gasp was forced from your mouth, your body jolting before your mind realising that his fingers were wiggling, you were squirming, he was tickling you.

Your knees buckled, eyes wild and flying to his calculated stare.

He watch you as you slowly sunk lower, his head cocked, his smirk spreading when the first startled, hapless giggle bubbled over your lips.

Get away get away get away- every single base animal instinct flooded into flight. You pushed back on your heels, dislodging his hand from under your arm as your backside hit the floor. You were spluttering, panting, giggling - fucking giggling, of all things - and you felt yourself moving to scoot back, eyes fixed on the god standing above you.

He didn't press his advantage. He didn't have to. He just stood over you, that same brow arched, blue eyes glinting with something cold and curious and satisfied. "Well," he murmured. "That's new."

You clenched your jaw, regaining composure, forcing yourself back up to stand. "Dick," you grumbled, straightening your clothes as warmth crept up your neck.

"Fascinating, really," his smirk grew, eyes scanning over you. "Have you always been so-"

"Shut it," you warned, glare cutting to him.

"Oh no," he gave a single shake of his head. "You're not getting out of this one."

Not after what you just tried to pull, was the unspoken subtext.

Shit. You should've known better than to try such a cheap trick on a god with an ego the size of the fucking continental United States.

Loki locked his fingers behind his back, started pacing around you, appraising. “Battle-hardened Avenger felled by a few seconds of tickling…" He swung his gaze to the others. More specifically, Steve. "You didn't think to train this out of her?"

Steve had straightened, fists gripping the ends of the towel slung around his neck, eyebrows raised. "Train?"

Bucky tilted his head, watching you like a hawk. "Huh."

"Oh, come on," you started, rolling your eyes, hands on your hips, trying to brush it off. "This is not something that requires training."

“You squealed,” Bucky said, grin now forming.

“I did not.”

"You crumbled," Steve grimaced with a playful edge behind it.

“Like wet paper,” Loki added. "It was rather... adorable, actually."

"This could be a problem," Thor hummed in thought. "Could it not? If your enemies learn of this."

Your head snapped to him. Then your eyes back to the others.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

The team had been without mission for almost two weeks; the boys were bored. And you'd just handed them some free entertainment.

You took a measured breath through your nose, and assured Thor: "They won’t."

"But if they did..." Steve started, slowly.

You turned. He was looking at you - not mocking, not smug. Just… calculating. Thoughtful.

You frowned. "Then what?"

"They’d have leverage," Bucky said.

"I wear full body armour."

"Armour can be compromised."

You could feel the shift happening.

The slow, creeping change in the air.

Loki was already grinning again, full teeth. "Pressure point training, perhaps?"

You scoffed. "Absolutely not."

Thor crossed his arms, ducking his head as if weighing the option. "It may be wise."

You crossed your own, arguing, "There's no proven method of desensitisation; you can't train someone out of being ticklish, Loki's just stirring mischief."

But Steve was quiet, eyes shifting to Bucky. Bucky’s arms were crossed too now, mouth twitching, his eyes finding Steve's.

You clocked the exits.

Three of them. One closest, but Thor stood near. The second was by Steve, and Loki, in his pacing, had subtly moved to block the third.

Fucking shit.

"Let’s just say," Bucky started, shrugging one shoulder, "we’re in the field. You’re caught. Someone finds a sweet spot-"

"-and they want to know where some files are hidden," Steve adds.

Loki hums in agreement, faux-consideration painted across him. "Security codes... contingency plans..."

You shifted from one foot to the other, hackles raising. "This is not a realistic scenario. On what planet would I ever be tickled for information?"

"Several," Thor nodded thoughtfully, looking to Loki. "At least four in this universe alone."

"Hmm, yes," Loki confirmed. "And I do believe in some factions on Sakaar."

You rubbed your temples. "This is not happening," you said. Mostly to yourself.

"There’s no harm in proving you’d withstand it," Steve said, voice calm. It almost sounded reasonable.

Your eyes flicked to him. You scoffed again. "Don't use your Captain America voice on me like you actually-"

He met your gaze evenly. And you stopped talking.

Because suddenly... you knew.

He wasn’t joking.

He was serious.

Not cruel. Not cold. Just… decisive. Like an older brother about to teach you a hard lesson for your own good.

You felt the breath stick in your chest.

"Steve. C'mon."

He straightened up, slow.

Bucky’s grin widened.

Thor stretched his arms with a lazy flex.

Loki turned toward you, smirking.

Your stomach dropped clean through the floor. Bucky took a step forward and you flinched, body readying to bolt.

"Hey," Bucky said, lifting his hands like he was trying to ease the tension. "You don’t have to prove anything."

You glared. "That’s exactly what this is."

"No," he corrected, smile just shy of cruel. "This is about making sure you don’t give up state secrets just to make it stop."

Your face burned. "I would never-"

"Good," Loki cut in, eyes glittering. "You're confident. You'll have no issue proving it, then."

You blinked. "What?"

Steve’s voice was low. Final. "We should put it to the test."

And just like that, the temperature in the room dropped. Your heart slammed into your ribs.

You were boxed in. Outnumbered. Outplayed.

"Steve. You’re not seriously suggesting simulating an interrogation where I'm..." you winced at the mere thought - betraying your nerves.

He shrugged in that infuriatingly calm, Captain America way. “Look, I trust you. But you always say training should cover every angle. This is just... one of them.” He tried not to smile.

You hated how much they were enjoying this. Bucky wasn’t even hiding his grin. Thor was scratching his beard thoughtfully, nodding like this was all so fucking reasonable.

Your jaw hung slack, you glared at Steve. "You're seriously gonna make me do this?"

Steve's head went to the side in thought. "No. It's your choice."

Loki didn’t even pretend. His smirk stayed plastered across his face like he had been waiting its whole life for this moment. "Of course, we'd never force you to prove it..." Loki raised his hands in surrender. "Not if it would be too much for you."

Okay. Now your pride was involved.

Loki continued. "If you're afraid... you just can say so."

He knew exactly how to bait you. It was so obvious.

But it still fucking worked. And that was on you.

You sucked your teeth, arms still crossed, jaw tense, looking between the varying degrees of smug in your teammates.

And a thought passed over you. About Steve. His leadership, his honour, and the way you trusted him so intrinsically with your life you knew he'd never let something like this go too far. So your eyes met his.

“Well?” He asked, calm and expectant.

You let out a tense breath through your nose.

"I'll follow your orders, Cap," you said, dropping your arms, squaring your shoulders. "What'll it be?"

.

.

This was one of those freeze-frame record-scratch moments where the narrator says 'Yep - that’s me. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this position.'

You flexed your fingers before gripping the edge of the armrest. The cuffs were snug but not uncomfortable. The chair itself - fetched by Bucky while the terms of the test were set - wasn't too bad, either. Cushioned seat and back, padded cuffs securing the wrists to the armrests and ankles to the front legs. It wouldn't hold any of the men around you, but you didn't have lightening or serum in your veins.

One small test proved no give, no rattling, was enough for that little molten thread of helplessness to start curling down your spine. All part of the mind games.

Trying to relax into the chair, your eyes landed on Loki, who was approaching you with all the slow, deliberate lethality of a black panther.

Of course, he was the one chosen to... do this.

His hand reached out and tested one cuff. "You seem tense."

"Bite me."

He chuckled, beginning to circle the chair slowly, trying to get in your head. Trying to build tension. It was working.

"The objective is simple. Don't give up the code word." His eyes flicked to Steve and Bucky. "Have you decided on what that word will be?"

Bucky nodded once, calling out, "cucumber."

You groaned. "That is the stupidest-"

"Exactly," Steve said. "You won't say it by accident. You try to hold out. You say it - that's surrender."

You felt Loki's fingers rest against the back of the chair. "Do you understand the rules, agent?"

You sniffed, jaw tight. "Don’t say the fucking vegetable."

"You ready?" Steve crossed his arms, failing to hide his amused smile.

No one in this room was under the impression that this was anything other than an exercise in the folly of boredom and pride. But here you were, about to hit play on that that freeze-frame record-scratch moment, and you wondered why the hell you ever agreed to this.

You did have an out - whenever you wanted it, you could say the word - but that steady fire inside you was stoked. White hot. You'd be damned if Loki snuffed it.

You'd be damned if he won.

"Ready," you confirmed.

He began.

Loki's touch was feather-light at first. Deceptively gentle. Fingers trailing over your sides like whispers.

They wanted a show? You'd give them a show. You'd show them exactly what you'd do if this was an enemy situation.

You flinched. "What the fuck are you doing?" Your head swung around, wearing a mask of confusion, fear, and pure innocence.

Loki's eyes narrowed. Ah. He seemed to say. This is how you want to play.

His voice was ice. Frostbitten. Severe. "What's the code word, Agent?"

"Wha-" you jerked again, eyes darting down to see his fingers at your sides, pressing a little firmer. Seeking. "I don't- what are you doing?"

He didn’t fumble or poke randomly. No, he searched.

"I'm under strict orders to not leave a mark, Agent," Loki's cold voice sounded vaguely distracted. "You have a code word I need..."

Then he found a spot. Just under the lower edge of your ribs, to the side. Your breath caught. Muscles locked. He paused.

"And I think I've just found a way to get it from you."

He wasn't clumsy. Not even a little.

"What code word? What are you even talking about? What-"

You stopped, looked down, watched as his middle finger and ring finger readied. You felt his other palm flatten against the opposite side of your waist in preparation to keep you in place.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then his fingers moved.

Sensation exploded like a switch had been flipped. Your hips jolted in the chair, a strangled sound caught in your throat as he pressed into that cluster of nerves with terrifying precision. Not a scratch or a dig - no, he hooked and circled slowly, keeping a maddening pressure on just the right spot. You were squirming violently in seconds, laughter ripping out of you against your will.

"Shit- Loki, fuck-" you broke your character, gasping between fits of laughter, voice hoarse and breaking. You tried twisting away, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

"Code word," he demanded.

You scrambled to collect your thoughts. Okay - okay - you could work with this. Fortify your mind. Let your body react. You tried to get a grip. Tried to find his rhythm and tell your brain it was no grave threat.

But half a minute later and he hadn't eased off. And it was only tickling more with every passing second.

"Please!" You gasped out, shaking your head. "I don't know what you're-"

He doubled - the palm against your other side began mirroring the same pattern with eerie symmetry. Pinpoint accuracy into that soft spot. Every movement surgical. Like he’d done this a thousand times.

Somewhere in the haze you sense him leaning down, felt his breath hot against your ear. "I know you have what I'm looking for."

"I don't!" you squealed, head hitting back against his shoulder as you twisted helplessly, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. "Fuck- please stop!"

"I can't stop this. Only you can. Say the word," he said softly.

You whimpered through breathless giggles as you tried to collect yourself enough to respond. "I don't- fuck- I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't believe you."

His pointer finger joined the fray and your body convulsed with laughter, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He hadn’t even moved from that godforsaken spot on your ribs. And he hadn’t lost rhythm once.

"Fuck!" You thrashed, as much as the chair would let you. "I- this is- this is inhumane!"

A low hum by your other ear. The other devil on the other shoulder. "You're in control, Agent. You can make this stop any time."

He didn’t move fast. He didn’t need to. It was the control that was killing you. The way he’d learned your body in seconds. That single spot already made your arms jerk, your breath hitch, your laughter take on a desperate edge.

"Make no mistake," he murmured. "I'm going to win. You really think this is the worst it can be? Give me the word. Now."

"I don't have the fucking word!" you shrieked between wheezes, before falling into a new spout of laughter. You gave a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a sob, it was hard to tell. Loki’s wicked hands hadn't stopped.

"She's doin' good," Bucky observed, tilting his head. "Holding out. The denial is still convincing."

"Stubborn," Thor nodded with a proud smile. "Like a goat."

"She’s trembling," Loki noted, sounding pleased. You were - your thighs tensed, stomach quaking with every new ripple of sensation.

Without warning, he shot his hands downward.

You practically launched out of the chair when he reached the top of your hip, just above your belt line. Another pressure point. The nerves there sent shocks across your pelvis, up your spine. It was like your body didn’t belong to you anymore.

"No- no, no, no-!" you laughed, voice wild now, cracked from overuse.

"You’re strong," Loki said quietly, voice still near your ear, breath warm on your neck. "But not unbreakable. I’m going to find where you crack."

You turned your face away, blinking tears of mirth from your lashes. "I’m going to kill you when this is over."

"I look forward to it," he said, moving inward to the sliver of skin on your lower stomach, scratching with feather-light precision.

You jolted again, high-pitched laughter tearing out of your lungs, knees bucking instinctively as he zeroed in.

Cucumber. It was on the tip of your fucking tongue. So you bit down on it. Sealed your lips as best you could.

Loki leaned in. "What's this? Trying to keep quiet now?"

You swallowed it. Shook your head.

A particularly cruel and precise tickle along the dips of your hips pulled a shrieking laugh from the loud place in your throat, wrists pulling against the cuffs.

He chuckled, knowing he was closer to winning.

So he went back to your ribs.

Your laughter returned in full, broken and helpless, your face hot with fury and embarrassment.

But still, you didn’t say cucumber.

You'd be damned to let him win after all of this.

Loki’s voice dropped, barely audible now. "You’re going to lose," he whispered, "So be a good girl, and surrender. Just say the word."

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You shook your head violently.

Your pride was still stronger, even as your breath was now ragged, chest rising and falling as you jerked against the cuffs, muscles locked and twitching from the relentless tickling, even as your laughter had taken on a half-wheezing, half-growling edge.

Loki hadn’t let up for a second, his hands maddeningly precise, but then...

He stopped. Pulled his hands away.

You gulped air. Relished in the reprieve. Wondering if-

"Don't think for a second I'm done with you," his voice curled around the base of your neck. "Tell me the code word."

You panted, head lolling. It had only been a few minutes, you knew that, but it had felt like a fucking lifetime. Shit.

"You're not listening," you let defeat permeate your tone. "You got the wrong person. I don't... I don't have what you want." You gave a weak tug at the cuffs, acting the part.

"Oh, you're very good," Loki praised in a dark chuckle.

You felt him grip the back of your chair. And you knew what he was planning.

