#snapping thread like something pulled too thin?

[basilpaste]

me when i can use thread snapping as symbolism.

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

[tohokuu]

jjk men zipping up your dress

REBLOG MY WORK.

warnings : suggestive, light fluff, tension

a/n : something i did to my girl bestfriend the other day and it made me gay. also i didnt k is what to call this so… the name is misleading but 🧍🏽‍♀️

GOJO

“satoruuuu, can you please help me?” you whines prettily. gojo straightened up, looking at you away from the netflix tv show that kept him occupied.

“yeah. what’s up, baby?” he asked. you came closer, tiny little crop to sticking to your skin while the material of your jeans hugged your hips a little too tightly.

“i think i got them a size too small, baby. they won’t fit and i don’t wanna wear any other jeans with this top.”

gojo motioned you forward, leaning over to work his thin, long fingers around the buttons of your jeans.

these weren’t regular jeans. they were the ones with four buttons as a replacement for your zipper.

your panties peaked from underneath, if they could be even called that. you wore your thong out of your jeans today, showing off the cute dior imprint on the sides.

“toru, hurry up. i’m getting late!” you whined. gojo ignored your protest, squeezing your ass closer to him to make it fit inside your jeans.

“babe, if it wasn’t for your ass, this would’ve gone in perfectly ya know?” you rolled your eyes. fingers slowly trailing into his white hair, you tugged lightly while he worked four buttons through each hole.

you leaned back, getting annoyed at how long he was taking. you swung your hips side to side, a small habit when you felt bored.

but you were knocked out of your gaze when gojo pulled you roughly by the belt loop. you heard a thread snap and you looked down in shock.

his blue cerulean eyes stared up at you, blown wide open with lust and dominance.

“stop. moving.” he repeated.

you listened to him. not moving another inch as he pulled you closer using a finger hooked around a belt hoop.

TOJI

“tojiiiii, can you get this for me?” you said as you went up to your boyfriend. you turned around, showing him the extremely backless dress you wore. he raised his eyebrow, smiling to himself.

“you goin’ somewhere, pretty?” he asked. you nodded your head.

“i’m going out with shoko and utahime.” you chirped.

“mmm, dressed like this? coulda thought you was out to fuck other guys.”

his comment left a sour taste in your mouth. pulling away, you looked at him sadly, lip a little wobbly because how could he think of you like that?

he smirked at your distressed expression.

“i’m only messin’ wit ya.” you crossed your arms over your chest, still mad.

but toji knew how to make it right. he grabbed each wrist, pulling your arms around his neck and lifting your chin up so you could look up at him.

“look at me, babygirl.” he spoke in his husky voice.

you looked up, eyebrows still furrowed.

“you’re so fuckin’ cute with that face, ya know that? thinkin’ that it’ll really make a difference at all.” he crooned.

“shut up, toji. it wasn’t funny.”

“i think it was, babydoll.” he leaned in to your neck, pressing soft kisses around the column of your neck, right below your ear. you found it difficult to not gasp, breathing a little heavier as you tried to push at his shoulders.

toji wrapped his hands around the silky thread that ran across the span of your back, tugging it tightly while pulling you against his chest.

you gasped.

“ ‘m not done yet, where you think you’re goin’?” the deep timbre of his voice made your thighs press together, trying to hold in a squeak.

you felt your dress stick to your body tighter and together until a small snap was heard and your dress was all good to go.

toji pulled away, raising an eyebrow at your now pushed up tits.

he flicked your forehead softly, walking away to go back to whatever he was doing.

SUKUNA

“kuna, how do you do this??” you asked.

you walked up to him, almost tripping in the cloth that pooled around you.

he looked down from his throne, brows squinting as he saw your tiny form in a haori that was much too large for you.

he sighed..

“why are you wearing my haori, you bumbling fool?”

you tilted your head, looking down at the cloth that was wrapped around you, engulfing you in linens and silks.

“what?” you chittered.

“what exactly are you trying to achieve, brat?” his voice low and venomous.

“i just wanted to look pretty in a kimono.” you cried.

“well, that isn’t a kimono, for starters.” he sighed, watching your eyes tear up a little at the little mistake you had made.

within seconds, he appeared before you, a deep red kimono in hand.

his calloused hands pulled down his haori, exposing your shoulders to him. you blushed now, feeling more than exposed.

“k-kuna, what are you doing?” you asked.

“shut up. i’m aiding you.”

you kept quiet, fidgeting around a little until he raised his eyebrow at you, silently telling you to stop moving.

the haori was long gone and your body was naked and bare before him. he didn’t dare touch you slyly, though. his hands only grazed where needed and his eyes never left the fabric, not daring to look at anything he wasn’t supposed to.

his hands pulled the kimono taught around you, fixing it around your shoulders and then taking the obi to wrap around.

“life your arms.”

you did as told, lifting your arms and making a T-pose.

he worked the obi around you neatly, finishing off with a small brush to your side and a step back to admire his work.

“you look… presentable.” as he cringed.

you knew he just meant that you looked beautiful.

GETO

your roommate was the only available help you currently had. it was an awkward situation you got yourself stuck into.

“hey uhh, geto, can you please uhh zip this up?” you asked meekly.

he got up quickly, coming around so you could see each other in the mirror. you moved your hair to the side so it wouldn’t get stuck in the zipper.

he inhaled sharply, staring at the tramp stamp at the end of your back. it was cute, he thought.

he pulled your body back roughly, “sorry, my bad.” he wasn’t sorry.

you nodded, letting him carry on with the annoying zipper that just wouldn’t go up. his cold hands touched your back, making you arch away from him.

“sorry.” once again, he was not sorry in the slightest.

his heavy fingers played with the zipper a bit, trying to even it out so it could move up and down smoothly. a part of him could feel in his chest that you did this on purpose.

you probably wanted him to lay his plush lips along the juncture of your neck, kissing the skin and marring it with reminders of him.

but he pushed those thoughts away, reaching all the way down to where the waistband of your panties were, playing around with the zipper until it finally came up.

“mmm, there you go.” he said, but not before giving you a look through the mirror that made you regret not grabbing and kissing him.

CHOSO

you decided to head to the beach with your boyfriend today. you were tired and figured you needed a day off before getting back to work.

you packed your skimpiest bikini that left little to the imagination and left for a two hour beach drive.

things would’ve gone smoothly until the elastic on your swimsuit snapped.

you rushed across the sand, running to your boyfriend.

“choso, choso, my swimsuit snapped!” you whisper shouted.

he got to work quickly, putting a hand on your waist to pull your back against him. something about how rushed his actions were did something to you. a fire brewed in your belly as you thought that other people could see how close he was standing next to you, more than half naked while your tits almost flew out of your swimsuit.

“mm, maybe i’ll have gojo rent a private beach for us.” choso hummed behind you.

“why’s that?” you asked.

“so i can fuck you completely naked on the beach, obviously.”

your face turned red. “choso!” you shouted. he chuckled behind you, bending down to kiss at your neck. he bit the skin lightly, nipping just enough for you to let a small moan out.

“mmm, you’re not ashamed that others could hear, princess?” you shook your head, knowing he’d find it cute if you tried to lie.

“i should just untie this thing and fuck you right here.”

NANAMI

you were excited to wear a ball gown today. it was the first ball you were attending as kento had been invited and you were his date.

he purchased a beautiful white gown with golden accents. “for you.” he had left it on your bed with a note asking you to come down once you were done getting ready.

but if only it were that easy to wear a ball gown…

the top was a corset and you honestly had no idea how to even wear a corset. you whined as your arms got tired and you gave up trying to put this damn thing on.

there was a knock at your door.

“y/n, what’s going on?”

it was nanami. you felt a little hot. your boobs and your back was nearly out and he was the only one who could help with this current dilemma of yours.

you shook the thoughts from your head, reaching forward to open the door to let him in.

he gasped.

“oh.”

he spoke. you cringed, letting yourself curl inwards. “do i truly look that bad?” you asked.

nanami shook his head. “not in the slightest, but darling what’s going on with the back of the dress?”

you sighed, “i don’t know how to wear a corset.”

he chuckled, walking behind you and facing you in the mirror.

there was something intimate about this moment.

he used his front to push you straight against the dressing table, your mouth letting out a gasp. he pushed you down by the shoulder, acting calm and collected while your panties gained an extra layer of wetness.

you watched him in the mirror as he wrapped his hands over and over the bands of the corset until he finally pulled back really tight.

you felt the wind knock out of your legs, but you weren’t sure for which reason.

was it the lack of rooms your lungs had or how tight you were against nanami’s back?

he chuckled, tying the strings at the bottom of your waist, pulling away with just a gentle kiss on your temple like he wasn’t just in perfect position to fuck you.

REBLOG MY WORK.

taglist form.

©️ tohokuu. do not steal or plagiarize.

[radiance1]

Alfred Pennyworth has in fact, perhaps, in the slightest of chances.

Picked up his Master's habit of collecting children as if they were on sale.

He was spending his time on one of those rare vacations he decided to take, it was nice, to relax with only the vague overhanging worry of something going wrong back at the manor that he's gotten very good at ignoring.

Only to come across a child bleeding out in an alley, heavily injured.

He would not be able to live with himself if he didn't at least try to help them however he could.

Such is how he acquired a child he later found to be a meta who whished to learn the ways of a butler.

---

Danny had escaped from a GIW compound, after having been handed over by his family a while after his reveal. He felt, completely and utterly betrayed, when it happened. His parents, while hurt, he was at least capable of actually seeing them do it, but never would he have thought Jazz would do so as well.

They did it so happily, that he wondered if letting him go really was the greatest thing to happen to this family.

He chained, muzzled, all the ways to bind him they pulled all the stops too, knowing how dangerous he was. He wouldn't have even done anything then, too stunned by his families apart willingness at handing him over to the government.

He hated them.

He hated them so much.

The GIW facility was a terrible, cold, unfeeling place. One where they drilled thoughts into his head again and again until he found himself unconsciously repeating them when his head felt empty, one where his body gained a new mark day by day and pushed through tests, he had no clue of even hoping to comprehend what they would gain out of it.

It was a cold, unfeeling place. Placed in a cell of white and nothing else, with low walls and chains binding his body in place until the time came for another experiment.

It was a room he grew used to. One he even held some kind of strange, twisted affection for.

It was a room that held a tiny piece of safety, of rest. It was a room that taught him to hate.