"Wait-"

He pulled. The chair tipped backward as he lowered it slowly, until the rear legs landed on the floor and you were laying on your back, head against the mat.

You thrashed instantly. "Wait. Wait- fuck," you winced.

He moved with a maddening slowness, shooting an amused glance to the chuckling onlookers.

"Don't you fucking dare."

But he stopped in front of where your ankles were cuffed, your boots perfectly level with where his hands naturally rested at his sides.

"Uh oh," Bucky laughed outright. You shot him a pissed off yet wary glance.

Steve laughed. "You can say the word," he reminded you, but there was a teasing note behind it.

That smugness nudged you to get back in the zone. To prove them all wrong. Make them all pay.

Loki tugged. The first boot came off with a soft pull. And then the second. The cold air hit your socked feet like a ominous wind, curling in the atmosphere like dread.

You winced again. You weren't prepared. You weren't prepared. Feet were always protected, armoured, out of reach. You can't remember the last time someone touched your feet, much less-

"I've seen that look before," Bucky clicked his tongue. You shot him a nervous glance. His eyes met yours but he spoke to the others: "That's the look of someone who knows they're in trouble."

You weren’t wearing thick standard-issue tactical socks. No, of course not. You’d thrown on some stupid breathable pair. They were thin - too thin.

You shot an indiscernible look to the Captain.

He shrugged. Giving you that gleam in his eye that said: You can make this stop any time you want. All it'll cost you is pride.

You licked your drying lips, turning back to Loki. His hands hadn't touched you yet. Still, he was studying your reactions.

You kicked, knees jolting, but your ankles didn't move. He smirked.

"You've gone quiet," he said, cool and detached. "Is that fear?"

"Fury," you seethed. "Pure. Fucking. F-fffrrmm-!"

You bit off the noise as his fingers barely stroked across the arch of your right foot. It was a featherlight graze, and it'd already sent pressure prickling behind your eyes. You swallowed a whimper, sealing your lips, squeezing your eyes shut.

He hummed. "Interesting."

Then he began in earnest.

His fingertips pressed into your arches with a kind of maddening detachment. Methodical. Exploring. Not scratching or scribbling like some fumbling kid; no, he pressed, kneaded lightly, then circled. You shrieked. His thumbs dragged slowly under the balls of your feet. Your entire body bucked against the restraints.

"NO!"

Laughter then burst out of you, unfiltered and broken. It was worse than your ribs - infinitely worse. You weren’t used to touch here, weren’t braced for it. It was raw, vulnerable. Your laughter turned desperate in seconds.

"NO! LOKI! PLEASE NOT THERE!"

But that wasn't the code word. So his hands didn’t stop. If anything, they moved slower. More precise. He was watching your face the entire time - his eyes locked onto every flicker of reaction, every twitch of your mouth or squint of your eyes.

"PLEASE! PLEASE - ANYWHERE ELSE!"

"Well, shit," Bucky snorted. "That worked way too fast."

"What’s the code word?" Loki asked, voice low and flat.

"Fuck YOU-AHH! NO- SHIT!"

His fingers slid to your toes, tracing beneath them with deliberate purpose. You howled with laughter, head flinging back, toes curling as if that could protect you. The nerves in your feet were shot. You couldn’t even pretend composure anymore. He’d hit a level of sensitivity that was obscene.

"Code word," Loki said again, unblinking.

You shook your head, thrashing wildly.

"Don’t know it!" you yelled, tears streaking down your cheeks from the force of it. "I swear - I don’t know it!"

"Oh?" Loki tilted his head. "I think you're lying to me, Agent. Do you know what happens to liars?" His thumbs returned to the spot right beneath your toes and began that horrible circular pressure again.

You screamed - an actual, ragged scream laced with helpless mirth. Your back arched, every muscle straining against the cuffs. Your following laughter was high and unrelenting, like bursting open a dam and letting everything flood out.

"PLEASE!" you cried, playing it up now, blending real helplessness with theatrics. "I don’t know anything! I swear! I’m just a grunt. I’m just a - I’m not fucking built for this!"

The bystanders erupted in laughter.

"Good use of the helpless act," Steve noted, chuckling. "Classic withholding tactic."

Loki paused his movement, fingers still poised. "Code word. Now."

"Lemme go. Please," you begged, shaking your head and bracing as his fingers resumed. Your laughter trembling as your whole body quaked with it. "I don't know what you want!"

Loki’s face didn’t change. Cool, unaffected. His fingers danced under your toes, targeting the very edge of skin at the base where nerves lit up like a live wire.

"You’re lying."

"No I'm not!"

"You are. And I’m going to get the truth out of you."

He found another pocket just under your toes and lingered.

Your laughter cracked apart. Your lungs burned.

"This is going to get much, much worse for you, Agent," Loki's cold voice dropped a weight in your stomach.

"I’ll- I’ll kill you I SWEAR-" you gasped, words broken by high-pitched giggles.

"Threats, now?" Loki's brow lifted. "How quaint."

Bucky whistled low. "You gotta hand it to her. She hasn't cracked."

"I like this training," Thor declared.

Loki ignored the audience, dragging his blunt nails along the length of your arches. Back and forth, up and down. Face calm and unbothered as you went silent, laughter trapped in your upper chest, body tensing and twitching as the energy built and built and... he... he wasn't stopping. Gods, he wasn't moving from that godforsaken spot.

It tickled so fucking much.

There were no words for it. It shouldn't be possible for such a simple action to trap the breath in your chest, to send buzzes of energy through your whole body, it tickled so. fucking. much.

But the worst part? You knew this was building. Priming you for some grande finale. Readying to decimate your willpower.

"Can she breathe?" Steve's voice floated across the edge of your clouded attention.

It must've been almost fifteen seconds since you last made a sound.

Back and forth. Up and down.

Pressure building and building and...

"Hey." Bucky's wary voice was in the mix.

"Wait for it..." Loki hushed them. Your eyes were shut but you could feel his gaze on you.

Back. Forth. Up. Down.

"Loki," Thor's stern voice came. "She's mortal."

"I know, almost there..." Loki cooed.

It was coming. Cucumber. You could feel it coming. Feel the scream coiling in your chest. Almost there...

And then-

The doors hissed open.

"FRIDAY alerted me to a potential HR violation in progress," came Tony’s dry voice as he entered the room

The moment froze like a frame in a cartoon. You, a wreck, cuffed to a tipped chair, flat on your back. Boots off. Loki with stilled hands at your feet. The rest of them standing around like this was some clinical procedure and not your personal nightmare.

Tony looked around. Blinked.

"Well," he said, "this is… deeply unsettling."

The trapped laughter whooshed out of you as air flooded your lungs in deep and gratifying breaths. Loki had paused. Assessing the atmosphere. And for that, you thanked every god in this universe and beyond. You had been so close to surrender.

"She agreed to it," Steve said, unbothered.

"She volunteered," Bucky added, nudging Thor, who nodded solemnly.

"Oh, yes. She may stop the trial at any moment," Thor assured. "She need only speak the sacred word."

Tony blinked again. "And the sacred word is...?"

"Cucumber," they all said in unison.

You wanted to die.

Tony stared at them, then at you - now breathless, sweat-slick, and still twitching from residual sensation. He sighed. "Y'alright, giggles?"

You attempted to speak. But it came out as several coughs, so you just gave a weak thumbs-up.

"Okay, okay," he said, waving a hand. "As much as I’d love to see where this is going - and I mean that purely as an academic curiosity - we cannot shackle an Avenger to a chair and administer tickle torture in our down time. It’s literally in the handbook. Somewhere. It must be."

Loki had the audacity to look disappointed.

But he sighed, then reach down with maddening ease, lifting your chair upright with one smooth motion - like it weighed nothing. You slumped against it, head tilted back still gasping for breath, socked feet twitching, toes curling, body still shaking with aftershocks of laughter, a thin sheen of sweat glowing your skin.

"I hate you," you croaked at Loki.

"How tragically untrue," he chuckled.

Then the cuffs popped open with a click.

You didn’t hesitate.

The second your hands were free, shaky legs be damned, you launched yourself at Steve.

"Rogers!"

He didn’t even flinch. Just accepted his fate.

Your weight hit him square in the chest, and he let himself fall back onto the mat with a loud whump, arms catching you automatically.

"You star-spangled shithead!" you growled, rising to straddle his waist and grab his collar, jolting some sense into him. "You sanctioned that shit!?"

“I did,” Steve said evenly.

"You let Loki-... you- I'm gonna- ugh!" You grabbed a fistful of his hair and mussed it like a feral cat, gritting your teeth and growling.

"Alright, alright!" He laughed, trying to block you. "I deserved that!"

"You’re damn right you do - fucking cucumber - I’m gonna shove one straight down your- hey!"

Bucky's hands wrapped around your waist and casually hauled you off Steve like a disobedient dog. "Alright. Down, girl." You kicked the air on the way up.

"Let me at 'em. I'm not done!"

"Oh, you’re done," Bucky set you on your feet while Steve still lay disheveled on the mat.

"I’m gonna get all of you," you vowed as you straightened your clothes. "You’re all complicit."

Tony raised a finger. "Um, I actually-"

"Obviously not you, Tony!"

"Hey. You could've said the word at any time," Bucky smirked, shrugging, pulling Steve to his feet by the metal hand he offered.

You glared murder at all of them. Until your eyes landed on Loki.

He hadn’t moved.

That’s when you saw it.

The glint behind the calm. A flicker of something low and heated, still burning from the intensity of before.

Your stomach turned when you realised; you never surrendered... so he never won.

He looked at you, head tilted, mouth curved ever-so-slightly at the corner. Not smug. No. This wasn’t arrogance.

It was unfinished business.

You glared, pointing a shaky finger. "There will be retribution."

He inclined his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "I’ll be waiting."

You turned slowly to the rest of them, accusing finger sweeping.

"You’re all going down for this."

Bucky raised his hands. "Worth it."

Thor clapped a hand on your back that nearly knocked you over. "You lasted valiantly, dear friend."

You ignored him. "FRIDAY," you barked, steadying yourself. "Mark these bastards for revenge."

"Noted," she replied helpfully.

Tony rubbed his eyes, muttering, "You people have too much time on your hands. I should start charging rent."

But rest of them laughed at your threat. As if they weren't the slightest bit afraid.

You clenched your fists.

And then you smiled.

Sharp. Dangerous.

"You’re all gonna wish I’d said cucumber."

.

.

PART TWO (your revenge) coming soon

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[kissandtellus]

Hiya!!!

I’ve got a request 4 you!!🥳 Would you be able to do a one-shot of brat tamer Zayne but his punishment goes a bit too far and puts MC deep into subspace, meaning Zayne has to be soft and sweet to help her out of it? Maybe some angst and comfort?

Right Here

Synopsis: Zayne’s a caring lover, even after the teasing and bratting gets the best of him after a long day at work. No matter how much he breaks you, he is sure to put you back together again.

Warnings: Hard!Dom Zayne, Overstim, Inflation(?), Choking, Dumbification, Panic Attack, Aftercare, Fluff at the end, Possible spoilers for the newest Main Story lines.

Teasing Zayne should’ve been an Olympic sport. He was not quick to anger, focusing on more quick and decisive ways of figuring out issues.

But ohhhh, you were a different story.

It started as simple teasing, then not listening to his advice on resting and then came the full on bratting.

You weren’t entirely sure how long he had you folded up like origami, or how many orgasms he had pulled from you. But now, you sat reverse-cowgirl on his lap in his bed.

Legs spread wide open in-front of the full length-when did he even order this?-mirror directly across from his bed.

Zayne had a tight grip on your waist and your hair. He pulled your head up and made you look directly at the mirror in front of you. He leaned down to your ear. “Now look yourself in the mirror. I want you to look at how much of a pathetic little brat you are.”

His fingers tightened in your locks, making sure you were still looking in the mirror. His other hand moved from your waist to your thigh. He squeezed it before moving it back to your waist. “You’re such a dirty girl. Such a pretty girl.”

You gurgled out something between words and a moan. He had you like this for hours in his home, stuffing you full over and over again. Drool and other fluids coated your body.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart.” He teased, his lips close to your neck. He took the opportunity to leave more marks on your skin. He moved the hand that was on your thigh to your face. He put a finger in your mouth and forced your head back, making you look up at him.

“You’re such a mess.” He said in a breathy voice. He pulled his finger from your mouth and traced it across your face.

He leaned down to your ear again, keeping his grip on you tight. He knew you couldn’t escape his hold, even if you tried. “You’re such a dumb little girl, hm? You take instruction pretty well though,” his chuckle was low, his chest vibrating your back,” “Good girl.”

"Look at you... A Hunter reduced to nothing but a warm hole for my cock. All those brains you used to track monsters... now completely fucked out." He punctuated each sentence with a hard thrust.

His hand moved from your hair, over the swell of your chest before pressing against your stomach. He was so deep, had filled you so full of cum you swore you couldn’t escape feel is swishing inside of you.

“You wanted to be a brat all day? Look at yourself now." He growled softly into your ear. “Look how fucking pathetic you are right now—dripping with my cum, unable to even form a coherent thought."

Each thrust made her body jolt up and down in his length. “This is what happens to bratty girls... They get turned into nothing but fucktoys."

You were mumbling apologies through broken sobs and moans ��S-sorry! Sorry, Doctor Zayne!”

His intelligent mind processed your broken apologies with a twisted satisfaction. Currently you were weak, submissive, and utterly dependent on him. “Shh, little slut," He whispered cruelly, gripping your hair to keep your head steady as he pounded into you.

He watched your reflection intently - your apologetic whimpers, your empty eyes, your body jerking with each deep thrust. He was breaking you perfectly - turning you from a bratty mess to an obedient, fuckable thing. "That's it... Take your punishment like a good girl now..."

Zayne chuckled at the slight swell of your stomach where his seed lay. With just the tiniest pressure, his seed leaked from around his cock and down onto the silk sheets.

You grabbed at his wrist, trying to push his hand away. "My poor little thing... So full of me already." He murmured in your ear, his large hands gripping your hips tightly as he slowly moved her up and down his thick length. He knew you were sensitive, but he couldn't stop himself from marking you further.

You gave another cry, panting, breaths growing faster.

Zayne knew the signs of a panic attack, you clutched at your chest, right over your heart. His entire personality shifted. He pulled out with a wet ‘plap’ and eased you back against the headboard. Your eyes were wide, darting around like a wild animal.

Zayne wiped the drool away from the corner of your mouth, kneeling down on the bed. “Sweetheart, breathe for me. In…. Out…. In…. Out….”

You were panicked, trying to make yourself small on the massive bed. “M-mm sorry I’m so bad, I didn’t wanna brat. J-just wanted attention and-“ your breath choked up, a broken sob spilling from her lips.

Zayne's heart shattered as he watched her break down in front of him. He immediately understood what was happening - she was spiraling into a deep sub-space, convinced she was the cause of his frustration and not the other way around.

He moved quickly, gently cupping your face with both hands. “No. No, listen to me right now. This is NOT your fault." His voice was firm but tender. “You didn't do anything wrong. You're having a panic attack because I pushed too hard."

He spoke to her in a soothing tone he used for patients. But this was so much more personal. This was the love of his life, shaking and shivering.

He kept his voice calm and even, using the same tone he would with a scared or hurt patient. But every word was laced with emotion, each touch gentle and caring. "You're not stupid or selfish. You're not attention-seeking. You're overwhelmed and I messed up."

Zayne stroked your hair, soothing each bruise with a gentle touch of his ice Evol that soothed her skin.

His cool fingers gently traced along her bruises, healing them as he spoke softly. "Such a good girl. Look at me..." He tilted your chin up with one hand while the other continued to heal your skin. “When will you realize you're the most perfect thing in this world?"

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips - a stark contrast to the rough kisses from earlier. This one was loving, tender, filled with apology and adoration. “I love you so much it hurts. And I'm sorry for hurting you." His voice cracked with emotion.

You sniffled, burying your face into his neck for comfort. Your voice was small, legs still trembling. “Love you…”

He wrapped his arms tightly around your body, protecting you like he always did. His voice dropped softer, more loving. “Darling..." He murmured, kissing your hair. His fingers lightly grazed your sides, making sure you were not hurt there too. "Let me ask you something serious."

He waited until you lifted your head slightly, big eyes staring at him curiously. "Are you okay down there?" His hand slowly crept down to her lower abdomen, checking for any discomfort or pain.

He heard the small squeak and his brow furrowed. He pushed there again softly, watching you squirm. "Ow?" He asked softly, already knowing the answer. "Here?"

He saw you wince slightly and his heart sank. He gently moved you onto the bed, surrounding you with blankets and some of your favorite stuffies you had moved into his bedroom. He rushed to the bathroom, bare as the day he was born, to grab some much needed supplies

"Lie on your side Sweetheart. I’m going to get you fixed up." He returned with warmed wipes, arnica oil for bruising, and a heating pad. He pressed the heating pad gently against your lower abdomen while holding you close. “Such a good girl for being so patient.”

He slowly cleaned you up with the warm wipes, being extra gentle around your sensitive areas. He then applied the arnica oil, massaging it in slowly. He knew your body so well, knew just how to touch you to bring her comfort and pleasure. “My poor girl."

He watched you closely, making sure He adjusted the heating pad and pulled you into his lap, holding you like she was the most precious thing in the world - because you were. He kissed your forehead softly. "...Want some ice cream?" He asked sweetly.

You giggled, which made his heart ached when the tears in the corners of your eyes finally shed. You sniffled just a bit before responding. “Is the ice cream for me or for you?”

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently wiping away the tears from your eyes. “For you, silly girl. I know how much you love your ice cream." He kissed your nose playfully. “But if you share some with me, I won't complain."

Back when they were children, he had accidentally hurt you with his Evol, had nearly given you hypothermia and killed you. So now as adults, as the woman he loved, he would never hurt you again.

He remembered that day clearly - the day he almost lost her forever. The day he realized just how amazing and precious you were. He pulled you closer, holding you tighter. “I'll never hurt you again, I promise." He whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

[bellaxgiornata]

Letters from the Outside 4:| Visitation

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.4k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; prison!Jax, bit of sunshine/grumpy dynamic, prison pen pals, fluff, angst, mentions of violence, potential smut, canon-divergence, Reader has a brother, mainly short pieces about Jax and Reader's letter correspondence

a/n: This installment is a tiny bit different than what we've seen so far and I think y'all are going to like it... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @callmesev @secretlysamcro @steviebbboi @anonymouse1807 @bonnyclydecat @chloe-skywalker @kaydallas21 @sarraa-26 @uknowmesstuff @mmarysha @orymgraves

Sitting at the metal table, your index finger had been absently tapping along the surface for the past ten minutes as you'd waited for the Stockton prison guard to bring your brother into the visitation room. It smelled like bleach and sweat in here, the pungent scent something that always took a few minutes to get accustomed to again whenever you came out to see your brother.

While you’d been waiting, you'd noticed that there were a few more people here than usual. Normally when you came out during morning visitation hours, there were about half this many other visitors in the room. But considering where you were right now, you tried your best to prevent your gaze from wandering around to the different tables too much. Making eye contact with the wrong person could easily turn into a bad idea here–something you didn't need your brother to tell you. 

But admittedly today it was difficult to keep your eyes to yourself and ignore the dark-haired woman sitting with a young, babbling child in her lap a few tables away from you. In all your time visiting Grim–the street name your brother was known by–you hadn’t seen those two here before. You figured the little boy’s father must be the one incarcerated and that was who they were probably visiting. Your heart sank at the thought. 

Strangely, watching the older woman whisper something to the little blonde boy in her lap had your mind drifting back to your grumpy bear of a pen pal. You'd found yourself curious to know if he had a family. While you knew far better than to try and ask him anything that remotely hinted at a personal topic, you had often wondered that while you'd been composing letters to him. But you figured if you ever dared to ask, he’d most likely have some colorful way to tell you that he wasn't going to answer your question. Or maybe he'd just stop writing to you altogether.

But still, you wondered if anyone ever came to visit him while he was stuck inside serving his time. You'd also often wondered how long his sentence was, though you'd known better than to ask him that, too. You couldn't even begin to imagine how much harder it would be serving time without some outside, familiar face to look forward to seeing every once and awhile. You found yourself hoping he did get visitors, that he had something more in his life than just your letters.

Admittedly that was partly why you'd joined this whole pen pal program when you'd first heard about it. While your brother Grim thought it was absolutely fucking bullshit–and he'd certainly given you his thoughts about it on plenty of separate occasions–you also knew how much he always looked forward to your letters throughout the week. He'd told you there were countless days that they felt like the only thing keeping him sane inside. So you’d signed up for the program hoping that you could maybe do the same for someone else.

And your grump had actually written you back the other day, so clearly you hadn't annoyed him too bad with your previous letter. This time he'd even written with just a couple of sentences more than he’d initially written in his first letter to you, which you’d considered an improvement. Even now as you thought back to his last letter, you found yourself smiling at the way he'd responded to the ridiculous nickname you’d given him.

Grumpy Grizzly? That's the best name your ass could come up with? Kinda disappointed in you, Giggles. That's fucking awful.

It almost felt as if he'd opened up just a tiny bit more to you in that letter. His words had been more teasingly friendly rather than just teasing this time–but maybe you'd just been misreading the tone through his messy handwriting. But it was almost as if you could actually hear a voice coming through his loopy scrawl of text now.

And he had answered your question.

You'd miss your dog in here, huh? You seem like a dog person, Giggles. I miss my Harley. Miss the freedom of it. 

He apparently liked motorcycles, a piece of knowledge you figured you would store away for future writing topics. You wondered if he liked them as much as your brother, but you had a feeling it was hard to love a bike more than someone like him did. Your brother and his guys in that club lived and breathed their bikes and that whole lifestyle. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when the door across the cafeteria-like room buzzed, signaling that an inmate was entering. Your attention instinctively shifted towards the door, catching sight of an orange jumpsuit before you recognized your brother's face. A smile spread across your lips instantly at the appearance of him in one piece, and you caught the small grin he returned.

The guard escorting your brother walked him over to your table, giving him the usual curt warning after you greeted Grim with a brief hug. Afterwards, the guard stalked off to a corner of the room, standing nearby and keeping watch over him as you both took a seat at the table, sitting on opposite sides of it.

“You look happier than usual today,” you observed, settling back down in your chair. “Someone sneak you something good?”

Your brother chuckled, resting his hands on the surface of the table, keeping them in view like he was required. “Yeah, maybe somethin’ like that, sis.” He jutted his chin at you, that small grin forming on his lips again. “How's shit with that whole pen pal of yours? He write you a novel this time?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, but the smile remained on your face. You'd missed your brother since your last visit, and you were grateful that despite being stuck inside, he still sounded like himself every time you came out to see him. He never lost his sense of humor or his ability to poke fun at you.

“No, he didn't write me a novel. But I'm making progress with him,” you answered. “His second letter had a few more sentences than the last one, and he sounded less like he had Big John’s dick shoved up his ass.”

Grim laughed, the sound loud and full of life. A sound he probably didn't make too much in there because there wasn't much to laugh about in prison. 

“Maybe he likes Big John’s dick in his ass, sis. But what'd you expect?” he questioned back, his smile fading slightly. “Guy is a criminal. You think he's gonna swap cookie recipes with you or somethin’? Tell you about his childhood trauma? Send you a little beaded friendship bracelet he made in arts and crafts? C’mon, you’re smarter than that.”

“No,” you stated, shaking your head at your brother. “I’m not expecting any of that. Just figured he might, I don’t know,” you shrugged a shoulder, thinking about what you’d last told your grumpy bear of a pen pal, “enjoy receiving mail from someone on the outside. To have some semblance of feeling human or whatever. Someone he can let some of his thoughts out to or something. I don’t know.”

Grim sat back in his chair, a teasing grin on his face. The one that told you he thought you joining that program was absolutely ridiculous. 

“You’re too hopeful, sis,” he replied. “It’s sweet, but I’m sure whoever the piece of shit you’re writing to doesn’t deserve that kindness anyway. The guy ain't gonna be your friend.”

“You don’t know that,” you disagreed, your smile disappearing at the thought of your pen pal being someone quite so horrid. “Not everyone locked up in here is some sort of psycho serial killer. But I’m not here to discuss my pen pal. How’re things going in there?”

Grim shrugged before glancing around the room, subtly surveying which prisoners were out here visiting with loved ones. You caught the way his eyes scanned over a few guards longer than necessary before his attention returned to you.

“Been good,” he answered. “Considering I’m stuck inside for a few more months.”

He leaned forward towards you, resting his elbows along the table as a devious glint passed behind his eyes. You mirrored his movements as you leaned forward, your head tilting curiously to the side at whatever he was about to tell you.

“We’re making moves soon,” he told you, voice lowered. “With that thing. Should help give the guys added protection back home.”

It took you a moment to make sense of what he’d said, but then you understood. The Devil’s Condemned were going to ambush some Irish gun shipment being moved that he’d mentioned to you in a recent letter. They were planning to steal the inventory for their own arsenal. With the Mayans branching out, trying to start a charter out in Stockton, your brother’s motorcycle club had been itching for extra firepower to hold down their territory. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” you asked quietly. “Seems like you’re going to make even more enemies doing that.”

“We’re gonna make it look like someone else hit ‘em. Don’t worry, alright?” Grim assured you, his expression turning serious. “But it’s not like we’re gonna get a chance to buy the hardware. Not like we got that kinda money. So this is the next best and most realistic option.”

“I don’t know, Grim,” you whispered back, uncertainty written over your features. “I’m not so sure that’s the best idea. Can’t you guys just work out a deal with the Mayan charter? Make peace or something?”

Grim scoffed at the idea, leaning back in his chair once more. His hands remained on the surface of the table, but you saw the way they'd curled into fists in frustration.

“That’s not what I’m–”

“Ain’t that simple, sis,” he answered. “This isn’t some kiddie school playground. You don’t just walk up and make friends with rival gangs.”

You broke off, sighing in frustration. The Devil’s Condemned was a smaller motorcycle club, one that mainly focused on protecting Stockton from all the bullshit that tended to land in the city from all the neighboring gangs. Especially with Stockton prison in your city, it tended to attract the wrong crowd. The Devil’s made small time money doing something with guns–that was the extent of your knowledge. But you always wished they’d stop getting involved in dangerous things like this–things that felt a little too far out of their league. Like sabotaging some larger motorcycle club that had an expansive list of charters and allies, just so they could get access to better guns.

That sharp buzz sounded again, the noise catching your attention and interrupting your conversation. Your eyes shifted over to the door of the visitation room, watching as it opened. Another man in bright orange walked through it, his blonde hair slicked back and a tattoo visible along his forearm. He walked with a bit of a swagger in his steps, moving like he owned the whole damn room as the guard behind him followed after. 

Curiously, you continued to watch as his attention was drawn straight to the table with the dark-haired woman and the little boy. You saw the way the man's eyes lit up the second he spotted the boy, and the corners of your lips curled upwards at how the expression had completely changed his entire face. The little boy in the woman's lap bounced a bit more excitedly, his hands reaching out towards the prisoner as he shouted ‘dada’ so loud that it caused a few others to look over at the table.

Grim's gaze was drawn to the noise, but his expression darkened as he saw the man hugging the kid. An annoyed huff fell out of him before he leaned forward along the table, his attention returning to you as he once more lowered his voice.

“That’d be one of those assholes now,” Grim warned you quietly, his words drawing your attention back to him. “President of the Sons.”

Eyes marginally widening in surprise at the information, you focused back on the man now settling down at the table across from the woman and the boy. There was a bright smile on his face as he focused on the pair of them, the lightness of it making it impossible to ignore just how handsome he was. Something you hadn’t expected. Just like you wouldn’t have expected him to be quite so young for a motorcycle club president.

“That’s the guy you’re going to piss off?” you whispered.

“He won’t know who did it, sis,” your brother reminded you. “Alright? Don’t worry about it. And don’t stare at him, either.”

Clearing your throat, you tore your eyes away from their table and focused back on your brother, shifting in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I wasn’t staring,” you whispered back. 

“Uh huh,” Grim replied, a smirk spreading across his lips. “Stop drooling over our enemy. Ain’t a good look on you.”