A deep, powerful, disgusting, twisting hatred that crawled from the depths of his cells, corrupting his blood and carving itself deep into his bones. Forcing it's out of his pores until it practically oozed from his flesh.

It drowned his mind, tainting each and every thought, every memory, every dream, every waking moment until he could feel nothing but hatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehate.

When he was taken out of that he could feel nothing, with the drugs swimming their way through his blood that snapped the thin string keeping him between a person and an emotionless puppet.

He thinks that's what the GIW thinks he is.

And when he was placed back in that room, he could only hate.

It was a cycle. Stuck between feeling either nothing or hatred.

He hated feeling nothing, it made him feel like he wasn't real. Like it snapped the thread that held him between what a real person was and a dream.

So, he allowed himself to drown deep into his hatred. Until the white walls of his far to small room seemed to fade, until whatever sound he could have heard became nothing but dull noise.

Until the passage of time seemed to become just a blink.

He didn't know what day it was, when he saw it. Saw them. He didn't know the time, the date, the day, the hours. He knew nothing.

But he could recognize his family. Recognize one of the objects of his intense hatred that he forced his thoughts too. The people who willingly gave him up just like that and one of the causes for his current life.

He didn't know why they showed him them, he felt it some sick, utterly cruel joke. A joke he didn't know the punchline for, a joke the universe sent his way to make his life all the more miserable.

There were multiple of them. Multiple clones of his family. Som within test tubes, some being pulled out from the tubes, some walking around in lab coats. A waste of talent, they called it in his dad's case, a waste of intelligence in his mother's, and a waste of intellect in his sister's case.

His original family was already dead, he was told. Replaced by clones, clones that took over the legal decision to change his guardianship. Clones walking around twisting and desecrating his family.

'At least it was painless.' One of the clones said, talking with his mother's face. 'Far more than they deserved for having keeping a thing like him' spoken by his father's imposter.

The drugs pumping through his system to keep him calm, to keep him feeling nothing was suddenly pierced through by an intense feeling of horror, hate and self-loathing.

He should've known it wasn't his family. He should've done more! More to protect them! To keep them safe! The could've still been alive if he just knew.

In that moment, watching imposters speaking, walking, talking, breathing, with his families faces. He exploded. Exploded with a power fueled by nothing but his intense hatred for every. Single. Living being in this goddamn facility.

He killed whoever stood in his way. Managing to get his hands on relatively newly designed weapon, an ectoplasmic scythe (that also apparently could revert into an everyday item). Which he used to rip and tear throughout the entirety of the facility. He got injured, of course, he couldn't dodge everything, but he didn't care.

A body stuck between life and death, incapable of fully going one way or the other no matter what happened. Gifted supernatural powers fueled by wrath and twisting hatred and a weapon made by man yet in the range of the supernatural.

They didn't stand a change. He killed them all. No matter who it was, man, woman, clone. He didn't, couldn't care. He could only kill, only maim, only hurt.

And that's what he did.

It was then, when the facility was blanketed with silence tainted by despair, death and hysteria. When previously white walls were covered by blood, and the halls turned into rivers of blood and corpses. That he broke down, the overwhelming hatred he felt replaced by relief then sadness then self-loathing.

His family didn't give him up! But they were killed. Kill because of him. He couldn't stand being in this place, anymore. His body felt as if it were moving on unseen strings as it walked through the halls, the scythe shrinking back what it was when out of combat, his mind too occupied by thoughts and feelings.

It walked through a portal, one to the ghost zone, and then promptly into another portal and spat him out into an alleyway. Which he then promptly collapsed and curled into a ball, curing the shrunken scythe in his palm and he was out like a light.

A few days after he woke up, he found himself growing attached to the human that found him in that alleyway. An old man, maybe, but a nice one. He didn't want to meet anyone, besides that man, so he turned invisible when anyone else come into contact with him.

Alfred Pennyworth.

It was a name he clung onto mentally and a man he clung onto physically as well. He wanted to be like that man, someone so nice and caring, someone who didn't mind that he turned invisible at the sing of another person, who let him cling onto him both invisible and not whenever he wanted to.

He did panic when he heard Alred saying his vacation was over, and such that he had to leave. He didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't know what he would do if he was left alone again.

Until Afred said we were going home.

We. As in, him plus another. Alfred plus Danny.

Home.

Heat blossomed in his chest, seeming to replace the constant, low hum of hate sitting beneath him skin.

Home.

[yesimwriting]

Pulling Away

A/n did i write smut for once? yeah. also timeline wise is this perfectly accurate? it’s iffy,, but this fic isn’t about the plot too much so it’s okay

Summary: You’re not the only one that’s feeling a little territorial thanks to the influx of people you’re around in Jackson. 

warnings: 18+, implied age gap, no condom, a tiny bit manipulative if you squint, brief mention of losing virginity.

----

He’s not a force of nature, no matter how hard he might pretend to be for the sake of those around him. Joel can’t actually change anything. So the shift in temperature you feel as Joel stills has to be a byproduct of what’s in your head. 

The kind of burning cold that better fits a fever runs through you and you hate yourself for it. This isn’t the first time you’ve been delusional when it comes to him. 

You’re working off of a quarter of his face against low lighting. It doesn’t make sense for you to be able to feel so much from the little of him that you can see. It’s not anger. Or at least, not just that. There’s definitely a subdued rage radiating from him, but it’s undercut by something that punches you straight in the gut. 

Maybe you’re being a little unfair, but you have a right to it at this point. You can’t follow him around blindly like some kind of puppy forever. Especially now that you’re both settled enough to be able to think of things outside of pure survival.

“Ellie’s asleep.” A flat observation that you can’t explain. Maybe it’s the need to break the silence, or maybe it’s a genuine attempt at making things feel normal. You two should still be able to talk. You never wanted that to end. “Swore she wasn’t tired, but passed out as soon as her head touched the mattress.” 

Joel lets out a small sound from the back of his throat. It’s a spike in the atmosphere. “Think I’m gonna go to bed, too.” You don’t understand your awkwardness or the urge to create distance. It’s not like Joel would hurt you, but then again, the buzz of adrenaline doesn’t seem to be coming from a place of fear. It’s an uneasy burning that worsens when you raise your eyes enough to meet his. “Night.” 

The one word is a little better and somehow so much worse. Not aggressive or trying to make things better. It’s just there. Civil. 

When he says nothing, you take it as your sign to call it a night. Tomorrow could be better. Sure, your rocky dynamic might be going through growing pains while you set boundaries that should have been established long ago, but you’ll likely survive this. You’re all staying together in the same house in Jackson for the time being and you both care too much about Ellie to separate over something small. 

Even if Joel won’t directly admit to it, the part of your relationship that feels like co-parenting is sacred. That’s part of the reason why the feelings you’ve been fighting with yourself to dismantle are so complicated. He cares about Ellie more than he wants to admit and the last thing you need right now is to tear away the little stability she’s finally been given. Not over a few awkward conversations and stiff moments. 

The weird irony that vaguely reflects the issues of the world before isn’t lost on you. If someone were to squint at the situation, you’d seem like a wife trapped in a marriage for the sake of her children. Maybe if it was happening to someone else you’d have enough energy to find it funny. 

You turn carefully, like a too loud squeak of your shoes could be what snaps the thinning thread tying you two to a hint of casualness. You don’t need to pass him to get to where you’re sleeping. The three of you had been set up in a space that allowed for each person to have their own room. It’s like that in theory, but in practice it’s more like Ellie’s room, Joel’s room, and the spare. 

A comfortable enough bedroom that you’ve maybe spent the entire night alone in twice in the weeks you’ve been here. You can’t even pretend that you keep the few things you own in there either. Joel’s an even lighter traveler than you, so slowly your items made their way into the drawers in his room. Now, your room is basically just where you go to change into and out of sleepwear.

You’ll get used to it, used to the draft that originally led to you giving up on rocky sleep the first night you ended up sleeping next to Joel. Your dreams kept you up even more than the cold, but when Joel’s drowsy voice called out to you in the dark, asking why you were awake, you blamed the night’s chill. That’s how it first happened. 

It was a mistake you should have never let turn into habit. You’re correcting it now. Setting boundaries to prevent heartbreak. It’s only a matter of time considering the way the women here look at him.

“Since when do you sleep in there?”

His voice is so gruff it instinctually freezes you. Any sarcastic comment at the back of your throat vanishes immediately. The both of you are fully aware of how you end up each night, but it’s a boundary in itself not to mention it. You’re not sure if it’s more him or you, but what happens at night and early in the morning is never mentioned.

It’s a dip into another reality. A space where Joel’s a little lighter, almost more open. Sometimes he’ll drag your arm with him when he moves onto his side, a silent way of asking you to stay close. On the best nights, he’ll joke about it, letting your limbs meld together under a blanket and swear he’s just trying to keep you warm out of the kindness of his heart. 

His humor is the worst. The kind that some might justify as a result of years of it being at a stalemate for years considering the tragic state of the world, but you know better. They’re the kind of jokes that take a second to settle because of his general exterior, but are meant to be so dumb they force out a smile. In another life, the little comments are dad jokes.

The peace bleeds into the mornings now, he’ll keep the closeness and remind you that you don’t have to get up immediately by mumbling something about Ellie still being asleep. Like she’s the only thing significant enough to get you two to return to reality. 

You’re convinced that these moments exist because neither of you mention them. He’s crossing a line you didn’t realize meant so much to you and he’s being dramatic it, too. It’s not the rarest thing for you to ‘attempt’ to sleep in your own bed. Sure, you’re more likely to lay in that room for a few hours on nights where Ellie stays up a little later, but this isn’t the strangest thing you’ve done. 

He’s ripping any chance of returning to that separate world away from you. It stings more than it should. “Thought I’d give it a try,” you voice is too low, too defensive, “It’s not a big deal.” 

The defense sounds so weak in your own ears, you don’t even want to imagine what he took from it. “Bullshit.”

His voice comes out in such a low huff you feel it more than hear it. If the sound had felt any less dangerous, you would have pretended to mistake it for another wordless grunt. Your lips part slowly as your mind struggles to create any kind of logical response. 

Pretending is clearly getting you nowhere. The only reason you ever pretended it would was pure delusion. Joel has always been able to see through you, through any shift in mood. Even when your lies are better, his ability to sense them is uncanny. 

He turns with no warning. Joel crosses the space between you before you can even fully register his steps. Your body tenses as heat rushes to your face in result of an oddly charged parody of fight or flight. You almost step back, one heel shifting back, but then you meet his gaze and the determined glint behind his eye is enough to melt you into place. 

There’s something else there, too. A focus that pins you into place even further. Holds you there better than the barrel of a pistol could. 

The absurdity of the warmth rooted in your chest should be enough to make the feeling go away. It doesn’t, so you force your lips to part again. You need to say something. Anything. “Joel?” Not that. Not just his name in a voice that feels violently small. 

“You’re pullin’ away.” 

The accusation in his voice leaves no room for argument. You try anyways, “No.” The rest of your thoughts can’t come out while you’re looking at him at the same time. There’s shame in dropping your gaze to focus on your shoes and the little space between you. “It’s not like that.” 

Joel lets out a low sound. The creak of the floor as he steps forward again snaps you out of your trance. You step back in a desperate attempt to keep the space between the two of you equal. Your back hits the wall before you can come close to achieving your goal. It’s a knee jerk reaction that leaves your face feeling even warmer than before. A part of you expects Joel to laugh at the sound or at least comment on it. He doesn’t. He continues forward until his mouth is so close to your ear the warmth of his breath lingers when he exhales. 

He takes a second there, relishing in your stillness. “Don’t lie to me.” Joel pulls away just enough to look you in the eye. “You don’t want to talk to me, you’re talkin’ about leavin’.” The southern drawl of his voice is increasing with his frustration. It’s distracting in a way that feels too convenient. Like he’s doing this on purpose. 

You swallow once. “You found your brother. I have a sister out there, I’d--I think now that things are more settled with Ellie it wouldn’t be the worst thing for me to look for her.” 

“And you don’t want us goin’ with you, but you’re more than willing to let the guy that’s always lookin’ at you--” 

“Oh my god, is that what this is about?” You are insane. Of course his issue is who mentioned it. John knows travel, leaves Jackson and comes back in one piece when he needs to. He wouldn’t be the worst person to have with you if you did want to start a rudimentary search for your sister. “I didn’t make any plans with John, it just came up.” 

“You don’t want us goin’ with you.” 

Your throat feels dry. The thought of it makes you feel cold. You haven’t seen your sister in a few years and so much has changed. You’re no longer in the QZ and your sister has no way of knowing that. She can’t reach out if there’s trouble or good news and she has no reason to assume that you’re safe. You know where she lives, and if she’s not there, you know a few of her usual spots. She doesn’t typically stray too far from her bubble. It wouldn’t be a long trip, just long enough. 

Long enough to give you some space. Long enough to remember what it’s like to not be around Joel all the time. Long enough to feel less about him. 

And you’d come back. You wouldn’t just walk out of his life and Ellie’s forever. The little bit of space you’re trying to get would make it easier for you to stick around in the long run because it’s the only way you can think to get rid of the feelings that are trying to ruin everything. 

“We haven’t been here that long and Ellie’s finally starting to feel settled. I don’t want to drag her out of that yet and make her feel like her entire life is just going to be her being dragged around the country.” 

Your words are a jumble, rushed together in a way that makes the honesty of them less effective. It’s a good point. Ellie just called her room hers the other day and even asked about moving the bed against a different wall.

Joel lets out a low breath, eyes hardening. “You’re right. She’s settlin’ and she needs you.” He knows he’s hit his mark when you don’t respond. “How do you think she’s gonna take the news that you’re leaving?” 

“Leaving to visit my sister.” You struggle to swallow. “Temporarily. It’ll take less than two weeks.” 

His lips pull into a frown as his eyebrows together. Moody and brooding. The look you’ve openly referred to as his old man scowl. “With John.” 

Ugh. This again. Why does it matter? Yes, John will be there, but it’s not like it’s just you and John. Your sister isn’t that far and she has access to supplies that aren’t common, she has an understanding with people that have easy access to medical supplies. 

But even if it was just you and John, it doesn’t matter. There are a lot of areas in which you factor in Joel’s opinion, but this is definitely not one of them. You two aren’t together and with the way he does nothing to show any discontent when the girls here start to look at him, he definitely doesn’t need you keeping his bed warm at night. 

“If I go, he wouldn’t be the only one there.” The fact that you’re trying to justify John’s presence leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re a grown woman, free to associate with whoever you want. You might jokingly call him your old man from time to time, but he has no right. “And if even if he was, what does it matter?” 

His jaw locks and the downwards tilt of his chin erases the little bit of confidence you’ve managed to build. “You’ve seen the way that boy looks at you.”

You have to bite your tongue to avoid from blurting out that he’s also seen the way majority of the women you see on a daily basis look at him. Joel’s also exaggerating. John does not have any feelings for you, and if he did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like you see John as anything more than a friend. But even if you did--it is not his business. At all. 

“He doesn’t.” There’s little point in saying that, Joel’s not one to have his mind so easily swayed and he’s been wary of John since the beginning. Sometimes it even feels like the more you insist that he’s a good friend, the more Joel seems to dislike him. “And if he did, it doesn’t matter.” 

Your words feel like a retreat they shouldn’t need to be. Small, the meaning of the sentence compacted and straining against the limited syllables. A part of you expects Joel to understand what you do mean. That it doesn’t matter because it takes two interested parties to form any kind of relationship. That your mind isn’t even there in terms of feeling safe...that the only person who has ever made you feel safe enough to imagine anything beyond friendship is right in front of you. 

For the first time, Joel doesn’t pick up on the relevance of what isn’t said. You can feel his lack of understanding in the way he moves, placing one hand on the wall, near your head. You blink, trying in vain to explain the motion, explain his proximity. He’s caging you in. 

The heat of his body is practically inescapable, amplified by the way he smells. Joel showered a little earlier, his natural scent combining pleasantly with that of plain soap. After so many nights next to him, you would think you would have developed a tolerance. You haven’t. And even if you did, you doubt it’d matter...this is different. Dizzying. 

“Doesn’t matter?” 

He’s somehow even closer and somehow not touching you. The realization that that’s the worst part of this leaves your stomach fluttering. You need the feeling gone, so you force out the first words that come to mind, “It matters as much as all the girls that look at you like that.” 

It feels more bitter than it comes out, leaving a metallic taste on your tongue. You need out. You need space. You need sleep. Joel’s silence feels like opportunity, so as subtly as you can you try to shift away from the wall. Your back is off the wall for less than a second before you’re pushed back against it. 

Your body hits the wall before you can realize that Joel’s hand is on your hip. There’s too much surprise for that fact to settle, so you look up at him almost bewildered. You expect him to let go or at least look somewhat apologetic. He does the opposite, moving the hand on the wall under your jaw and closing the distance between you in a motion so quick you can barely register it. 

His mouth is on yours before your mind can catch up. It makes no difference to him. He’s rabid in his patience, taking what he wants without forcing your lips to part. His hand squeezes your hip and all at once it connects. You gasp and Joel pins you to the wall even more securely, deepening the kiss with an expert’s ease. 

It lasts until you can’t breathe and ends with his teeth grazing against your bottom lip as he pulls away. “All of this,” the words are exhaled lowly, “’Cause you’re jealous.” 

The kiss left you so light headed your first instinct is to just agree. To not think and do or say whatever you need to in order to get him that close again. But his tone is too sure, too teasing, and the implication isn’t something he can just get away with. “Jealous?” His smugness is hard to take with him holding you against the wall like this. It’s too vulnerable, like this might be some kind of game to him. It makes you feel transparent. Hollow. “Fuck whoever you want, I don’t care.” 

It’s like you’ve said nothing until Joel has the audacity to squeeze your hip. “Whoever I want?” His hand shifts up your hip, your shirt moving with him. “Hm.” His hum settles beneath your skin, effectively silencing you as his eyes take their time raking over your face and down your body. “Those were some big words from you.” 

Heat rushes to your face. It’s ridiculous--you curse more than that on a regular basis. He’s playing into context, too aware of what he’s doing. The urge to push burns twice as hard as buzzing in your chest. “They’re true. We’re not--we’re not anything, so if I want to go with--” 

“I’m not losin’ you.” There’s a desperation in there that comes out so hard it circles back to vulnerable. “You wanna go see your sister, we go see your sister. That’s how we got through everything else.” The hand on your hip moves down, his fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of your shorts. You hate yourself a little for the way your breath audibly catches. “Understand?” 

His hand lowers even further, long fingers pressing against the fabric of your underwear. You’re not breathing right and you can’t bring yourself to care. The only thing you can think of is closer. “Y-yes.” 

“’Yes’ what?” No sympathy in his voice or anything that would give away that he has a hand shoed down your pants. 

His touch picks up pace, rubbing against you until a whimper escapes your lips. “Yes, sir.”

Joel moves his hand away with no warning. The whine that escapes your lips doesn’t feel like your own. He’s barely touched you and you’re already like this. “Barely touched you and you’re already listening.” He hooks two fingers in between the band of your underwear. “Should’ve done this awhile again, then.” 

You’re burning all over, the only thing you can manage is a quick, “Shut up.” It lacks any bite. 

He pulls at the band of our underwear, letting it snap back into place. If you didn’t know any better, you’d consider the flash of something softer across his face as amusement. “If you want me to stop, you’ve gotta tell me.” 

Your nod feels desperate. Your entire body feels desperate. For the way he kissed you, the way he touched you. “I-I’ll tell you.” He’s still not moving, not doing anything. It’s some sort of punishment. It has to be. “Joel...” 

“You going to say ‘please’?” 

You have half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but then his fingers hook around your underwear again. A promise. “Please, Joel.” This is all unfamiliar but you trust Joel to get what you want, what you need. “Need you.” 

With no warning, he yanks down your shorts and underwear. They fall down your legs and you blindly kick them to the side. “Need me?” He tilts his head down, pressing an open mouthed kiss against your cheek, then two to your jaw. “Need me where, sweetheart?” 

God. Anywhere. Everywhere. Your desperation reminds you of how incredibly unfair it is that you’re already down to just our t-shirt and Joel’s still fully dressed. You move your hand slowly, carefully tugging at whatever piece of clothing on him you can reach. 

He’s unimpressed. “C’mon, use your big girl words.” His hand is in between your thighs, his fingers teasing at your entrance in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else. “You were usin’ them just fine a second ago.” 

“Joel,” he kisses your jaw again, forcing away all train of thought. It has to be intentional. “Joel,” again, too soft. 