“I wasn’t drooling over him,” you countered sharply. “The last place I'd be looking for a man is in a fucking prison, Grim. Don't be weird. I just didn’t expect him to be quite so young for a president of such a big club.”

Grim quirked a brow back at you, silently making it clear that he didn't quite believe you. You rolled your eyes at him before sitting back in your chair, aware you had twenty more minutes with your brother. You didn't want to spend it discussing some rival club–or one that was about to become a rival.

“Felix got out earlier this week,” you said, changing the subject. 

Grim chuckled as the tension visibly eased out of him at the new topic. “No shit?” he asked. “Bet that was fun chasing down a deaf dog.”

“You have no idea,” you replied.

You spent the rest of your time with your brother retelling him the story of chasing Felix through countless backyards in countless neighborhoods one afternoon this past week. While your brother sat listening, occasionally laughing and good-naturedly making fun of your struggle, you couldn’t help but notice the Sons’ president out of the corner of your eye. He kept curiously glancing back over at you while occasionally shooting your brother’s back dark glares. Those quiet looks from the Sons’ president while you spoke with Grim only had that worry for your brother's safety growing while he was stuck in here.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Omg I just love you and your writing! I hope you're staying happy, safe, and healthy!! Would it be too much to ask for some angst ending in fluff for a Kirishima soulmate fic?? I'm in desperate need of that puppy but all the fics I find are either pure fluff or super dirty. Kiri has emotions other than happy or f-boy.. help a sister out? Thank you sfm I love you stay healthy my love!! You are so wonderful!!

Hello my gorgeous girl! Sorry it took me so long to get to this :) I looooved this ask, because yes, sometimes I feel like Kirishima can be reduced to a certain role, and a lot of people forget he’s struggled with mental health in the past. Any-who, I love writing angst, sorry it's long haha.

No Pain No Gain

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Eijiro Kirishima x Soulmate!Reader Soulmate AU where pain is shared and linked between bonds

Warnings: Angst with comfort at the end, swearing, mental health, reader is the drama kind of, sparring/canon typical violence

Words: 5310

It had been pretty easy to figure out that your soulmate was part of the hero program. Afterall, no average person would be getting hurt every other day unless they were training for a career in heroism.

It wasn’t fair that they should be so careless with their pain, particularly since you gave them the luxury of having a soul mate in the general education course. It wasn’t like you were throwing yourself in danger at every opportunity for a good grade. No, all you had to do was ensure you studied well enough for your biochemistry class.

This fact—and the constant rate and severity of pain flooding down the soul bond to your nervous system—gave you half a mind to march down to each classroom and threaten to beat the shit out of whoever was breaking your back each day.

So, one day, you made an effort to sit outside and watch the various hero classes during their sparring sessions to figure out which asshole gave you debilitating pain every other day. You sat in the bleachers with your textbook atop your thighs, studying until some new shock of pain hit your system.

You were halfway through working on a Henderson–Hasselbalch equation when you felt a nauseating explosion to your pain receptors. “Fuck,” you cry out in a hiss, feeling like the very skin on your forearm was blistering into horrific burns. Yet, as always, when you looked at the offending arm, it was unmarred and clear of any abrasions. You expected as much—afflicted injuries weren’t carried down the soul bond, just the pain of them.

You were nearly nauseous from the burning sensation, feeling dizzy as you pushed your textbook off your lap and onto the surface of the seat next to you. You forced your eyes away from your sizzling nerves and towards the training field, where two students were sparring in the center of the ring.

You bit your lip, trying to focus through the excruciating pain still flaring off in your nervous system. As you glared forward, you noticed the familiar figures of hero class 1A. The two students currently sparing included an ashy blonde, who you recognized as Katsuki Bakugo, an infamous dick. You figured you had him to thank for the sensation of blisters eating up your arm.

Though, he wasn’t the one you had choice words for.

The other student, from a distance, was unmistakably…red. You’d see the guy before in the cafeteria, though you’ve never interacted before. This was lucky for him, because if you’d known he was the cause from your daily suffering, you’d have punched him square in the nose. Though, you supposed you’d also be the one feeling the justice of your fists. It’d be worth it, though.

Eijiro Kirishima…the name came to you through the haze of your pain, and it felt bitter on your tongue. You watched, a fierce rage in your eyes as you watched him battle his friend with the explosion-quirk. Despite your anger, you couldn’t help but feel a traitorous sliver of respect. How the hell was he taking hit after hit without even flinching? It was taking everything in you not to keel over as the weight of each blow hit you in tandem.

By the time the sparring session timed out, you were breathless and moaning, a sheen of cold sweat across your forehead. Your body had felt every lick of flame, every punch, and every slice of debris-made-shrapnel. And yet, when you lifted you head wearily, you saw Kirishima walking off the field with his back straight, laughing with an arm slung over his—your—assailant’s shoulder. How. The. Fuck.

You wasted no time, shakily stuffing your textbook into your backpack despite your sweaty palms. You rose from your seat on the bleachers, and nearly stumbled as your seemingly-uninjured legs buckled.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to move as you slowly limped your way down the stairs of the bleachers. You lifted the straps of your bag onto your shoulders, and managed not to yelp with the irritation to your already sensitive skin.

You hobbled your way towards the field, where already two other students were beginning their own respective sparring match. A few students shot curious or confused glances your way, no doubt questioning why some random general education student was walking up on their class session. You paid them no mind, shooting a fierce look around in search of the scarlet headed boy.

It took you a moment, but then you spotted it—a flash of red. You pushed your way past a pink girl and her invisible friend, only just managing to grit out an ‘excuse me.’ You forced yourself to keep moving your exhausted, burning limbs… and then there he was. He was still standing next to his sparring partner, a grin on his face. He looked nearly unmarred, save from a few smoking pieces of his uniform. His skin though, which should have been covered in second and third degree burns by the judge of your pain, was without a single blemish.

“You!” you hiss out venomously, catching both Kirishima and Bakugo’s attention. You didn’t spare him a moment to react before you bridged the space between you, raising your hand and slapping him straight across the face. Except, when your palm made contact with his cheek, you didn’t feel the pliancy of flesh but a rigid, steely feeling of titanium. You felt the shock of the blow shoot all the way up your arm, and the delicate bones in your hand fractured upon impact.

To add insult to injury, your cheek stung with the force of your slap, and yet Kirishima still stood there, completely unmoved…albeit with a wide-eyed, shocked look on his face. Immediately you keeled over, cradling your injured hand, which was already beginning to swell. You bit out a curse, tears pricking your eyes. God, your entire body felt like it was falling apart.

“Oh, shit, are you alright?” you heard his masculine voice ask in concern. He reached out a hand to touch your shoulder, but you’re already jolting away from his outstretched hand.

“You motherfucker,” you hissed, and both Kirishima and Bakugo seemed just as stunned by your foul language as they did your abrupt failure of a slap. Still cradling your swelling hand, you glared at Kirishima with as much venom as you could muster.

“I-I’m sorry…?” his voice came out hesitant, unsure. He had no idea who you were, why you were here, or why you looked about ready to blow a fuse. He glanced at Bakugo, but his companion just shrugged, sharing his cluelessness.

“Sorry?” you laugh out callously. “Oh, fuck off. If you actually cared, you’d be a little less reckless and self-sacrificial. And, might I add, a little more thoughtful about who’s also taking your hits.”

Kirishima blinked at you, wide-eyed. He seemed to be floundering a little, still struggling to make sense of the situation. You sneer at him, not bothering to explain further. “How the hell are you even still standing? You don’t even look like you’re sore, for fuck’s sake. You can’t tell me you’re not feeling even an ounce of pain from all that?”

“M-My quirk…” he exhaled, shaking his head as his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s called Hardening. It allows me to harden and sharpen my body. I don’t really hurt when it’s activated…” he trailed off. At your accusing look, something seemed to click for Kirishima, and his posture shifted. His expression brightened, replacing any confusion or reservations he was feeling.

“Oh, wait!” he exclaimed, staring at you with a sudden clarity and eagerness. “Are you…?” His eyes were beaming with recognition. You couldn’t deny that such a bright look on his face made him look incredibly handsome, but the sheer amount of pain you were experiencing made you refuse to think of anything but your anger.

“Yep,” you gritted out, still cradling your hand, which had swollen to an alarming size in less than a minute. At this, Kirishima seemed to curb his excitement at discovering his soulmate. You watched him realize with a sense of alarm—and to your slight satisfaction, guilt—that you’d basically taken the full force of every one of his blows without any of his natural defense.

“Shit, that looks bad,” he winced, glancing at his hand as your injury sent small flares of pain down the bond to him. Then he stepped forward to look closer at your own hand. “I can’t imagine you’re feeling great anywhere, especially after my match…” You pulled yourself away from him, not allowing him to get closer to you. He looked like a kicked puppy when you did that.

Though, with your pain receptors firing off and competing with each other, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Nor did you dull the sharpness of your glare. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you spat, and he flinched. “You should’ve been more careful. I refuse to believe it never occurred to you that your reckless battling style wouldn’t go straight down the soul bond. Or, maybe you are that stupid…”

You were being mean, but in your mind, it was justified. His actions and selfishness had caused you physical pain for months ever since your soul bond manifested. The least you could do is inflict some retributive pain in the only way that seemed to affect him…verbally.

Bakugo, who seemed content to watch with a semi-amused smirk from the side, finally stepped in at that, his jaw clenched at your insult to his friend. “You watch your fucking mouth,” he all but growled out. “It’s not like he fucking meant for you to get hurt on his behalf.”

You barked out a bitter laugh, your feelings of injustice making you brave in the face of the notorious hot-head. “Yeah? Well, it doesn’t matter if he intended to or not, he’s still a shitty soulmate for all the shit he put me through.” From the corner of your eye, Kirishima seemed to deflate slightly, evidently weighed down by shame. Bakugo’s eyes, however, flared as he met your anger with his own.

“But,” you continued, “since you have such a hard on for him, you can have him for all I care. Fuck you, and fuck you too. Stop ruining my life and stay the hell out of it.” You shot that last bit Kirishima’s way, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest smidge of guilt. He’d forced his expression into something neutral, biting the inside of his cheek—but his eyes…they were nothing short of devastation.

You spun on your heel to leave. Despite all your pride and justified anger, the brutal limp in your step made your dramatic exit less effective.

You heard Bakugo growl from behind you, and you could only assume Kirishima was holding him back as he murmured a quiet, “Don’t. They’re right, man. I fucked up…” You didn’t care enough to look back and check. You had enough on your plate as you limped your sorry ass up to the infirmary for your broken hand.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

You had been absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful. Your cheeks slightly flushed and that passionate, fiery look in your eyes…

He hadn’t even felt the impact of your hand slapping his cheek, but he wished he’d known it was coming. If he had, he’d have deactivated his quirk…just to feel your touch in any capacity. Because, if he knew one thing for certain, he’d never feel the grace of your touch ever again.

He'd met his soulmate, and in the same breath, he’d lost them.

You’d been as devastating, fierce, and hypnotizing as a roaring flame. He couldn’t forget the vision of you. Your words had been sharper than a blade, and they’d cut him more than he’d care to admit. But he couldn’t really blame you.

He hadn’t even thought about the ramifications of his fighting style before. Due to his quirk, he was a highly defensive asset—he could tank debilitating blows without even breaking a sweat. It was perfect for combat, since he never had to consider any real damage or injury to himself.

But he had been thoughtless. Because, despite how excited he’d been when his soulmate bond manifested, he never once considered the consequences his brutal, reckless fighting would have on them.

He used to like taking hits, just to show off how tough he was…but now it made him sick to his stomach, thinking about all the suffering he’d caused you. All before he even knew you.

You were right. He was a shitty soulmate—at that fact made him loathe himself all the more. What kind of man did that make him? He’d willingly, though unknowingly, let you take the brunt of every hit. God…that look in your eyes. You hated him. You hated him, and you didn’t even know him, but it was his fault.

“Kirishima!” Aizawa shouted, exasperated, from the sidelines. The sound startled Kirishima out of his thoughts. “What the hell are you doing? You’re letting your team flounder out there!”

It’d been a week since the altercation with you, and admittedly it had affected him deeply. He wasn’t putting as much effort into his training, choosing to avoid the heat of battle where he could. This, consequently, was pummeling his teammates.

“Shit,” Kirishima muttered under his breath as he watched Sero take a brutal punch to the side of the head from Shoji, sending him sliding across the rocky terrain. They were in the midst of a team versus team exercise, and once again, Kirishima had abandoned his part in the formation.

He was the one who should’ve taken that hit, up on the frontline. He could tank it without a problem. Now Sero was down for the count, and their team was at a disadvantage.

He could hear Aizawa shout again, anger and frustration beginning to bleed into his tone as he yelled at him to get in there. But how could he? How could he willingly take the blows knowing that he was practically damning you to bear the pain for him?

Yet at the same time, how could he ever aspire to be a pro-hero if he couldn’t use his body as both a natural shield and weapon—if he couldn’t use his quirk? He was torn, and his own internal conflict had left him floundering ever since he learned who his soulmate was, and what he’d inadvertently done to them.

With Kirishima’s guilt and indecision forcing him into inaction, their team inevitably lost the exercise. Aizawa glared at him from across the field, disappointment painted across his face. And his teammates—his classmates and friends—were shooting him frustrated looks too, looking a little more beat up than usual.

Kirishima made his way over to Sero, where Denki and Mina were already helping him to his feet. Sero had a nasty bruise already marring the side of his head, purple extending all the way around his eye socket. Kirishima’s gut twisted painfully as a deep feeling of shame and worthlessness settled there.

Kirishima didn’t like feeling like a coward. He was more than willing to sacrifice himself for his friends…but he felt like his hands were tied. Either he had to watch his friends get hurt, or knowingly hurt you by taking it himself.

Old insecurities from his youth resurfaced. Self-doubt and self-loathing began to settle where absence had taken residence within him—he lost the chance of a future with you, his soulmate, and now he was losing whatever chance he had of becoming a truly respectable and manly hero.

Kirishima clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides before he ran one of them through his hair. Sero was slightly wobbly on his feet, and was forcing a gritty smile despite the evident throbbing of his head. With Denki helping to shoulder his weight, Sero spoke to Kirishima, wincing slightly.

“It’s okay, man,” his said, voice hoarse. “It’s not your fault.” His words, though good natured, did little to reassure Kirishima. He knew it was his fault, and knew that Sero was just being kind because of what had happened with you last week. His friends all knew the struggles he was going through—they could see the emotions, insecurities, and guilty conscience warring in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to be strong.

Mina knew this more than anyone, and so she patted Kirishima’s shoulder gently. “How about you take Sero to the infirmary?” she offered, and Kirishima recognized this as the kindness it was. It was an opportunity to help him feel a little less useless in that moment.

Kirishima swallowed, and nodded his head, feeling every bit like a young boy again and he assumed Denki’s spot and shouldered half of Sero’s weight. As he walked him up to the infirmary, he winced each time Sero did.

Kirishima knew he was a shitty soulmate, and now he knew he was a shitty friend too.

Once Sero was settled into a cot and under Recovery Girl’s care, Kirishima allowed himself to exhale the breath he was holding. He ran a hand down his face, and felt the urge to do…something. Punch a wall, scream into his pillow, pull his hair…anything to get rid of this heavy feeling in his chest and the loudness of his thoughts.

He leaned against the wall just outside the infirmary, standing like a sentinel while his friend had his mending done. Cutting through his onslaught of heaviness, Kirishima felt a sudden ache in his hand. He glanced down at it, and something tightened in his chest. That was you, wasn’t it? Down the soul bond…the hand you’d broken against his jaw was aching now.

Would this be as close as he ever got to you? Standing on the outskirts of your existence, only ever knowing your pain? It seemed a fitting punishment, considering he’d caused so much of it for you…

He wondered where you were. He wondered if you ever thought of him, or if you did your best to clear him from your mind entirely. Stop ruining my life and stay the hell out of it. Those were likely the last words he’d ever hear from his soul mate.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, before he finally pushed off the wall. Classes were over for the day, and he couldn’t think of a better start to his weekend than sulking bitterly in his room for the rest of the night.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

You rubbed your uninjured hand along your chest, trying to ease the painful, aching tightness there. It had refused to dull even a smidge for the past week. You had a small suspicion to the cause, but little idea as to what the sensation actually was.

It was Saturday night, and although the burn pains from last week had faded, the feeling in your chest was only getting worse. It was almost more miserable than the soreness beneath your cast.

You stared hard at your textbook, the lamp on your desk illuminating the words and diagrams in a warm yellow light. But as much as you tried to focus, the aching chest pain distracted you. You sighed in defeat, and closed the heavy book with a thump.

You pushed out from your desk, stretching to the best of your ability with the clunky, hunk of plaster encasing your fractured hand. Something was wrong with your soulmate, wherever he was. Ever since you presented with a soul bond, nothing like this aching feeling had ever been sent down the line. It was distracting, and…a little concerning.

You hadn’t planned on ever talking to Kirishima again after how you left things last week, but you felt compelled to get to the bottom of this. You told yourself it was because you needed to study without any distractions. Though, if you were honest with yourself, you’d been feeling kind of shitty about what you’d said to Kirishima in your anger.

You’d just been so tired of the near constant pain. You’d been at your wits end. You had resented him for it, and that resentment had built over time until it boiled over.

But this past week, you’d noticed something. The pain you’d so often associated with him and his hero training was surprisingly absent. There was only that deep, painful ache in your chest that refused to go away.

You swallowed, trying to clear your head of all these thoughts. You took a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself. Then, you raised you good hand, and gave three solid knocks to the door. You waited…but no one answered. You knew he was in his dorm. You could hear soft music playing on the other side of it. Perplexed, you raised your fist again and rapped your knuckles against the door a second time.

Once again, no one answered. Feeling slightly miffed at being ignored, you called out through the door, “Kirishima, open up.”

A moment later, you heard the music silence.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet as you heard shuffling on the other side of the door. You preoccupied yourself by looking at your cuticles, waiting for what must’ve been thirty seconds before the door finally and suddenly opened. It startled you slightly, but you quickly composed yourself.

There, Kirishima stood. He was in sweatpants and a sleep shirt. His hair was mussed and down against his head, as if he’d only just quickly ran a comb through it. He looked…not well. Beneath his eyes were slight dark circles, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. He wasn’t smiling as he normally did either, as if his bright and cheery attitude had been snuffed out like a candle.

His eyes were widened slightly, staring at you as if you were a phantom, or a figment of the mind. He gaped, evidently stunned, and you cleared your throat awkwardly at the attention. “Hey,” you managed to get out.

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Then, he recovered, and leaned against his door frame. “Hey…” he answered quietly, his eyebrows furrowed. He seemed sad. “Sorry. Did I…did I hurt you again?” he asked, his voice sounding weak.

You blinked at him, and quickly shook your head. “No, no…” you said, speaking with a lot more patience and kindness than you had the last time you confronted him. “I just…wanted to check on you.”

At your lame explanation, Kirishima seemed to still. His expression morphed slightly, taking on a look of confusion. His eyes briefly glanced down the hall in either direction, as if there might’ve been a camera crew waiting to get his reaction. Then, when his eyes returned to you, you felt your heart leap into your throat. Was his attention always this all-encompassing?

This close to him, you realized that you never noticed before how pretty his eye color was. It was a gorgeous burnt-sienna.

You blinked when he cocked his head slightly, and realized you’d been staring. You cleared your throat, a little embarrassed, but undeterred. He hadn’t yet responded to you, seemingly waiting for you to continue. So, you do.

“I’ve been getting this feeling,” you began slowly, but immediately stopped as a few girls left their dorm a few doors down. You flushed slightly, glancing their way before looking back to Kirishima. “Actually, do you…mind if I come in to talk more privately?”

Kirishima’s eyes widened slightly, and glanced over his shoulder towards his room, as if a little self-conscious. “It’s messy,” he confessed after a moment, but one look at your pleading eyes had him caving. “But uh…yeah, come on in.” He stepped to the side, holding the door open to you in a way that seemed rather gentlemanly, despite everything.

You entered, ducking your head and keeping your cast tucked into your body. The room was dark, and as he’d said, a little disheveled. Some clothes piled in the corner next to the hamper, empty drink cans and snacks on the table next to his bed, a towel in the center of the floor…

Before you could enter too far, Kirishima closed the door and made quick work to tidy up what he could. You opened your mouth to reassure him it was alright, but something in your intuition told you to humor him. So, you patiently waited as he tossed the clothes and towel into the hamper, and swiped the trash into the bin.

When he finished, he ran a hand through his hair and puffed out a soft breath of air. “Sorry about that,” he muttered between his teeth. Silently, he gestured a hand to a red beanbag in the corner of the room for you to sit. You hesitated for only a second before thinking better of it, and accepted the invitation. It sank beneath you as you sat down. It felt like it was swallowing you.

“So,” he said after a moment, leaning his hips against his desk. He braced his hands on the edge of it, not quite meeting your eye, but instead looking at the floor near your feet. “You were saying?”

You cleared your throat, trying to fight off the wave of awkwardness threatening to consume this entire situation. “Yeah,” you began. “I’ve just been…getting this feeling like something was wrong.” He looked at you then, and you paused for just a second before you asked, a bit unsure, “Is something wrong?”

Kirishima seemed to search your face for something, words getting caught in his throat. Finally, he looked away and muttered quietly, “Can you feel it? Is it bothering you? …sorry, I’m…I’m trying.” He’d always been so boisterous when you saw him in the halls, always loud, cheerful, energetic, and bright.

Now he seemed so sullen and dejected. Geez, had you done that to him?

Guilt gnawed at your gut, and distantly you replayed the harsh words you had snapped at him the last time you’d spoken. You’d been angry, and you felt justified in being so. But also, you’d spoken without giving him any chance to respond or explain himself. And, he’d just let you. You’d never had a proper conversation before that afternoon, and he had no reason to quietly undertake your vitriol, and yet he did—without a single word of retaliation or denial.

“Kirishima,” you sighed, looking away in shame. “It’s not that…look, I’m sorry for how I behaved before.” You could feel the weight of his eyes back on you, watching your face. You wished you were brave enough to meet his gaze. “I was upset and… you didn’t know, did you? That it was hurting me that badly? You didn’t think of it. I’ve been thinking this past week, and I can’t imagine you would do it on purpose. You don’t seem like that kind of guy.”

You looked up in time to see him shake his head, confirming your guess. He was staring at you with an intensity, hanging onto every word as if you were the most important thing in the world. “I didn’t know,” he agreed quietly.

“I know,” you breathed, watching him carefully. He glanced away at your sudden attention, and you got the feeling he normally wouldn’t have if not for…whatever was going on. “I can feel your pain,” you said after a moment. “It’s different. It’s here.” You press your good hand to your chest, and saw him close his eyes, a strained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and you felt your heart twist painfully. He seemed to feel it too, because he looked up at you the moment it happened.

“Stop saying that,” you frowned, and with minor difficulty due to having a cast, you pushed yourself up from the bean bag. You watched Kirishima stiffen as you approached him, and paused. “I’m the one who should apologize.” He seemed to relax a hair then, and watched you with the same rapt attention as before.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” you said, again pressing your hand to your chest. You watched him watch you, and took another small step forward. He didn’t react, so you took it as a sign to approach. Slowly, you removed your hand from your chest, and ever so gently placed it upon his own.

You heard him inhale sharply, and could feel his heart hammering in his chest. “That’s what this aching feeling is, isn’t it?” you asked, and he didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. You could see all the confirmation you needed in his eyes.

“You’re not a shitty soulmate,” you murmured, wincing at the words you had once spat at him. “I shouldn’t have approached you like that, guns blazing. I shouldn’t have made assumptions. I haven’t felt anything this week other than the aching. You’ve been trying not to get hit during class, right?”

You watched him carefully. Again, he didn’t answer you, but instead raised his hand to rest it atop of where yours was still upon his chest. His eyes were soft with a vulnerable emotion, a lingering sadness, and what you felt might have been a tiny, fragment of hope.

You swallowed, feeling a slight warmth rise to your cheeks. No one had looked at you like that before. It felt intimate in a way. The anger and resentment you had burned with just last week was extinguished, and all that remained was a desire to reconcile and understand.

“Tell me what this feeling it?” you asked quietly, deciding to reward his vulnerability with some of your own. “Help me understand you.”

And so, he did. He brought you to his bed, and you both sat on the edge of it as he confessed how he had been feeling. The resurgence of old insecurities and mental health issues. The self-loathing, the struggle to work towards his hero dreams, to be a good person to his friends and to you, and to fight back the crushing waves of disappointment and expectations weighing down on him.

He was honest with you about everything, and you admired him for it. He was courageous in his honesty, and despite all the new and past hurt you’d triggered in him, he continued to speak kindly to you. Did you deserve his forgiveness? You weren’t sure yet, but he seemed to think so.

When he’d finished, you had slight tears in your eyes. The crushing weight in your chest, that ache he’d been feeling…it had been overwhelming. But as he’d talked you through his feelings, you noticed it had lightened considerably. It was still there, smaller yet persistent—but, you were certain with time, you might help him vanquish it as he’d done once before. You squeezed his hand with your own, and he looked at you with a slight color to his cheeks.

“Since we’re being honest,” he said after a moment, “I was always psyched knowing I had a soul mate out there.” He watched you for your reaction carefully. “Even though you looked at me like a raging bull, I thought you were so beautiful. You had so much spirit, so much courage.”

You bit your bottom lip, and realized you were still grasping his hand. You didn’t release it.

“That’s the kind of hero I want to be, you know?” he admitted with the softest smile. “The kind of person I want to be. Straightforward, honest, courageous, bold, and compassionate even when it’s hard to be.”

“You are,” you heard yourself saying, staring into his eyes. Those pretty, burnt-sienna eyes. After a moment, you swallowed, feeling your cheeks warm once more. “I don’t actually want you to stay away,” you admitted.

“I know,” he answered, and smile he gave you was familiar.

[msfantasy]

Unexpected Surprise from a goblin

Goblin x Reader

Summary: experiencing illness you visit a witch where she diagnoses you

Series Masterlist

“Pregnant.” The bubbly witch announces, holding a crystal over your stomach as you lay flat on your back on top of the of the Wicca alter.

Your throat clenches at the unexpected news being delivered, your ears fading out to a dull ringing, your mind reeling at the news all whilst your eyes prick with tears that are quickly building— spilling over the creases like small buckets of water. Your hormonal mind escalating the shock to instant crying.

“Oh dear— I suppose it wasn’t planned then?” The sweet young witch asked, placing the crystals down and began patting your head in attempts to comfort you. “I know that this isn’t helpful now— but monsters are incredibly fertile, if you do not wish to get pregnant, you must involve a witch in your plans to help you mitigate this.” She says which only makes you cry harder, because, how the fuck were you meant to know that? It’s not like sex education is exactly encouraged for girls, let alone when it involves monsters. It’s such a taboo topic.

“H-how did you know? Did the crystal show its a goblin?” You ask with a quivering voice.

“Oh well….” The witch mutters, playing with her long mousy brown hair awkwardly. “You don’t need magic to tell that it’s a monster—otherwise you wouldn’t be crying this hard.” She says, stepping away to pour you a cup of tea.

What the hell were you meant to do? You had enough money from your inheritance to live for a few years independently in the woods, but not indefinitely. You’d figured you’ll seek a husband when you had to and not a moment sooner. But who the hell would want you if you had a goblins child?

There’s no way.

There’s no way you can keep the baby— you’ll live in poverty and starve to death and your child will be abandoned in a cruel world rejected by society only to also be starved and left in poverty…

The kindest thing would be to—

“It’s a boy.” The witch said suddenly, making your mind come to a crashing halt at you process her words. “Have you ever thought of any boy names? I always liked those human names, Fredrick, Alaric or Cassian.” The witch said, her bubbly voice making your tense mind ease up ever so slightly. “Aye, well you’re very lucky— goblins are very family orientated.” She says placing the teacup into your hands. “You and your baby boy will be well looked after, do not fret.” She says which only makes you cry harder.