“I know,” he exhales the words against your neck, “I know, sweetheart. Need me to take care of you.” Joel doesn’t wait for a reaction, just pushes his fingers fully into you. You gasp too loudly, Joel moves his free hand over your mouth. “Be a good girl and be quiet. Can’t wake up Ellie.” 

Shit. How did you not think of that? “You’ll be good and quiet for me? Let me stretch you out a bit first?” There’s a knot in your stomach that’s slowly taking over all of your senses. As long as Joel keeps working at it, you could promise him anything. You nod against the palm of his hand. 

You bite your tongue to keep from whimpering too loudly. “Need you to relax,” he presses into you even more firmly, “Get you ready for me.” 

He slowly eases his hand off of your face. “Joel, please.” You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, you just know you need more. You want him to consume you entirely. Feel him until he’s all there is.

You hear the sound of a belt buckle and his jeans shifting. Instinctually, you move a hand towards him, wanting to help, wanting to feel him. “There’ll be time for that, right now it’s about you.” You’re about to argue when he skillfully adds another finger. Fuck. “You’re tight,” he breathes, “No one’s ever touched you here?” 

His fingers curl inside of you and you have to burry your face into the fabric of his shirt to keep from crying out. “Only you.” 

“Look who’s found her manners.” He’s picking up the pace and smoothing down your hair as you squirm against him. “Should’ve done this sooner.” Just as the coil in your lower stomach tightens, Joel takes his hand back. 

You push yourself off of him, staring at him with an expression you know he’ll consider pouting. “Why’d you--” 

“Because I want you to remember this.” He pushes you back to the wall, pressing his body against you. The head of his cock brushes against your entrance. With no warning, he pushes into you. Your sharp gasp overlaps with Joel’s low groan. “Y’need a man to fuck the attitude out of you.” He moves slowly, the friction unbelievably overwhelming and somehow not enough. “That boy wouldn’t know what to do with you.” 

Joel presses you further into the wall, sinking into you as deep as possible before pulling out just to sink back in. His pace is even until his breathing picks up. You’re a mess against him, hiding your face in his chest when he starts fucking you with full force.

“You’re squeezing me so good.” Joel practically pants the words into your skin. “Fuck, ‘m going to--you gonna finish with me, sweetheart?” 

Your mind is mush, you can barely nod against him as his thrusts start to lose their focus. You’re pushed over the edge as Joel’s teeth graze against your neck. He pulls at your orgasm, dragging it along until your legs are jelly and he’s pulling out in order to not finish inside you. 

The two of you stay holding onto each other for what feels like a long time and not enough. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, okay?”

You pull your head off of him enough to look him in the eye. “Not without you.” 

He smiles, lines that you can imagine kissing forever etching themselves into his skin. “That’s my girl.” Joel runs a hand up and down your back fondly. “Let’s go to bed,” he presses a kiss against your jaw, “Give me the space to properly appreciate you.”

The thought makes your body burn all over again. “You sure you aren’t tired out, old man?” 

Joel huffs out what’s almost a laugh, “We’ll see who’s tiring who out, sweetheart.” 

[kadwrites]

something old, something new | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; how long can you keep that secret?

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope, SLOW burn, soft!tommy , fem!reader, idk what im doing,

a/n ; i would love to know what you guys think of this part<3 thank you guys for all the support i really really appreciate it <33

-

"ya should've stabbed 'im when ya had the chance to." madeline mumbles, putting rose in the crib that was dragged next to the dining table

"what the hell has gotten into 'im?...." fiona looks at celest and celest shrugs , looking back at you

"god i feel like i'm going to explode" you take a gulp of the wine in your glass "i can't lie to tommy"

"then don't, just tell him" celest swirls the wine in her glass

"i 'ave a feeling tommy might just.." fiona runs her thumb across her neck, clicking her tongue

"i mean he's not that violent," you add , your finger moving across the rim of the glass "he's sweet...sometimes.... i think"

"is she ... drunk?" madeline grabs the wine bottle, pouring some in the glass in her hand

"i'm sure he doesn't just go around killing people" you look at the three women around you, "what do ya think jeremy wants to do?"

"i mean he said he wants ya back , didn't he?" celest sips her wine

"i mean yeah , technically i guess..."

"not technically" madeline is points at you "he said he wouldn't let ya marry tommy"

"it's just so odd" your hand rubs at the back of your neck "this is so out of the blue, we ended years ago. it's not like we were in contact too or anything"

"ya attract crazy men" fiona says with a raised brow

"i don't need this." you cover your face with your hand, before taking another gulp from your glass

"come on," celest gets up, taking the wine glass out of your hand "ya need sleep."

you have your arms raised on each side. , wearing a thin white robe. standing with your back straight and head held high, the seamstress starts measuring from the tip of your fingers to your shoulders.

"how is he treating ya?"

"hm?" you snap out of whatever trance you were in, eyes glancing in her direction

"thomas shelby, how is he treating ya?"

"yes , yes he is." you speak almost too quickly "why wouldn't he?" you try to not move,

she looks at you through her spectacles, raising a brow

you raise a brow too "i thought ya knew his family very well?"

"i do, that's why i'm asking" she says with a sigh , moving to the other side to get the measurements and your eyes follow her

the room is spacious, with every kind of fabric and thread you could possibly think of. it's quiet, the light shining in through the windows. the fabric and the design of your wedding dress on a paper on the table. a sketch of it, and it looked perfect.

"he's treating me well" you repeat

"do ya know about grace?"

your eyes drift away, you lick your lips nervously. you never had this conversation with anyone, it was a topic everyone tiptoed away from. except for her, apparently

"i know of 'er, yes."

"he loved that girl, he did." she nodded, rolling the measuring tape, getting your bust measurements.

"yeah, i've heard." you cleared your throat

"ya should've seen how he looked at 'er" she chuckled, "but , the way he looks at you ..." she looks at you again, before moving to make another measurement.

your head snaps this time, looking at her before she reprimands you to stay still "me?"

"mhm."

"i don't think so" you murmur then chuckle

"i wouldn't be so sure" she said with a knowing look , she rolls the measuring tape around your waist "i've known 'im since he was a boy."

"i mean, i'm sure ya do." you smile at her politely "but i do doubt that."

"ya can doubt it all ya like, it won't make it less true" she mumbles ,

a soft knock at the door catches your attention. she frowns, pulling her spectacles down and walking to the door, she opens it slightly

"morning mrs baker."

tommy's voice makes your eyes widen slightly, and your heart flutter.

"tommy." she says with a laugh "ya 'ave no business here, boy."

"my bride is here" he nods at you "so , i do actually 'ave business here"

she opens the door, letting him in. the smile and look on her face is stern, but maternal.

"the girl tells you're treating her well" she mumbles, going back to standing at your side

"she did?" he asks with a small smile before standing against a wall, his back pressed against it with his hands in his pockets, his gaze stuck on you.

she nods, putting her spectacles back on as she writes down the measurements on a piece of paper

"ya were trying to turn 'er on me, sylvia?" he speaks again

she shoots him a glare before looking back at you "ya see what you're marrying?"

you chuckle, tying the robe tighter around you. "yeah, i see it."

sylvia walks out of the room, to the front of the store for a customer that came in, leaving you and tommy in the back.

"why didn't ya bring your mother with ya?" he asks you, getting off the wall but not taking one step further.

"she can be...... overly enthusiastic at times. so i didn't tell 'er i was coming here" you say with a chuckle, turning to look at him

"that's smart" he hums , looking you over.

"she will lose 'er mind but i think it'll be worth it , i think."

he hums again, this time walking to stand in front of you.

"didn't ya 'ave a meeting today? i'm surprised ya even had the time to come here" you tilt your head as you speak

"want to get rid of me, do ya?"

"of course i don't."

"so ya want me around?" he leans closer, and you feel your breath stop. his voice is soft and low, his eyes glance at your lips before going back to your eyes

"i...." you stutter , your eyes scan his face "i do" you speak softly

"i do too."

"yeah?" you whisper back.

the air is so heavy, you feel his breath fan over your lips. your noses brush against each other.

"are ya scared of me?"

"no" you shake your head softly

he leans in closer and his lips press against yours, your eyes flutter shut and you feel as if time stopped moving, the floor under you disappeared.

after a few moments, he pulls back but not far back , his nose brushes against your cheek and his lips press against your ear

"what are ya hiding from me?"

-

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[jamil-s-wifey]

I saw the rules that NSFW is fine & things u don't write for the NSFW, soo may i req hcs of Savannaclaw's dorm with gn!s/o (f!s/o is ok too) where s/o asks the boys to breed them? Ummm is my req still alright? do tell me if u feel uncomfortable with this. Thank u!

Yes, of course, your request is perfectly fine! One interesting proposition towards the Savannaclaw dorm coming right up! Thank you for diligently reading the rules! ♥️ I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Nsfw under the cut!

Leona

See, he gets it. You're dating a beastman. Of course you'd want to get a taste of the wild side - the primal urges, the possessive bitemarks, the delicious feeling of being full to the brim, like a good little bitch in heat. He gets it. ...But that doesn't mean he won't have some fun with it.

"Breeding, huh? You think just 'cus I'm a beastman, that we call it breeding, that it comes natural or something? Wanna live out your little creampie fantasies through me, huh?"

Oh that accusatory tone, that sharp glare.

Just as you were about to apologise, he interrupted you.

"You'd stand correct, herbivore."

Oh, that piece of-

And he was on you, pinning you to the nearest surface, which ended up being the bed itself. (Lazy lion be lazing) Sharp canines scraped over the pulse point on your neck, as his hips ground into you.

"You wanna be bred, huh? Filled to the brim, marked and scented, so that everybody will know who you belong to? Careful what you wish for, little herbivore."

"You might just get it. Now spread your legs."

Ruggie

He right about *choked*.

You? With him? Now?!? But he's not prepared for fatherhood. He'd want to have a steady income to provide for his family and - and it's so tempting, and you're pulling him in with those glassy eyes, and delicious lips and-

Oh, you meant in like-. Oh You just really want to be filled, don't you. Okay. He can work with that.

He'd be for sure frazzled at first, but very quickly get into rhythm. The more ye imagines it, the more obsessed he gets with the image of your hole dripping with his cum, reddened, used and thoroughly bred.

He'd have to wait until nighttime, when he's free, but the moment you two were left to your own devices he was quick to shed your clothing, nearly ripping yours from your body.