“I-I d-don’t know who the f-father is.” You begin to sob again making the witches eyes bulge.

“Oh my— you’re a very progressive woman to have so many -“

“I’ve only slept with one goblin!” You snapped. This was so unfair, you only did it once. “I mean, I didn’t even ask his name. It was all in the heat of the moment— he didn’t even stay, took off immediately after we.” You couldn’t even finish your sentence.

The sympathetic, tight lipped smile coming from the witch has your mind spinning all over again. You continue to gasp between dabbing your eyes with a pink handkerchief that floated you way.

“I-I can’t have this child.” You say mournfully, the tone of sadness shocking you as you had not even realised how you objectively felt about this whole situation.

Without warning the witch reached forward, touching your belly, her eyes turning into blank white as her voice twists into a deep melodic trance.

“Kobolt Konstantin of Terra Caves.” She states before snapping back to reality.

You just stared at her, mouth agape, unsure of what she just did.

“The spirits tell me the father is Kobolt Konstantin of the Terra Caves.” She says again with her normal chipper attitude. “Be warned dear girl, when you seek Kobolt out— he will not be expecting your arrival.” She says, now squinting your way, as if scrutinising your appearance as she looks you from head to toe. “No, no, no, this is won’t do.” She said suddenly, jumping to her feet, ripping potions and herbs from her apothecary.

“What won’t do?” You ask, watching the witch scurry around her cottage.

“The leading lady must always be the most beautiful in the room and right now…” she says, her voice dwindling as she tries to curate the best response. “You just need a little extra…care.” She finishes. Now shoving her hoard into your hands.

“I-I can’t afford all this.”

“Consider it a gift from new life.” She says, placing a hand on top of you head, muttering otherworldly words with that vacant look in her eyes until she pulls away with a giddily clap of her hands. “A witches eternal blessings for glowing skin, silky hair and manicured nails!” She giggles again, admiring her handy work. “No off you go— seek out Kobolt, once you do, all will be well.”

[songmingisthighs]

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lxxxiv - a favour

cursed!jongho × reader

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 2.2 k

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

The conversation with Jongho was deeply upsetting. You knew that you were in the wrong and that Jongho had every right to be angry with you, but you didn't think that he would take things that seriously. Of course, you knew the gravity of your action, but surely Jongho could've shown you some compassion?

Fueled with anxiety and guilt, and slight brokenheartedness, you barrelled into your grand uncle's house, hoping to be able to just hang out, talk a bit maybe, help you clear your mind with some comfort your grand uncle usually gives (which was him spitting mean words to whoever you were upset with) before you try to figure out a way to start making things up to Jongho.

With everything that had been going on, the last thing you expected was to walk into the house and see Beomgyu standing next to a guy you had never seen before.

"Beomgyu?" You called out, finally catching his attention.

Beomgyu and the man snapped their heads towards you, and it was then did you realize that they were wearing Hanboks, black Hanboks with equipment you recognized were used in shamanism but something felt... different. The candles, the bronze pot, the drawing on the floor, there was something ominous about the whole thing.

"What's going on?" You asked, looking at the stranger before you shifted your attention to Beomgyu, "Are you exorcising my grand uncle?"

Beomgyu was gaping like a fish out of water, trying to give you an answer. So the stranger answered for him.

"(y/n), what are you doing here?"

Your eyes widened, and you immediately took a step back as Beomgyu snapped his head at the stranger and smacked him on the arm. "W-what the fuck?" You choked out, not believing your ears because that man could not have spoken with the same tone and cadence as your grand uncle.

Realizing what he did, the stranger closed his eyes and hung his head, "Shit," he muttered, "This is not how I wanted you to find out." That confused the hell out of you even more, because what the fuck was he even talking about? "What do you mean 'find out'? Who are you? I swear, my grand uncle wouldn't even let his family come and visit, so how did you get here? Did Beomgyu smuggle you in?" you asked, getting anxious which translated into impatience.

The man looked up and let out a sigh before he smiled, not an evil or mischievous smile, a genuine soft smile which made the whole situation even more creepy. "Don't you recognize the man who has raised you all this time?" He raised his right arm, raising the long sleeve from his chin up, covering his face for one second and once the fabric showed his face, it revealed the face of your grand uncle. "How can you not recognize me, (y/n)? We spent so much time together," your 'grand uncle' said.

Your knees buckled, and you almost fell out of sheer horror when he lifted his sleeve once again, and the face of the strange man returned. "Who are you?" you asked, voice shaking while you tried your best to keep your body standing still. The stranger tilted his head and chuckled, "What do you mean who am I? I'm Yang Myungdae, I've always been Yang Myungdae, the same Yang Myungdae that you knew since you were just a baby," he smiled.

Somehow hearing that pissed you off because the next thing you know, you stood straight up and pointed a finger at him, "Don't you fucking say that because I don't know you. I don't fucking know who you are so you better start telling me everything before I call the cops."

"The cops?" He scoffed, "What are they going to do when I tell them that I'm 600 years old and have been surviving using black magic?" That seem to catch your attention because your anger faltered and your inquisition piqued. Myungdae seemed to notice the shift and he raised an eyebrow, "Yes... You might know me as your 'grand uncle', (y/n), but people like Beomgyu here, they know me as the Grand Master, they know me as a powerful being not to be messed with because they know, the last time someone dared go out of line with me, I cursed him, I put a binding moon spell on him and he's still suffering even to this moment." The way he spoke seem to poke at something you knew and you had felt familiarity crawling in your brain, telling you that you absolutely know what and who he was talking about but you didn't want to believe it until he confirmed it himself. "Y-you cursed someone? Why?" you asked, trying to talk through the lump in your throat that was making it hard for you to breathe. There was a twinkle in his eyes that was unnerving and it made you step back slightly. "Because Choi Jongho had to meddle and made me lose the chance to control the Kingdom."

The revelation knocked the air out of you, and you found it extremely hard to breathe while processing the information. How were you supposed to just accept the fact that you were connected to the man who brought such pain to Jongho's life? Especially after you had inflicted a corresponding pain?

Are... Are you trying to tell me that I'm related to the man who cursed Jongho?" You asked, voice shaking in absolute horror at the reality. Myungdae chuckled darkly as he shook his head, "No, no... We are in no way related, child. You can thank Kim Hongjoong for my wardship over you." "K-kim Hongjoong- You know the Ripper Kim Hongjoong?" You asked incredulously, "Know him? He was assigned to me while I was experimenting with dark magic, and he had been trying to take my soul for centuries now because I broke the law of life. Not to mention I cursed Jongho so that was another point on my card. So, of course, when Yeomra decided to spare you, he thought that I would be the perfect person to raise a baby as a punishment, you know? I messed with lives and so he wanted me to have a taste of my own medicine just for the irony."

Hearing him talk about you as a punishment hurt a little more than you expected. As he didn't have the face of your grand uncle, you thought it wouldn't hurt as bad to know that the care he provided for you wasn't real and that your love for him was not reciprocated, but no, it still hurt quite a lot.

"So... My whole life was a lie? I didn't even have a family, I... I was never cared for with love like how a human being should be? I was just a pawn, a stupid game piece tossed around by you assholes who think human lives are something for you to manipulate? To toy with?" You had begun tearing up because just as you thought your life had settled into some sort of normalcy, you were met with yet another revelation that no one actually cared about you and that you had no one. Your life was never yours; it wasn't even designed, it was simply a canvas these creatures of higher abilities utilize for their own amusement. "I truly cared for you, I really did. But you're telling me that everything was a fucking lie? Now... Now, I just feel stupid for going out of my way to worry about you, to care for you when you absolutely didn't need it. It must be funny, huh? Seeing the mortal, the perishable scrambling around trying to accommodate for you when you had your fucking... sherpa tailing behind you all this time. You couldn't have just asked to be employed here, huh, Beomgyu? Did you and Mingi plan this? Was Mingi aware?" The glare you sent at Beomgyu made him shift in his spot, ashamed and flustered, "No... He didn't know anything, and I actually had to create an elaborate plan to hypnotize him," he muttered. You were slightly glad to know that at least Mingi wasn't involved in this situation, but it didn't really calm you down.

Myungdae saw how genuinely upset you were, and honestly, it wouldn't be fair to him to lie to you because he really did end up caring for you. How could he not? The time he spent with you, the time he spent getting to know you, he came to think of you as his real kin, no matter how much of a lie it was. "It wasn't always like that, (y/n), I... Everything I told you was real," he said, softening slightly, seeing your scrunched face, which reminded him of the time when you were three and had refused to eat the baby food he made Beomgyu feed you because you had wanted him to feed you, "I only altered my background slightly but everything else I told you, all the heart-to-heart we had, that was me because I raised you despite everything. I cared for you, I cared about you." It was odd for Myungdae to put himself in such a vulnerable position, and he felt stupid doing it in front of Beomgyu, but he didn't care about that as much as the fact that you were breaking right in front of him.

"No, no, no, that's a fucking lie because if you cared about me you wouldn't lie! You didn't raise me; you were stuck with me. You were a prisoner and I was your prison!" you yelled, turning around to leave the house with tears streaming down your face.

Inside the house, Myungdae sighed as Beomgyu awkwardly stood at his side. "I could have been more gentle," Myungdae said to himself. "Well, I don't know any other way you could break the news, master. Any kind of way would have broke her and you did the best considering how she found out," Beomgyu answered, trying to help his master feel better. Still, Myungdae felt his chest clench, "My plan was to fake my death to her and move to the other side of the country so no, Beomgyu, there was no plan for when she found out because she was never supposed to find out." Beomgyu paused for a second, processing what Myungdae just said before his eyebrows shot up in realization, "You really do care for the mortal, didn't you?"

Myungdae was about to answer Beomgyu when suddenly the front door opened again.

"You're back-" Myungdae's words were cut off by you raising a hand at him, "Do you really care about me?" Myungdae's eyebrows furrowed, "Wha-" "Do you really care about me or were you just lying again?" There was something in your voice that compelled Myungdae to answer and as he nodded and whispered a soft 'yes', your shoulders relaxed and your hand dropped.

"I need you to do me a favour," you said. "What kind of-" Again, you cut him off, "I need you to help me make things up with Jongho." Confused, Myungdae furrowed his eyebrows, "I... I don't know what you expect me to do here. I specialize in black magic, things like making up with a friend would be something under my pay grade." You hesitated for a moment but you pushed the unsurety to the side quickly as you were pressed for time, "Look, I messed up with him and I need you to turn back time or stop time or fucking send me to the past or something, I don't know, okay? But I need to do something for Jongho because- because it was- it is my fault and if he hates me, I want him to hate me knowing that I still tried to make up for my selfishness."

Myungdae hesitated as well, not really wanting to help you because he knew what the toll was in his line of work. "(y/n), I don't know what you wanted me to do here exactly, but even if I could, black magic exacts a heavy toll and no matter the severity of the result, it demands something out of you," he explained. But you simply didn't care you shook your head and you defiantly glared at him, "You owed me," you stated simply.

As powerful of a man Myungdae was, your words made him feel guilty enough that he reluctantly nodded, "Fine, don't say I didn't warn you because I did," he then looked at Beomgyu and with a knowing look, Beomgyu nodded firmly before walking away to get somethings from around the room. "Close the door and come to the circle, tell me what you did and your desired outcome, I'll figure out what I can do," Myungdae said as he took a bowl filled with a reddish-brown liquid you don't even wanna question.

So you let out one last sigh, acknowledging that this was your Hail Mary to make things up to Jongho and that you actually achieved your goal of getting some sort of answer from your grand uncle, even though it was nothing like how you expected it to be. Nevertheless, you turned around and closed the door, resigning your fate with Jongho, and completely missing seeing the man standing across your house with his fists clenched and eyes burning.

network :

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taglist :

@dinossaurz @redzie02 @stayatinykatsy @tinyelfperson @allisonleannn @yukichan67 @phenomenalgirl9 @dawn-iscozy @aestheticsluut @krustycangrejo @teenyfinds @kirbrary @thedistractedwriter @gxlden-bxbyy @huachengsbestie01 @charreddonuts @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict @velvetskize @do-you-remember-summer-127 @borahae-reads @domfikeluva @hwalighters @akunoeyebrows @ateezourstars @blueyyyuy @willowwyy

@roronoas-wife

[teashirt505]

you just might find (you get what you need) (also on ao3)

The sun is shining on Cherry Lane. On Billy, and he couldn't care less. This whole idea that the weather has any impact on your mood is total crap. Still, it's nice to get out and stretch his legs for a little bit, even if he's not wearing the pants for it. He prefers working on his torso, but this is okay, too. I guess.

At first, he doesn't stray too far from the house. Almost like he's tied to it. He nearly vomits on the sidewalk, narrowly missing his shoes. He's not hungover. Okay, fine, he's a little buzzed. He likes to keep his mouth busy from time to time. Gum can only do so much. He kicks at a pebble, grunting in frustration when the fucker bounces off his shoe and lands in the grass. Even the sun is different here. He can't explain it, which is fine. No one asks.

Hey, Billy, you okay with packing up your shit and moving to a new state? Leave behind your home, your school, all your friends? Everything you've ever known?

How do you feel about me remarrying so soon after your mom left?

Does it hurt when I hit you?

Are you used to be called a fag yet?

"Can't you just settle for humping my leg at school?" Steve Harrington sighs, leaning against the doorframe like a sitcom dad.

"Huh?" Billy startles, shutting up immediately. He clears his throat, ears and neck burning red. "Fuck."

"Fuck is right." Steve crosses his arms, showing them off without meaning to. They're almost enough to put Billy in a good mood. Almost. "I didn't even know you knew my address. How did you know where I lived, anyway? You know what, don't tell me. I don't think I wanna know. In fact, I know I don't. Sometimes being in the dark is a-okay!"

Billy just stares at him. Well, this is awkward. Sounds like I'm not the only guy with stuff on his mind. Join the club. "Took a wrong turn." He shrugs, hoping to loosen a knot in his right shoulder that's been killing him since the move. Must've pulled something during practice. There's not enough water in Hawkins. He'll take salt water over chlorine --and whatever is floating around in that pool he drove past the other day-- in a heartbeat.

"Right. Sure."