Surprisingly eager, considering the state of pure panic he was in earlier that day. All teeth, and growls, and breathless moaning, and all just for you.

"Shishishi, and here I thought I was the wild one. Oh doncha worry, I'll fill you plenty~."

Somehow that sounded more like a threat than a promise and you were content with both.

Jack

Every single fiber within Jack's body was screaming at him to take you right then and there. His instincts were going haywire at the prospect. He needed you carnally, viscerally... and you were just offering yourself to him?

His tail was a dead giveaway, as to the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him, as he stared at you. His fingers were twitching, aching to get a hold of you.

"You....do realise what that entails, right? We uh...we mate for life. I know you find it..uhm.....attractive, but I have to warn you."

He figured you were aware, he just couldn't believe it. His breeding also entailed a knot after all. You had to be warned. And you already knew. Of course you knew, you'd been together for years. After hearing your wholehearted confirmation, he felt the thin thread of his self-control snap within him.

A deep guttural growl left his throat, as he stepped towards you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for the kiss of a lifetime. Big, rough hands travelled from your face, to your neck and down your body, only to lift you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"I can't wait to paint your insides white. You'd look so good, full and sated, my perfect mate."

Who are you and what did you do to my Jack?

[dashofghost]

cigarette smoke

◇─◇──◇─◇

simon unmasks himself again, this time by choice. things get messy.

part of the unmasked!simon universe

previous part | next part

◇─◇──◇─◇

The rooftop door creaks open, the soft sound echoing into the night. You don’t turn your head, keeping your cheek resting on your arms as footsteps grow closer. 

“‘S too cold to be out without a jacket,” Ghost murmurs as he sits down next to you. You turn your head towards him, a gust of wind flicking a loose strand of hair across your face and cutting through the thin fabric of your pajama top. 

“Don’t care,” you shoot back, pulling your hair away from your face. Silence falls, swallowing you in a soft haze as the wind whips and raises goosebumps on your arms. Ghost shifts next to you, hands reaching under his balaclava and slowly, gingerly, pulling it off. 

“Ghost-” you start, but he cuts you off, hands digging into the skin of his face. 

“Call me Simon,” he groans, “please, call me Simon.” 

“Okay, Simon,” you test out the name against your tongue and decide you like the way it brushes over your teeth and tongue. It’s fitting for whoever the man underneath the balaclava was. 

The wind kicks up, and Simon tilts his head back, reveling in the brush of the cold night air against his skin. The remaining paint around his eyes is faded and smudged, less intimidating, soft. 

“I get so sick of it sometimes,” he confesses, like he can’t hold the words back anymore, “when it’s raining. When I can’t tilt my head up and feel the first spring sunshine.”

“I never would have thought you cared about seasons or sunshine,” you mused, toying with a loose thread on your shirt. Simon shrugs, but a half smile steals over his features. 

“Spring’s my favorite season,” he explains. 

Soft silence falls again, unbroken until Simon reaches into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. His lighter clicks, and he inhales softly, almost gently. You’d kill to be that cigarette. 

“Can I have some?” you ask quietly, pulling your arms closer to your body as wind rips across the rooftops again. Simon frowns at you, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he says sternly, “it’s shit for your lungs-”

“You fucking hypocite,” you shoot back, though without malice, “you’re smoking. Soap and Gaz smoke. I smoke when I don’t forget my pack in my room. It’s what we do, Si.”

The corner of Simon’s lips tilt up at the nickname, something behind his eyes softening as he flicks ash off the end of his cigarette. He sighs loudly, motioning you to come closer. 

“D’you trust me?” he asks, voice gravelly. You only nod as he takes another hit off his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs. His hands cradle your face as he presses his lips to yours, exhaling smoke into your mouth. 

It’s so intimate, you think as you breathe in. His lips are chapped and warm on yours, and his pale lashes flutter shut as he exhales. He smells like soap and tobacco, warm and sweet. 

You reach up, pressing your lips to his for a single, fleeting second. 

Your cheeks burn as you pull back, shock echoing in Simon’s eyes. One of his hands is still cradling your cheek as his mouth opens the slightest bit in shock. The wind howls. 

He pulls you back in for a desperate, bruising kiss. Simon kisses soft and slow, and you can still taste the nicotine on his breath as he pulls you into his lap. It’s just now that you realize how big his hands are- they reach from your waist to your ribcage, sprawling across your stomach. You twine your arms around his neck, and he pulls you closer, your chests flush against each other. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling gently, and he groans. 

It’s his soft sound that snaps you out of your daze, and you pull away, clapping a hand over your mouth in shock. Simon looks half drunk- his chest is heaving, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen red.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you gasp, “I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to-” words fail you as Simon raises his lashes, eyes locking with yours. He looks like he wants to eat you alive. Like he wants to devour you. 

Naturally, you do the most logical thing and push yourself to your feet, hurrying back towards the rooftop. You hear Simon’s shout of “wait!” behind you, but the door slams behind you before you can hear the rest.

◇─◇──◇─◇

[hey-august]

March Madness Event - Winner (NSFW | Buggy X Marine!GN!Reader)

Woah woah woah, this story concludes the March Madness event!

(In case you missed it, throughout the month of March I posted polls pitting kinks against kinks. The ones that lost in the polls received short stories involving a bit of failure. The kink that won at the end of the month was slated to receive a proper story. And that's where we are now!)

I'll be honest, I did not expect this to be the winner. Then again, I should have seen it coming with how it took off in every poll it was in.

Thank you all for participating! Voting, reading, commenting, liking, reblogging - everything!!

I hope you enjoyed this event and that you enjoy this story. 🩷

Description: As a Marine, you're responsible for safely escorting the captured prisoner, Buggy the Clown. Things don't go according to plan and while the prisoner remains captured, not all of him ends up behind bars...

Teeny tiny teaser: "This fucker needed to know the effect his dumbass decision had on others."

Word count: ~3.4k (I don't remember the last time I wrote a one-shot this long 🥴)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, marine!reader, no use of Y/N, insertion sex, bit of degradation, cockwarming (not solely intimate, but there is some eventually), misuse of devil fruit powers

“I can fuck you harder if you uncuff me,” he said through gritted teeth. “C’mon, tell me you don’t want that.” 

The teasing remark was hissed behind your ear, sending a shiver through your body. Your weak fucking body, nearly wiped of all self-restraint. A thin thread of rationality kept you tethered to a sense of preservation, but the constant pounding threatened to snap that hold.

You were responsible for locking up the prisoner - a duty you’ve fulfilled many times without issue. Over the years, your strength and cleverness helped you climb the ranks of Marines, yet this was the first time you failed to complete this responsibility. Well, you haven’t failed yet, but the more the thread frays, the more your legs shake, the more his heavy grunts fill your ears…

Your shaky hands gripped the seastone cuffed wrists wrapped around your body. Although the pirate couldn’t grip your hips the way either of you wanted, he was able to pull your body towards his as he relentlessly slammed himself in you. 

Of all the captured criminals you ever escorted, it was the goddamn clown that broke you. The pathetic clown with a face of smeared paint. Left behind by his crew. A captain who was visibly crestfallen when none of the Marines appeared impressed by his presence.

Despite his circumstances, the prisoner - Buggy the Clown - lived up to his namesake. Nearly every comment out of his mouth was a joke, often at the expense of anyone around him. The lack of laughter after each quip should add to embarrassment and pity for the clown, but you found yourself enjoying the amusement he was clearly creating for himself. It was…endearing.

As his sole escort below deck, his attention quickly turned towards you and the warm fluttery feeling you had moved lower in your body. Silence only protected you for so long before your face was too red to ignore, giving the clown encouragement to continue. Changing tactics, Buggy started spouting cheesy and overused pickup lines. Each remark said with unabashed enthusiasm added to the heat on your face.

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together.” “I’d like to report a crime. My breath was stolen.” “That Marine uniform doesn’t look so bad on you. But it would look better on the floor.”

Those comments were so stupid and worked so well. A few hissed retorts and threats of punishment were disarmed with a charming smile. You had no chance of winning whatever this game was. Secretly, you weren’t sure you wanted to win. There was something alluring about this pirate who tried to hide behind jokes and laughter that you wanted more of.

Arousal easily increases in potency when mixed with other feelings. For you, it was unexpected affection and the lure of degeneracy. For Buggy, you assumed it was the fear and anxiety that comes with imprisonment. Each concoction was perfectly portioned and all it took were choice words, overly-familiar touches, and curious glances for the poison to take effect.

Alone in the room, it only took seconds to pull your pants low enough to grant Buggy access. You leaned forwards, steadying yourself against the wall, while he grabbed the lower hem of your top. His thrusts were erratic and sloppy as he tried to find a decent pace. There was barely enough time for this moment of guilty indulgence and you both wanted as much from it as possible.

Bringing his bound hands overhead, Buggy pulled you close to his chest until you were wrapped in his hold. With his hands closer to your hips, he was able to move both of your bodies at a quick tempo. He was rewarded with a whine that escaped your heavy breathing.

“S’that how you like it? Hard and rough? I didn’t expect you to be so fucking filthy. Do all your prisoners get welcomed like this?”

Fuck. Why did his voice sound so good? And why did it sound better saying such degrading shit?

You shook your head and leaned into his touch, wanting to feel more. “Sh-shut up. Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“You d-don’t want that,” Buggy groaned. “I can feel your body squeeze when I talk. You like it.” His teasing was met with a delicious whimper.

Every word from his mouth had your head spinning. You wanted so much more. You wanted to taste his voice, to feel his mouth against yours, to feel his lips on your skin, but he wore that stupid face paint. You wanted his touch everywhere, for his hands to roam your body, for him to hold you tighter, but he needed to keep the cuffs on. Buggy was a Devil Fruit user. He was dangerous. And he was breaking you down.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Buggy started describing all the ways he wanted to screw you. How good you are at taking him. He wants to hear how good he makes you feel. Lost in the haze of lust, you barely remembered pulling out the key you wore on a chain and had tucked under your clothes. Your palm ached from how tightly you gripped the key while fighting against the horny instincts crowding your body.

You were so close, so achingly close. Maybe if you timed it right, it would be okay. You could minimize the danger. That makes sense, right? It could work. The wisp of rational thought faded away so softly that you didn’t miss its absence.

“Please,” was all you could get out as you unlocked the cuffs and let them fall to the floor.