And then King Steve does something surprisingly diplomatic; he backs up so Billy can come in. Not just diplomatic, downright unrealistic.

Jesus Christ, how far did he walk?

"You might as well, since it's hot outside. Hottest on record, actually. Can't believe it's this bad in October. Vicki'll have a fit if she has to keep her party inside. She's never closed off the backyard before."

Billy stares again, long and exasperated. "Harrington," he says with about as much patience as he can muster, which is none, "I just moved here, remember? I don't know who the hell you're talking about."

"You haven't heard? Huh." Steve laughs, low and soft. A real buttery sound, somehow. "I figured Tommy would tell you. You two seem close." When Billy doesn't answer, he continues with a note of vague amusement-- or annoyance-- in his voice, "We used to be friends. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Fuck."

"Sounds like you need someone to talk to," Billy remarks gruffly, although he doesn't mean to. Not totally, anyway. Talking just isn't his thing if it's all heart to heart, and shit. Definitely didn't think he'd find Hawkins' Fallen King in this state. Maybe it's the heat. Gets to the best of us. Or the worst, in Steve's case. In both their cases. Thankfully, Steve doesn't press the mildly obvious open wound he let into his house. Just gets up and walks into the kitchen to get a beer. Comes back with two. One for him, one for Billy. Feeling like he should say something to fill the silence, because it's starting to feel very hot in here, he adds, "I can take a lot of things, but that... that cow shit drives me crazy."

Steve just laughs. The kind that sounds rich, but not far away. Too goofy to be taken seriously. "The what? I haven't noticed."

"Perks of living here your whole life, then?" Billy says dryly. Steve rolls his eyes with a snort.

"I guess it might take some time getting used to, especially if you're used to California."

Billy grins widely at that. "Trading sunny beaches and sand for miles and miles of hickory dickory? Yeah, you can say that again. How'd you know where I moved here from? You stalking me now, Harrington?"

"Pft, you wish." Steve chugs the rest of his beer. "People talk."

"About me, huh?"

"It'll all die down soon, once they see you're not all that."

Well, ouch. Billy sits up straighter. Now he's the one crossing his arms. They're bigger, and he knows it. He's spent a lot of time on them. "That so?" You were doing so well. I was actually starting to like you.

"Believe me, it's a good thing. Might not sound like it, and it's not like you're gonna fade into obscurity or whatever. You're... memorable." Steve doesn't seem all that swayed by Billy's change in demeanor, except maybe a mixture of earnest and mischief in his big, brown eyes.

He's poking back. And dammit, it's kind of getting Billy going. Half of him wants to kick Steve in the ribs, but the other half, the other half... wants things he can't say or think too hard about. "Memorable," he repeats, going over each letter to drag the word out, give Steve time to realize it sounded fucking gay. Or maybe Billy's just got dick on the brain. And ass. God, Steve's ass is fantastic. Focus, Billy, focus.

"Uh huh," Steve says, unwrapping a blue lollipop to suck on it. Billy automatically crosses his legs. "Any douche playing music that loud while driving isn't gonna go away anytime soon."

"At least it's music," Billy grumbles, "not the fucking song from Risky Business. Guys wanna f-wanna be Tom Cruise so bad. It's actually painful to watch."

"Ha ha." Steve turns on the tv, and look at that, Risky Business is on. "Have you ever actually watched it?"

"... Heard people talking about it. Can't be that good."

"I figured you of all people would like Bob Seger."

My mom liked him. "He puts me to sleep," Billy says instead. "I should really go." Despite trying to give himself an order, he can't-- won't-- get up. What's waiting for him at home? A father who can't stand him? A step-mother who tiptoes around every fucking thing? A step-sister he didn't ask for? A mother who's only in his head and that box on his shelf, tucked away safe and sound? I've got time. Fuck it. "You ordering a pizza or something? I'll stay for that."

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[banefort]

cost me an arm and a leg to get it running, but here's my Google Drive upload of The Generators (2024) dir. Georgie Cowan-Turner. If the upload doesn't work, try accessing it through this - a private Vimeo link I found in the festival's code.

[leatherbookmark]

dear god that would be turbo cringe or whatever, but seeing all those annoying little things in fics over and over again really makes me want to write one in which they're not obligatory funnymoments but rather like, words that have meaning and weight and so on

[dallonwrites]

beau is sooo messy i'm obsessed with him. him being happy to see felix seemingly flourishing and being more confident etc but also feeling weird and almost jealous at the fact that it used to be just him that got to see felix that way. that he used to be the only reason for it. and like he KNOWS that's a messy and kind of fucked up way to think about it but he also knows he's in a really weird spot emotionally and can't help it

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[miyaz6ki]

☆ wearing their clothes

synopsis. seeing s/o wearing their clothes for the first time :) (like shirts/sweatshirts or jackets/coats :pensive:)

the blade has spoken. erm... first draft being posted... i feel a little nervous after changing from reshinless to the user i use everywhere..

pairings. albedo, alhaitham, capitano, childe, wriothesley, diluc, neuvillette, kinich, xiao, dainsleif, wanderer

albedo felt himself heating up already. the red that crept up his neck was noticeable as you looked up. you were wearing his lab coat, and all cozy in the bed you both share.

"you're.. wearing.. my.." - "oh.. wow."

he had just come back from work and he couldn't wait to cuddle with you in bed, yet it was as if he wouldn't mind conducting another experiment with his new 'assistant' by his side <3

alhaitham when he suddenly walks into the empty home, tired of the work he's done for only archons knows how long he had been working. he just wanted to come home and tell you about all the things he's been- oh.

he was stunned. star struck. fuck. were you really wearing his sweater right now? the grayhead felt himself simply smirk at he adorable sight of you simply sleeping on the couch. a dinner made just for him, along with dessert on the side (ifykyk)

"maybe i'll tell you when i wake up, love."

capitano who simply lets out a chuckle, one out of love. he loves how large his coat looked on you. he handed it to you after going out for a while, asking you to simply hang it beside his desk. yet you had better ideas. and by better ideas? is to wear it of course!

"well what do we have here? you're so adorable my love."

he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. adoring the way you tried your best not to fall over as you tried to spin. this was enough to keep you warm though. not to mention how he was already carrying you bridal style to bed.

childe laughs, seeing you try on one of his shirts, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning to see him.

baby, you look amazing! how about another spin?

even when you simply scoffed, he loved how you looked right now. fuck, he could feel himself reddening already. he definitely will let you have full access to his wardrobe. just take it all like how you took his heart too.

wriothesley just put his jacket over you to keep you from being wet while watching the melusines play with sigewinne, yet right now he was more focused on how much he admired your figure in his clothes. his jacket.

"what's wrong?" "...nothing. you look amazing today, yk that?"

he chuckled at your behavior, unaware of your own attractiveness as you told them to stop running around the fountain with the wetness of the floor spreading. you couldn't help but ease up and laugh as well.

a certainly crazy day at the court of justice- neuvillette was finally finishing up the last few cases, not to mention how absurd some of the cases were.

not realizing he ended up taking your jacket instead of his home, only realizing it when the melusines mention how different it look from his usual one. oh man. there you were. trying on his coat that just seemed a little too big (or small) on you. gosh were you cute.. what do you mean his ears are red?!

"i.. it looks better on you than me, doesn it?"

dainsleif who was there immediately as soon as the red wine was spilled onto your outfit. quick to spring into acting, he throws his jacket over it just as fast. scolding the person who jealously just oh-so accidentally ruined your outfit tonight purely because they wanted your significant other? oh please he wasn't having any of that!

but by the time his anger went away, he didn't realize how.. alluring you looked.. in something he wore all the time. it definitely suited you better, only noticing after he finally parked the car. he definitely had to give you more of his clothes.

"you.. uh.. i.. well.. you're beautiful. you know, you're welcome to keep that."

diluc's face was turning as red as his hair seeing how you quietly snored, sound asleep in his- no, your shared bed. seeing how closely you held his coat to your chest, as well as the shirt you wore.

"...I don't.. deserve you."

he simply took his boots off, letting his arms snake you close, one of his hands trailing up to your scalp, calmly stroking your head as he feels you smile into his chest. this was life.

kinich who always had an interesting wardrobe, you really just wanted to see how comfy his clothes were if he can swing back and forth that far!

and in which you did, spinning and looking at yourself in the mirror in his clothing. you loved it even more from how it smelled just like him too <3

"someone's having fun aren't they?"

you felt yourself blush out of embarassment of getting caught. but before you could apologize, he already had his lips on yours.

when xiao decides it'd be a good idea to give you a hoodie just to realize you never gave it back. is it just.. yours now?

and to find out the answer? yes! it is! and he finds out in the cutest way possible—by finding you sleeping soundly and wearing it all the same. almost indifferent about it as if it was normal.

"you okay?" "i-i've been looking for this y-you know.."

he only flushed more when you tell him you missed him so much.

finally coming home, wanderer, or scaramouche just wanted to cuddle. no words shared. just to hold you in his arms.

but maybe it was good that didn't happen. because now he was looking at the love of his life, and eating the food they made him. knowing how they made it with the knowledge on how he can't really taste anything. not to mention you were wearing.. that sweatshirt he lent you.

you.. look.. good.

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[huh-i-guess]

Fever

(Task force 141 x F!reader)

Summary: While out on a mission you are injected with a substance that might lead to a shift in the dynamics between the 141.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, sex pollen, fingering, dub-con/non-con (under the influence of sex pollen), choking, nasty Simon, Gaz has morals

Word Count: ~ 4.2k

(Reader's callsign is Pepper)

I don't own MW2, the characters, or the gif above.

“What the fuck was that?” You shouted as you felt a sharp pricking sensation on your left ass cheek. You reached behind you to feel what was causing the sensation and groaned as you felt a syringe protruding from your behind. You looked down and noted that you had stepped on a pressure plate of some kind and triggered the laboratory’s defense mechanism.

“Oh fuck, lass.” Johnny mumbled.

“Shit, Pepper.” Gaz exclaimed in disbelief.

“No fucking way. Why does this shit always happen to me?” You yanked the dart-like needle from your behind and examined the leftover contents. The remaining contents appeared to be a blue syrup-like fluid. You sighed and pocketed the syringe hoping you could take it back to base to have it examined by the scientists at the lab. 

“Pepper, what was that?” Price called over the comms hearing the distress in everyone’s voices. Your thoughts ran at a mile a minute as you tried to figure out if you should tell your captain, that you probably had a mild crush on and always wanted to impress, that you just stepped on a trap. Or if you should lie. You hated lying to Price. It felt like you were letting him down and any time you did, you found yourself immediately retracting your statement and telling him the truth hoping he’d forgive your indiscretion. You readied your mouth to let out some kind of answer but snapped your mouth shut as you heard Gaz from your right side, “Looks like they tranqed Pepper or something. We were sweeping the lab and she was the first one in.” You turned your head toward Gaz and offered him a look that was a mix of thankfulness and regret. 

“Shite. You're still standing, lieutenant?” Price probed in a tone that, only those close to him could tell, was full of doubt and concern.

“Yes sir.” You pushed further into the lab taking extra care where your steps landed. The lab had been recently abandoned by russian terrorists working on some kind of bioweapon. You could only hope that you didn’t just get dosed with whatever they were concocting. As the three of you pressed further into the dingy lab you felt like the mass of your body was slowly doubling. 

“Soap. Gaz. If I drop, I need two to keep moving. We need to get this intel out of here as soon as we find it.” You could faintly hear the heavy footsteps of the terrorists behind you.

“No way in hell we’re leaving you behind.” Gaz contended. 

“Listen I-” 

You were quickly interrupted by Laswell’s voice in your ear, “Pepper. Evac will get to you and the boys in 11 minutes. It’ll be 2 clicks north of your current location. We’ll get you to the safe house from there.” 

“Copy.” You replied as Soap took a step closer and fixed his mouth to ready a response to your order. 

“Lass I don-”

“Listen. We don't have time for this. I don’t know what I got hit with but I know that at the moment we have a job to do. Let’s keep moving while I can and clear the files we came for. You will keep moving if I drop and that’s final. This mission can't be a waste of time.” You were met with an apprehensive “Yes Ma’am” and a “got it LT” and you snapped your head around to continue sweeping the lab. 

You knew you were being harsh but if you gave them room to argue you’d be stuck here going back and forth with them about it. Truthfully it was a ruse to make it look like you weren’t basically shitting bricks. You couldn’t stop the thoughts that flew through your mind.  I’m going to die today. Holy fuck I’m not making it out of this. I don’t know what I got hit with. How long do I have? You didn’t have much going on in your home life so the thought of a family didn’t even cross your mind until you thought about who around you did have one. Soap had his sisters back in Scotland that loved to “force” him to watch those really crappy rom-coms that he claimed he hated so much but then recommended for team bonding nights. Then you had Gaz who had his mom waiting at home for him. She always sent him care packages with little hand written notes that gave him updates on the status of his neighbors’ cat who had slowly been making itself comfortable on their property back in London. She even sent him photos of the cheeky little tuxedo cat. Your mind shifted from thoughts about yourself to thoughts about them. I have to get these boys out of here. They have so much going for them. They really are some of the best we have to offer. I can’t let them down. If I can't get out of here at least they can. 

Gaz went to the computer and plugged in a decryption device and began to sift through the scientist's digital files while Soap went through some of the scattered papers left in the room.

“They were in such a rush to get out of here they weren’t even effective at scrubbing their drives. Pep, I think I might have something.” You walked to the computer Gaz was stationed at and noticed a folder titled “Project Vitality”. 

“Good job, Gaz get it and we go. Soap anything?”

“A couple of poorly redacted files with the same name.” Soap chipped from your left. You made your way to him and patted his shoulder in praise.

“Alright we gotta move.” You heard the footsteps boom as the incoming enemies approached. You felt yourself slowly start to stall and noticed you had a difficult time focusing your eyes. It was like you were wearing a pair of glasses that weren’t meant for you and you couldn’t take them off. You willed your eyes to focus but it was becoming a hassle. Fuck me. You turned your head to Soap on your left and said, “Soap I need you to take point on the way out. I'll watch our backs as we exit.”

“Are you-” he started then pressed out a short, “Will do.” The look on his face was filled with so much concern, that for his sake, you almost wanted him to ask you if you were okay. He turned and rushed out of the room followed by Gaz and you at the back. The three of you navigated the winding corridors of the combatant base and made your way back, passing the rooms you had previously cleared. 

“Pepper. How we doing?” Price questioned over comms.

“Got the documents and drives, sir.”

“I know you did. That’s not what I’m asking about.”

“What kind of answer do you want, Cap?

“You know what I want to hear.” You knew Price wanted the truth but you couldn't let him know the fact that you might be starting to lose motor function and that the mass of your body felt like it had doubled. There was a large part of you that wanted to make him proud and craved his approval so the thought of disappointing him always stirred something deep inside you. But then there was Gaz and Soap. They were your sergeants and they often looked to you for guidance. The image they had of you rarely faltered from confidence and strength. They were right by your side and were clearly worried for you. If you told the truth to them they probably want to stop and question your status or maybe even try to do some kind of makeshift field evaluation on you and you’d definitely lose out on valuable time. 

A shaky, “I’m doing just fine, sir.” fell from your lips then silence. A sigh from Price that was then followed by a gruff, “Bring it in safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Of course sir.” You acknowledged. He knew you were lying. The slight tremor in your voice told him exactly what he needed to know. 

Soap led the three of you out of the compound but not without running into a couple of the remaining terrorists that missed your group upon arrival. You, although struggling to see and move, caught the slight movement as you three made your way to the entrance of the compound. A brown jacket sleeve that moved just a bit too slow was all you needed to gather that the combatants had reached your location. Years of intense practice and strenuous training had you firing your weapon with a practiced precision that was barely impacted by your declining physical state. 

As soon as you exited the compound you were met with a glaring brightness from the snow of the siberian tundra. The almost blinding whiteness was a massive contrast to the dimly lit compound so the massive shift in intensity had your head spinning. Gaz noticed you stumbling but only met you with a face of concern and a hand on your shoulder as he watched you struggle to get your bearings. 

Trekking through the Siberian tundra in your worsening condition was one of the hardest things you'd had to do in your career. The whirling of the wind was so intense that it felt like someone was screaming directly next to your ear and the pressure of it was enough to make your head pound. The snow was coming down so hard that each snowflake that hit your face felt like a tiny pin prick over and over again. Your feet were so deep in the snow that it felt like you were gaining an extra 20 pounds of weight with the effects of the drug starting to control your movements. You tried to pull yourself together. It was undeniable at this point that you would not be winning the battle against whatever medication they injected you with.

“2 minutes till evac” Ghost chimed in your earpiece. Your hearing was so sensitive that you could almost feel the loud mechanical static and the whirl of the helicopter in the background of his response.

“Oh my days. Ghost is the one flying us out? I don’t want to end up out the bloody chopper again” Gaz groaned. Oh. I wasn’t the only one to hear the helicopter then. 

“It was either me or you freeze out there, Sergeant.”

“LT, if you fly that thing the way you drive, Gaz might be better staying down here. Less chance of him getting thrown from the bloody thing.” Soap chirped. 

The world slowly started to look like a mass of colors and shapes with no definite beginning or end. The only thing you could do at this point was push and pray that you were gonna have enough strength to make it to the evac point. Everything was so intense that overwhelming wasn't even the right word to describe the feeling. You struggled to pick up your head as you began to hear another distinct whooshing sound that could only belong to that of a Puma HC2.

“I’m here aren’t I?” Soap and Gaz stopped moving as Ghost put the helicopter on the ground. 

“I’m glad you are sir. Good to see you, Ghost.” Soapsaid as he flung the door open and made his way on the aircraft.

“Always good to see that ugly mug of yours, Johnny.” Ghost turned his head to get a good look at everyone. “ Pepper, you don't look too hot.” Ghost concluded as you dragged yourself into the seat next to what you could have only imagined was Gaz. The words that came out of your mouth were something along the lines of “Not” and “Good” but no one really understood you with how slurred your response was. They did however understand that something was really wrong when your body slumped backward and went limp next to Gaz. You could vaguely hear the commotion of Gaz, Soap, and Simon, around you as they shouted your name and desperately tried to keep you from slipping out of consciousness. The last thing you heard was Price pressing to be informed on your state and him telling Ghost to get all of you to the safe house. 

---

“A neurotoxin that sends the body into overdrive. Increases nervous sensitivity and impulsivity, and impairs functionality of the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus.” Price read from the lab report with a stubby cigar in hand.

“Why the hell would they want to make something like that?” Gaz questions.

“Apparently in small doses it can be used as an aphrodisiac that it increases blood flow throughout the body, promotes sexual stamina, and increases pleasure outcomes? They must’ve been trying to develop something to sell on the streets.” Price continues.

“Right so they dosed her with super viagra?” Soap questioned. 

“That's what it sounds like?” Gaz said. 

“I thought that stuff didn't work on women?” Simon interjected. 

“It looks like they’ve altered it so it impacts both sexes but they haven’t been able to work out the less desirable symptoms. Tachycardia, fever, headache, dizziness, loss of consciousness, heart failure, and death.” Price paced as he read the outcomes. 

“Oh shit.”

“Heart failure? Death? How do we make sure that that doesn’t happen?” Gaz frantically questioned.

“The only way the toxin can be expelled from the body is through coitus…” Price trailed off as he dropped his cigar into a bowl. That can’t be right. He read it three times just to be sure and the words on the page didn’t change. 

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap deadpanned.

“No blood way.” Gaz stood with an open mouth. 

“Someone has to fuck her.” Simon said. 

---

When you awoke, you noticed you were lying on a firm mattress and were surrounded by the smell of smoke laced with a heavy sweetness that only came from Price’s cigars. You felt undeniably cold and couldn’t help but to shiver. You rubbed your fingers across your palms and felt them drenched in sweat. As you slowly began to turn to your side, you were overwhelmed with the feeling of the rough sheet that laid under you. 

“What the fuck?” You noticed that you had been stripped out of your vest and snow gear and were left in your black polyester thermals. You could feel every inch of fabric that you wore and immediately moved to take off the thermals. You were left in your sports bra and underwear.  Why am I taking off my clothes? I’m freezing? You ran your hands up and down your body trying to get a semblance of warmth but then decided that putting thermals back on would be too much for your unusually sensitive skin. As you dragged your hand down the sides of your thighs you couldn't help but notice how good it felt to touch yourself. You moved your hands to your inner thighs and couldn’t contain the moan that slipped from your mouth. You brushed your hand over the gusset of your panties and whined at the feel of your hand gliding over your already sensitive clit. 

“Pepper?” rushed out of Gaz’s mouth as he entered the room. He looked over to the pile of thermals on the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?” he probed.  When did Gaz get so attractive? He wore a red henley that hugged his arms perfectly and his soft curls made an appearance without the presence of his well worn UK hat. He made his way over to you and touched your forehead. “You’re burning up. Damn. The fever’s started.” The feeling of his hand on you was almost indescribable. He was warm and firm and exactly what you felt you needed at that moment. 

You felt yourself acting on purely impulse as you grabbed his hand and dragged it down to your mouth. You started to kiss his palm and moved your attention to his thumb. You placed it firmly between your lips and began to suck. “Oh fuck.” Gaz exhaled as he watched you with wide eyes. You continued your ministrations and moved from his thumb to his index and middle fingers. You began to lick around his digits before you engulfed them in your mouth with a guttural moan. You could taste the salt and gunpowder from the mission and it only made you crave him more. You lifted your gaze to him and willed your eyes to meet his. The groan that fell from his lips was divine. You removed his fingers from your mouth and helped his hand descend to where you really needed him. “Fuck. No. I can't do that princess. Not when you're like this.”

“But I really really want you to. Come on, Kyle. It’ll help me feel so much better.” You purred. Gaz let out a shaky breath, pulled his hand from you, and walked out the room but not without you noticing him readjusting himself in his pants. Fine, I'll do it myself. You sighed and pulled your panties down your legs till they rested at your ankles. You slid your fingers between your legs and gasped at how wet you were. You slowly started to trail your finger through your folds, collecting some of the wetness that had dripped from you and began to rub your clit. As soon as your finger pressed against your reactive little nub you were in heaven. You started in small circular motions and rubbed until you felt you needed more. You moved your other hand to your breast and tugged at your nipple. You kneaded and grabbed your breast like it was the key to your survival. You’ve never felt like this before. It's like you can feel everything, everywhere, all at the same time. You felt the rough fabric of the sheets, the scratchy wool of the pillow behind your head and you felt the soft cotton that was resting around your ankles.  You were still shivering from the fever but you felt like you could feel the stimulation of your clit in your toes. You needed more. 

You moved your hand from your plush breast to rest right at your soaked opening. You circled your middle finger a few times just to get it wet, and sank right into your leaking entrance. “Oh fuuuuuck”. You could feel the pressure of the finger at your walls as you started to curve your finger inside of yourself searching for your g-spot. You continued rubbing your clit and curling your finger inside of you hoping to seek your elease. It felt so good but it just wasn't enough. You slipped in another finger and moaned at the intrusion. You started to pant and whine with how good you were feeling, but you felt yourself needing more. You continued the calculated movements and felt your orgasm approaching. You just needed a little more. One more push to get you there. One curl of your finger turned to two, then to three, then the pleasure turned into frustration. “Fuuuuuuck.” You groaned as you  pulled your fingers from your body and layed on the mattress in a heap of sweat and frustration. You felt yourself slowly drift back into the unconscious void even as you worked to steady your breaths.  

---

“She sucked my fingers. Wanted me to fuck her. With my fingers. Uh she begged me to. And she was down to her knickers” Gaz confessed as he dropped his eyes to his combat boots, too unsure to look at his team. 

“Did you lad?” Price probed. 

“No, I couldn't do it. I really thought about it and I- I don't know. She definitely has a fever though.”

“Hm.” Was all that left Price's mouth. 

“We're gonna have to check up on her. Make sure her heart isn't working too hard and see how to keep her satiated. For her sake.” Simon stated matter of factly. 

“Does it say it has to be expelled through “sexual intercourse” or can she just, ya know, uh.. “Get there”, and work it out her system.” Soap questioned, looking toward Price and seeking the answers he normally has. 

“Johnny. It says coitus.” Simon replied. 

“No one’s gonna fuck her like this. It’s not right.” Gaz stated.

“What if we have to?” Soap doubted.

“Maybe we should see if an orgasm is the solution. If that doesn't work then last resort, someone will do what needs to be done.” Price said with a sense of finality. 

---

You felt the press of two fingers at your carotid artery and shivered at the warmth they offered. You fluttered your eyes open and nearly jumped out of your skin when they met dark brown ones behind a human skull mask. You’d seen Simon before and regularly worked with him but you'd never woken to him standing over you like the grim reaper.  

“Jesus, Simon.” 

“‘Just checking your heart rate.” He confirmed. Simon almost always has his gloves on. To feel his fingers at your neck had you craving more of his touch. You grabbed his hand that was at your neck and splayed it across your jugular. You looked up at him with full, pleading eyes and felt him squeeze a bit. A light moan left your lips as you begged him to squeeze harder. The groan that left his mouth would surely implant itself in the depths of your mind for years to come. The sound coming from him went straight to your core and you felt yourself clenching your thighs. 

“Simon, please.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Don’t look at me like that. Not while you've got your knickers round your ankles.”

“Please. Si. I need you. I’m so fucking horny. I can feel everything Simon. Please just help me feel good. I promise I’ll be good. You can use me however you want. However you need to. Please.”

“Don't say that y/n.” He turned his gaze away from your face. 

“I mean it. Please help me.”

“Just my fingers darling.” 

“Yes. Yes, thank you so much.” You nodded your head eagerly and bit down on your lip. If your fingers weren't working to get you there, maybe his would. You parted your legs for him and he hung his head and rolled his shoulders while he let out a deep “Fuck”. His grip on your neck tightened and you felt your head go light. “Oh fuck yes.” His other hand made its way between your plush legs and ran between your folds. Simon’s eyes were locked onto your pussy and he was in awe of how wet you were. He knew what the toxins effects on you were but to see them in person had him stiff as a board in his pants.  Fuck this was so wrong of him. He knew he wanted to help you but part of him was living out his sick and twisted fantasies. To have you, a stunning woman, dripping wet and begging for him to fuck you, he’d be insane to not feel at least a bit aroused. He dragged a finger around your clit and almost purred at the whine that left your lips. He continued to make slow and tedious circles around your clit. 

“Simon, please I need more. Can you - mmm fuck- can you fuck me?” How could he deny you when you’ve asked him so nicely. 

“Only with my fingers, darling.” He slipped in two fingers and groaned at how tight you were. Your back arched so deeply and he wondered to himself what it would be like to be behind you when you arched like that. Simon began to work his fingers inside of you. He started with slow but deep pumping motions and moved onto scissoring his fingers inside of you searching for that special spot that he knows will make you tick. Your breath hitched in your throat and you let out a long high pitched squeal. 

“Is that it, darling? Right there? Hm?” He beamed with a sense of condescension that made your pussy tighten on his fingers. 

“Oh fuck Simon. Please, please let me cum.” His fingers were hitting all of the right parts of you and you felt your orgasm nearing. 

“Of course you can come, darling. Fucking soak my fingers. I know you need it. Come on, darling.”

You slid your hand down to your clit and rubbed it in furious circles. His grip tightened on your neck and you felt fuzzy everywhere. “Cum all over my fingers. Make a mess, why don't you.” And at that final comment from Simon, you felt the band within you snap as you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. Your toes curled and your back was nearly curved into a C shape. Your pussy clenched and unclenched as Simon continued his assault. You felt your ears ringing from the intensity of the orgasm and felt like you lost hearing for a little moment. As you panted and tried to recover from your climax, Simon removed his drenched fingers from you, lifted his mask to just below his nose, and brought his hand up to his mouth. He locked eyes with you and you watched him in amazement as he cleaned you from his fingers. Your eyes flutter at how intense the sight was. His strong jaw, scarred but pink lips, and traces of stubble left you wanting more. He moved the hand that was on your neck back to your pulse point to check your heart rate.

“It’s slowed a bit. Get some rest," and with that he left the room and you felt yourself slip from consciousness.