It was like you released a feral animal with that decision. You didn’t realize just how much the seastone had sapped from Buggy until you felt his bruising grip as he brutally slammed his hips into yours. Even his cock seemed to get harder as it was bullied deeper in your body. He struggled to stay quiet, grunting like a wild boar as he rut into you.

You were on the edge of the precipice, ready to throw yourself over the ledge, when a horrible sound yanked you back to solid ground. A piercing siren sound filled the ship, signaling the top of the hour and a change in duties. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You needed to finish your job before anyone found out what you were doing. Who you were doing.

In a panic, you elbowed the pirate and spun around. “They’re gonna catch us,” you said with wide-eyes.

With all his blood below the belt, Buggy was already caught off-guard by the loud noise. Your rapid change from a whimpering needy thing who needed to be railed, to a Marine who wanted to follow the rules was a lot for the pirate to follow after losing the trail of his own orgasm. All he could do was struggle to pull up his pants as you shoved him into the jail cell and locked him in. Thoughts slowly returned to his head and weakness seeped back into his body as he watched you fix up your uniform before freezing.

“What the fuck did you do?” The question started as a shout before you restrained the rest of your temper.

“I wanted to make sure you come back for me,” Buggy responded with a wink. “Besides, we didn’t get to finish. I figured you could keep it warm for me until the encore.” He reached down and grabbed the crotch of his pants, which was baggier than it should be.

“Are you fucking ser-” The rhetoric question was stopped by the throbbing in your body. 

Between your body fully accepting the rough fuck and the whirlwind of anxiety about being caught, you didn’t notice that Buggy left you with a piece of himself. Of all the things he could have done with his Devil Fruit powers in that moment, rather than doing something, anything, that could help him escape, the clown chose to part from his dick. What a fucking joke.

---

It was a sunny day with just enough of a breeze to keep the sails full and to blow away excess heat from the sun. The gentle wind helped dry the perspiration on your skin as you crossed the deck, towards the meeting room. While the air carried away some of the physical evidence, your body still burned and you chose to believe the unrelenting heat was shame. Punctual attendance was critical on the ship and you couldn’t even spare a few minutes to evict the pirate’s privates without risking a penalty.

With each step, you felt the fullness between your legs and the stretch from his girth. You couldn’t remember what it meant to walk normally. Every movement was over thought and analyzed. What felt normal made your core feel too tight against the intrusion. Longer strides had you worry that he might slip out. While it seemed unlikely (all of this was unlikely already), you worried about losing this bit of Buggy. There would be no reasonable way to explain a lone penis anywhere on the ship.

As hard as you tried to be upset with Buggy’s stupid horny decision, your body was still flooded with hormones that drowned logic and only allowed obscene thoughts to float. You were deep in a fucked up situation and you were enjoying it.

You arrived just in time for the meeting to start. It was a daily check-in where attendees would recite numbers and metrics that meant nothing to you. It was important and wholly unnecessary. The returning sheen of sweat and lingering redness on your face could be excused as the hustle needed to arrive on time and not the throbbing you felt inside. 

Settling into one of the open chairs, you couldn’t find a position that was remotely comfortable. There was minimal padding on the wood chairs and the backrests were at an awkward height that provided no support. Leaning too far one way pushed Buggy further inside and you just barely concealed the discovering gasp as a deep breath. 

Crossing your legs was a terrible idea, as it only added to the unforgiving pressure. The sensation attacked you both, as you felt the confined cock flex in its warm prison. You quickly uncrossed your legs, glad no one could see how they shook under the table.

Wicked voices began whispering to you, talking over the droning presentation at the head of the table. You couldn’t find any reprieve from what you were feeling. The only thing that made you feel better was giving in. You could afford to let your mind drift, this meeting was only to make others feel important. You had your own feelings to deal with.

Your mind wandered down to where those feelings radiated from. To the frustrating ache between your legs. Buggy was a good length, on the longer end of average, but his thickness was far more than average. Thankfully he got you so riled up earlier and all you had to suffer through was a burn that he quickly fucked away. Your body had grown accustomed to the wideness, but being held open for so long was different. Even through the uniform, you felt exposed. With each twitch from your hole as it fruitlessly tried to find some give against the occupant, you fell apart a little more. 

You shifted in the chair again, cautiously rolling your hips with the movement. Just once. And then again, under the guise of trying to get comfortable. Fuck, that did feel good. Your body shifted against Buggy’s member just right. You tensed against him, chasing that sensation, and receiving a heavy throb in response.

Your name broke through the fog you willingly got lost in. Your eyes snapped to the man standing at the head of the table.

“Is there something more important than going over these reports?” 

Maybe your movements weren’t as subtle as you thought.

“No, Sir. Just trying to get comfortable. I apologize for the distraction.” You spoke loudly, overriding the quiver hiding in your throat. 

Buggy was reacting to the jolt of tension that ran through our body. Clenched fists pressed into your knees and your toes curled in the little space available in your boots as you rode out his movement. It was incredibly frustrating and absolutely embarrassing. So why did it feel so fucking good?

---

The rest of the meeting ended without further incident. At least, as far as any of the attendees cared. For you, every action and reaction from either of your linked bodies felt like a whole new event to survive. You offered a tight lipped smile to everyone as they left the room, preferring a small audience when you attempted to use your weak legs. Luckily, horniness and adrenaline held you up and supported you out of the room.

The infirmary was a few doors down and it was around the time the doctor took a break. If you were lucky, the room would be empty and you could put an end to this. The luck was debatable when you opened the door to two pale faces. One belonged to the Marine who was on guard duty and the other belonged to the prisoner being guarded. A prisoner who offered you a small smile that matched the one painted on his face.

The guard started babbling when you entered the room. “H-he doesn’t look good, r-right? I brought him h-here, but they’re all on break. I’m wor-worried he’s gonna upch- upchu-ugh, pu- v- vom-”

“Get sick?”

The guard nodded with pursed lips, struggling to hold back the hiccups and sympathetic heaves that wracked their body. “Doesn’t seem ser-serious enough to call the med-ugh medics b-back.”

You looked at Buggy, trying to assess what was going on. Was this a ploy or was he actually ill? Were you going to get sick? 

“It doesn’t look that serious. I can stay with him. Why don’t you go lie down?” Your offer was accepted before you even finished speaking. 

The infirmary door closed, leaving you and Buggy in an awkward silence. He sat in a chair, hunched over, still giving you a weak smile.

“Are you okay? Is it bad?” You asked, concerned that his flashy self seemed to be affected. Crouching down, you brought yourself closer to his level.

“Bad,” he repeated hoarsely, leaning towards you. 

His trajectory would bring his painted forehead to the white shoulder of your uniform, so you intercepted. Pressing your head against his, you waited for Buggy to continue. 

“N-need you. Made a bad decision, need you, please.” One of his cuffed hands pawed at the empty space where his dick should be. 

With his strength and stamina taken away during imprisonment, Buggy’s self-inflicted secondary imprisonment was too much. He could feel everything - how your body continued to struggle around him, how warm you were inside, how you reacted to his involuntary cries and demands for more. It felt so fucking good, so deliriously wonderful, and downright torturous.

There was no end in sight, though. There had to be a reason you kept him inside, so even if Buggy could come, it would be followed with overstimulation that could go for who knows how long. Not to mention how upset you would probably be if you were unexpectedly full of his hot cum. 

Buggy whimpered at the thought. At imagining you full and plugged. Of his jizz dripping out and collecting in your underwear. Of you being an absolute fucking mess under your prim and pristine uniform, because of him.

“Please,” he whined again.

You pulled away and locked the door. “We don’t have a lot of time. Again.”

Buggy bit his lip as you held out your hand to help him up and blubbered what sounded like, “thank you.”

You understood how he felt. So insatiable that nothing mattered more than giving into these desperate needs that aggressively grew out of desire. Giving up on everything but chasing the high, you uncuffed Buggy and undid your pants. 

This fucker needed to know the effect his dumbass decision had on others. You shoved his hand down your pants, letting him feel how wildly aroused you were. How much of a mess he made.

His groan was laced with delight and pain at the knowledge. His touch was everywhere, committing all of the evidence of your lust to memory. As his hand crept further, it came in contact with his base and his body jolted at the touch. This was too much.

Yanking his hand out of your pants, Buggy rushed to unbuckle his and expose where his member belonged. Following his lead, you pulled your pants down and turned around. Wary about wasting precious time, Buggy pressed his hips against yours and shuddered when his cock returned to its rightful place. It felt as if his senses increased a hundredfold now that it was back.

“M’close,” he warned, struggling to set a reliable pace. 

Honestly, he was about to explode when his hand was down your pants. But he needed this. He needed to feel you moving on his cock. To feel your body react against him. To feel you explode.

As if reading his thoughts, you grabbed his hand and pushed it down. You didn’t need much. This entire time, you didn’t need much, apparently. Just his attention on you was enough to pull you off the trail you were on. And that’s what he gave you - his enthusiastic attention. 

His hand moved fervently, following the cues your body gave. The touches that had your breaths teeter on moans, pressure that had your body clench his, sensations that increased the tension in your core.

“Uh-haah, uh-huh, just like that. K-keep going, g-gonna… You’re gonna make me c-” You were cut off as the feeling ripped through your body, sharp and electric. The words in your mouth were wiped away as you fell to the indescribable surge.

Buggy huffed as he struggled to fuck through your orgasm. Your unsaid words rung through his head - he was responsible for this. You were shaking beneath him because of what he did. Your sweet sighs of relief were for him.

“Wh-where-” Buggy could hardly stutter a question he should have asked earlier.

“Finish what you started,” you said, leaning into his touch once again.

Feeling your body melt against his, accepting his thick cock so easily, pulling him deeper - that was more than enough.

“F-fucking shit,” Buggy hissed as he came. 

The climax was nearly painful as he shot stream after stream inside your body. Feeling like the release would never end, the pirate clung to you and whimpered with each pulse. Eventually, he ran out. His hold released with a shaky sigh.

Buggy struggled with words to fill the next moment. Something about how this felt good. Maybe a thanks? But before he could decide, yet another loud sound interrupted the moment. A sound that was accompanied by a lurch that threw the pirate back. An explosion. Then came the alarms. The ship was under attack by pirates. You both rushed to fix yourselves up.

“I-I think that’s for me,” Buggy said.

You looked at him incredulously. Was this all a fucking trick?

“I want you to come with me.”

His request kept you silent. This didn’t make sense.

“I didn’t think they were coming. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. But it was fun - well, I had fun. I think you did too. We can keep having fun, unless you want to keep living this stuffy life.” Buggy spoke quickly. 

His explanation was rushed, but you could see a hint of honesty among the turmoil.

Buggy held his hand out for you to grab.

---

Life on a pirate ship was different, but also similar to life with the Marines. Useless meetings couldn’t be avoided and petty drama existed everywhere. But the spirit and passion that came with piracy was unbelievably vast. Joys flew high, parties raged hard, drinks always flowed, treasure was celebrated.

And on Buggy’s ship, there was always more. More life, more color, more light. Dumb jokes, death defying stunts, fantastic skills, and stupid decisions that managed to work out in the end.

One of your favorite things about life aboard the ship were the quiet afternoons you spent with the captain. Afternoons that were spent laying in the shared bed, your body nestled against his. Afternoons full of stories and musings. Afternoons dedicated to the two of you, which you spent slotted together in warmth and intimacy.

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, theta hurts reader but only a little, this was not edited sorry for mistakes 😭

notes: alrighty guys, this is officially the last chapter of the regular schedule—after this one, updates are going to be sporadic but they will at the very least be monthly. wish i could keep up the schedule but its not going to be feasible considering i start law school this upcoming wednesday </3 i'll update the masterlist to reflect the change too

SPIT IN MY FACE

“Excuse me?”

The masked man—had Gamma called him Theta?—kept a tight grip on your wrist, holding it up in front of you so he could look at it himself. He was stronger than he looked, you tried to rip your wrist out of his hold but failed. His nails dug into your skin in response to the attempt, drawing blood. You grimaced as you watched a thin line of red seep down your forearm. 

“You heard me.” Theta’s smile didn’t budge as his other hand came up to grab your chin, turning your head away from where Kappa was still buried in the crook of your neck to face him. “Was he trying to keep you hidden away or were you trying to hide from us?”

He wasn’t looking at your hand. He was looking at your finger or more specifically… where your thread was hanging from it, leading off somewhere to the left of you wherever Dottore was. You remembered how Kappa had looked down at your hand curiously before deciding to come over to you, the way he was so at ease with you for no reason. And Gamma. Gamma had looked at your hand before he started panicking and ran off.

Could they… see it?

“Hm?” Theta’s nails dug into your cheeks now, just like how he had with the aristocrat—you didn’t even know where they went, if they had taken the opportunity to flee or if he had done something to immobilize them, you couldn’t turn your head to check. You grimaced as you felt his nails break skin again. “Answer me.”

How was that possible?

You could all but taste the poison in his words, the impatience and the frustration. You were at a loss as to how to proceed—your arms were tied up with Kappa, one of your hands was stuck in his and he was forcing you to look at him, and that unhinged look in his red eyes was causing your brain to fog with fear.

Think. You had to think. You had to free your wrist from his hand. You had to get back to your room, or to Pantalone’s. 

Where was Pantalone? Livid, you realized that the man was probably still listening in on the show, not getting involved, leaving you to deal with this unstable bastard. 

Think. What did he want to hear? What would make him settle down at least enough to loosen his grip on you?

But how the hell were you supposed to know what he wanted you to hear? Even with just the way he spat out those two questions, you knew both answers were wrong and would set him off more. But you had to say something, the longer you went without answering his question, the more his eyes flamed with impatience—you didn’t want to know what would happen when that thin thread of patience snapped.

“I came here, didn’t I?” you asked quietly. You tried to relax your shoulders and upper body, exuding a type of faux-comfort with the man. “I came looking for you.”

Theta’s red eyes narrowed with suspicion, watching you carefully—his grip did not waver, much to your distress. 

“You don’t even know who I am,” he said coldly, speaking the one truth you’d hoped he wouldn’t. His grip on your wrist tightened and his nails dug deeper into your cheeks. “I hate liars.”

“I’m not lying,” you told him, grimacing as his nail dragged against your skin. Kappa shifted in your arms, bristling, you couldn’t tell if he was watching or not. “You can see the thread, no? I may not fully understand how you can see it but the fact that you can speaks enough.”

Theta hesitated, the corner of his lip dipping in doubt as he tried to decide whether or not he thought you were lying. You watched with bated breath, tongue kissing the inside of your teeth, as a flurry of emotions rushed through his eyes ranging from anger to hesitancy and hope. Then his eyes hardened, decision made, and your heart sunk to your stomach.

“Liar.”

Again, his grip tightened but it was painful now and your body begged you to pull away or do something but he was stronger than you. He forced you closer to him, turning you so that if Kappa wasn’t between you, you would’ve been chest-to-chest with him. You wondered if you should let him go, let him flee somewhere safe, but he was still clutching your shirt.

Theta leaned in close, you could feel his breath hot against your cheek and the cool ceramic of his mask nudging against your skin where his nose would have been. You grit your teeth together as you felt something warm and wet press against the skin of your cheek where his nails had broken through, lapping at the blood.

Your face felt hot, anger and humiliation curdling your blood as Theta let out a puff of amused laughter against your skin.

“You taste like a liar too,” Theta crooned. “Lambda thinks you’re a fake sent to distract us. Are you a fake, little liar?”

Us. He kept saying us but you don’t know what that meant or how it was possible—they could see the thread but as far as you could tell, they did not have a connecting one. You had never seen anything like that before, nor had you ever read about anything like that. 

You thought you should say something but your mind was reeling as you tried to piece together the puzzle and figure out what was going on.

But before you could do or say anything, Kappa squirmed and twisted in your arms, hanging over you to whack his small fist hard against Theta’s mask—with more strength than you expected from the boy. 

Theta grunted stumbling back—he wasn’t hurt but the force of Kappa’s swing had partially knocked his mask off, revealing thick scars similar to the ones you had seen on Gamma. He fumbled trying to straighten out the mask and as he did, you whirled around to rush to your room.

You didn’t get far. 

Not because of Theta, who was cursing as he fastened the mask back on, but because you slammed right into someone else’s chest, broad and dressed in dark clothes. You glanced up as a pair of gloved hands grabbed your waist, irritation rising at Pantalone’s thin, close-eyed smile. You wondered if you had passed or failed whatever test he expected from this situation. 

The pads of his fingers pressed into your waist as he shifted you over to the side and behind him, leveling his attention on Theta as the man straightened back, narrowed eyes still trained on you instead of the Harbinger. 

“Theta.” Venom dripped from Pantalone’s words as he spoke his name. “I suggest you make your way back to the Doctor’s labs instead of bothering my guest.”

“Your?” Theta spat out, taking a step forward. His eyes were wild again now, far gone from the hardened look he had directed toward you after he made his decision. You stiffened, watching as Pantalone lifted his chin, raising his eyebrows, challenging Theta. “She is not your anything, banker. Go back to counting your coins and sucking noble cock to get further in the world, stay out of our business.”

Pantalone, to his credit, did not look bothered by the dig—the only sign of anger was the way his lip twitched before he spoke: “Take it up with your maker, fraud. You have no authority here, you are not the Doctor.”

“I am-” 

Sharp and loud, Theta’s voice rang up and down the hall as he took two long steps forward as if to attack Pantalone but the Harbinger only let out a huff of amusement as he cut Theta off mid-shout.

“I am not one of the subordinates who you can fool into believing you are him. You are a rabid dog running a thin line between life and death. It is only a matter of time before you’re put down, I again suggest you leave before I make that day come sooner.” 

You thought that you shouldn’t feel anything for the man standing a few paces away but something deep in you clenched when Theta drew back as if he’d been physically slapped, red eyes wide with shock. The feeling did not last long though because as quick as the hurt appeared, it was gone, twisting into something far more sinister as a wide smile spread across his lips, teeth bared much like the rabid dog Pantalone claimed him to be. 

“You think you can kill me?” 

Something manic stained his words, deranged and challenging as if he meant for Pantalone to back his words right then and there. Theta did not have a vision, not one that you could see or feel at least, but you knew in your bones that he was far, far more dangerous than he looked—he was strong and he moved faster than any visionless human you’d ever seen. Briefly, you wondered if he even was hu-

Pantalone stepped forward and the air around the four of you crackled with an energy that made your skin crawl. You let out a shaky breath, eyes widening as you took a step away from the man, unconsciously trying to get away from the source of the energy, an unnatural and uncomfortable feeling spreading through you. 

What is that? 

It felt sick. Corrupted. The air tasted stale and rotted as it seeped down the halls like poison. Your vision was reacting in response to it, the purity of the hydro energy trying to repel the new, malefic energy but it was curling all around you, trying to find chinks in the thin shield your vision was providing you from the decay. 

You had to get away from it but your feet were rooted to the ground, watching the scene play out before you. Neither Theta nor Pantalone looked bothered by the energy—in fact, Theta looked thrilled, eyes alight as his impossibly wide smile widened even more, a giggle slipping from his lips as he raised his hand as if to summon something, but before he could snap his fingers, his eyes dulled and his knees hit the ground hard. Almost like he had been turned off, just like that.

What-

At once, the energy around Pantalone dissipated and you could move, confusion riddling your mind as you tried to figure out what happened to Theta and what that disgusting energy was. You took a step forward, eyes wide and trained on Theta first—was that Pantalone’s doing? But as you turned to look at him, your gaze caught sight of a figure down the hall. 

Dottore. 

You were bleeding. 

Dottore could feel his cheeks stinging but he hadn’t been sure what it was until he got to the hall in Pantalone’s wing where Gamma had left you. Theta was on the ground, empty-eyed and still, turned off courtesy of Dottore, and Pantalone was standing to the side of you, seemingly unimpressed by the whole situation. 

But you were looking at him, and only him, and he could only focus on you, eyes tracing the blood as it dripped down your cheeks to your neck, dribbling down your skin. With creased brows and lips pressed together tightly, he couldn’t tell if the look you were directing toward him was suspicion or anger or something else entirely. The only thing he could feel from you was what he assumed were the remnants of the confrontation with Theta: fear, anxiety, skepticism, confusion, disgust. 

Disgust, was that directed toward him or Theta or both of them? It didn’t sit well with him. He wondered how much Theta had told you, and he wondered how much you’d been able to piece together from what he had. Dottore had been hoping to keep the existence of the segments a secret from you. 

The last thing he wanted to have to do was get into depth about what they were because if he knew you even half as well as he thought he did, he knew it would turn into an interrogation of all that he’d been up to with his research. Even when you were young, when the third phase of the bond had first manifested, he had to be careful about what he was thinking about so that it wasn’t transcribed to you. Countless times he received words from you that could have only been originally given by him: the names of the segments, residue, deactivate, and Dottore knew that you must be taking every word he sent you to relentlessly research into them. 

“Doctor,” Pantalone finally drawled as Dottore came to a stop in front of them, forcing his attention away from you just for a second. “It’s about time that you’ve leashed your mad dog, I’m quite tired of dealing with him.”

Dottore didn’t acknowledge his words. Instead, he focused his attention back onto you—the only apparent wounds were the deep scratch marks on your cheek and wrist, painful but mostly superficial. It would heal in a few days at most, he would pass along an ointment to Pantalone so he could give it to you to speed along the healing process. 

The issue for Dottore laid in the boy tucked neatly in your arms, hiding his face against your skin.

The Kappa segment. 

Dottore exhaled. That would be trouble trying to handle. The Kappa segment was skittish and nervous. He usually only stuck around Epsilon, Iota or Gamma, he even tried to avoid the other segments if he could. Dottore had a feeling that it was because they reminded him of their father but he couldn’t be sure. 

Either way, he had never latched onto someone like this before and Dottore had a feeling it would be an issue trying to get him away from you. He didn’t like shutting down the younger segments—or any of the segments for that matter because it tended to mess with their wiring—but he thought he might have to in order to get the kid back to the estate without alerting the entire palace to your presence and relationship to him. 

His eyes lingered on you, only for a few more moments, watching the way you held Kappa close, arms wrapped around him tightly as if to shield him from danger. Kappa seemed like he was on the verge of dozing off, his shoulders rising and falling steadily—he’d never seen him so comfortable with someone that wasn’t Epsilon before. Something unfamiliar tightened his chest. Longing? Desire? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. 

He looked away sharply, finally turning his attention to Pantalone. 

“Regrator, don’t act as if you spend all of your free time reluctantly handling my segments. You are usually asking for them, in fact,” Dottore said dryly. He barely spared you another look as he said: “I’ll handle this. Go back to your room and rest.”

Your face twisted and Dottore bit back a sigh, realizing that round three of his war of words with you was about to begin.

“I am not a child,” you shot back, voice tight. “You can’t just send me to my room. I have questions and you will give me answers now. I’ve waited long enough.”

Dottore had a feeling that you were not just talking about the past few hours. You were talking about the decade he had spent ignoring your existence. Unfortunately for you, he had no interest in answering your questions, not now or ever. 

He turned his attention back to Pantalone, ignoring the furious look that spread across your face at being blatantly ignored. Luckily—or unluckily, time would tell—Epsilon stepped in. He watched as your brows dipped in suspicion, looking between Epsilon and Dottore warily. If you hadn’t put together something was very, very wrong with the existence of Kappa, Gamma and Theta already, he had a feeling that Epsilon’s appearance just sealed it. 

Dottore turned away as Epsilon took your hand in his to press his lips to your knuckles before he gently led you in the direction of the door on the left. Gamma and Iota followed behind, the latter far more excited than the former. Gamma cast one last pleading look in Dottore’s direction just as Iota slammed the door shut behind them. 

Dottore, as he turned his attention to Theta’s still body, thought this might just be the worst case scenario. All three of the children. Theta. Epsilon. The last segments Dottore wanted meeting you all somehow managed to do just that within hours of you being in Zapolyarny. This would spread to all of the rest of the segments in no time and then he would have Zeta demanding to see proof of your existence and Rho lurking about curious; he’d have Delta bashing down the palace door to get Iota away from you, convinced by Lambda that you were only here to deceive them. And he’d have Lambda doing god knows what to try to remove your existence from their lives so they could continue their research without distraction. 

He needed a plan of action and he needed it fast but first, he had to deal with this. 

“What happened?” 

“Two aristocrats came up looking for the Kappa segment,” Pantalone said off-handedly. “Your soulmate interfered.”

“Interfered?” Dottore demanded. “What was she doing wandering around?”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “Was I meant to lock her in her room?”

Dottore looked at him coldly, silently telling him yes, he should have. They could not afford to have any of their subordinates run into you, much less any of the Harbingers and he knew that some of them would be searching for you. He remembered Columbina’s cryptic comment about you a few months ago, Sandrone’s fury at your presence in Snezhnaya, Arlecchino’s odd interest in you—and if Arlecchino was interested, it was only a matter of time before she sent her attack dog after you to find out whatever she wanted to know. Keeping you isolated from the rest of the Fatui was paramount.

“What happened with Theta?” Dottore asked after Pantalone let out an exaggerated sigh of agreement. 

“What always happens with Theta,” Pantalone said dismissively. “He gets set off and lashes out. Was going on about her faking the bond, apparently Lambda is going around convincing them she’s lying.”

Of course, Dottore thought bitterly. He knew that Lambda had been talking to Zeta, Delta and Rho but he thought the segment knew better than to get Theta wound up about this. 

He took a deep breath, taking a step away to calm himself down. Well, that made that decision: the first thing he had to do was talk to Lambda, he couldn’t have him turning the segments against you, least of all Theta, who was very liable to attack those that he thinks did him wrong. After that, he would figure out what to do with the rest of the segments because in stopping Lambda, he would have to admit to them all that you were his soulmate, that this was all real. 

That this was all real. 

Dottore shut his eyes briefly, unconsciously looking in the direction of where you, Epsilon and the kids had disappeared behind the dark door that led to your room. His body itched to follow them in there—the bond in work, surely, but he could feel it was getting stronger. It was stronger than it was while he had been dancing with you, and even stronger than it had been while talking to you outside of the washroom. He should just grab Theta and drag him back down to his lab, leaving Epsilon to deal with your interrogation, but his feet weren’t cooperating.

“You should speak to her,” Pantalone said as he turned to go back to his own room. “If you’re going to have me confine her to this wretched place, you should at the very least, explain to her why… lest you have a very unhappy soulmate on your hands. I doubt that would be conducive to productivity.” 

Dottore hummed dismissively, glancing back at the door once. He supposed should, he didn’t want to deal with your turbulent emotions, especially when he was going to be dealing with the segments. 

Distantly, a part of him wondered if he was just using that as a logical excuse to give in to the pull of the bond. 

“And Doctor, do get me that prototype by the morning as promised.”

You felt overwhelmed. The older boy, Gamma, was sitting in the corner of your room, knees tucked to his chest as he watched you with the younger two. Kappa was fast asleep now, tiny arms slung around your neck as he slept—you had tried to place him down on your bed but whenever you tried to pull him away from you, his arms tightened and he started stirring awake. The other one, you didn’t know his name yet, was kneeling on the floor next to the bed where you were sitting, big red eyes peeked above the comforter, watching you with varying degrees of suspicion and distrust and longing.

He had the same scar on the upper half of his face that Gamma did, you couldn’t help but notice, down to the burn patterns and wrinkles. And they were identical, if Gamma was a few years younger, he’d be the spitting image of the kid. It was impossible. Not even brothers can be so similar as to be identical down to the wrinkles and patterns in scars. 

So, what were they?

You had to have been onto something when you thought it was some sort of experiment—Kappa was too young to have been born eight years ago, Gamma and the new kid were too similar in appearances, if you saw correctly when Kappa partially knocked off the mask even Theta seemed to have some scars on his face, and Theta and Kappa both showed a strength that did not reflect in their body.

A throat being cleared knocked you out of your thoughts, your eyes drew up from the kids to where the man was standing near the door. He gave you a small, apologetic smile as his eyes met yours—red and gentle. 

Who was this?

You watched the man with thinly veiled suspicion. He looked just like Dottore, silvery blue hair styled the same way and even wearing a similar dark button-up that he did. 

Except unlike Dottore, he was not wearing a mask. 

His skin was smooth compared to the scars of the children and instead of the ever-present frown of Dottore, the corner of his lips were turned up. You had grown used to the cold aloofness of your soulmate over the years, it unnerved you how someone could look so much like him and yet feel entirely different. 

You raised your chin as Epsilon came to sit on the edge of the bed next to you, keeping your expression stony, studying him to try to figure out what he wanted from you.

“Peace,” he murmured. “I’d just like to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” 

He had a white handkerchief between his fingers and you were acutely aware of the blood still dripping down your cheeks and arm. He raised his eyebrows, but sighed when he realized you weren’t going to budge, placing the handkerchief back in his pocket. 

“Very well,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you have questions. I can answer them if you’d like.”

Of course you had questions, but could you trust him to answer them? 

He didn’t appear as if he was trying to deceive you, his eyes were warm and his lips were lax, he had none of that tightness that Dottore usually had. Was he faking it? Or was he wanting to help you? You couldn’t tell, his demeanor was throwing you off.

“You’re really her?” a new, young voice said softly, voice hesitant but tinged with the slightest bit of hope that had your heart aching. You looked back toward the kid as he peered up at you through thick curls of hair cautiously. “Our soulmate?”

Our.

Your ears rang, distantly watching as the boy reached out for your hand, thin fingers playing with yours until he reached the one your thread was looped around. From the corner of your eye, you looked at the older man, who was watching you with a knowing expression.

Our.

How was that possible? He could clearly see your thread, trying to play with it and tug at it in the same way you used to as a child, but he had no connecting one, like the Doctor did. Did that make you his soulmate but he was not yours? Was there such a thing as unrequited soulmates? But you didn’t think it was that simple, there was a critical piece of information you were still missing.

But the kid was looking at you again, anxiously awaiting your response, and you didn’t have the heart to deny him. Even if you weren’t sure what was going on, he could undeniably see your thread.

“Yes,” you finally said, watching as he lit up, red eyes pooling with tears and lips trembling as he flung himself forward, burying his face into your lap. He jostled Kappa, who kicked his foot out instinctively, but the kid was unbothered.

“I knew you were real.” His voice was muffled into the cloths of your dress. “Everyone said you weren’t but I knew you were.”

Your throat tightened and your now free hand twitched from where it was laying on the comforter of your bed, coming up to pat his head.

You let out a shaky breath, lifting your gaze to focus on the man still sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with an indecipherable expression.

“I’ve never seen them take to someone like this before,” he said softly. “I suppose it’s just further proof that you are who you claim to be. Some of the others thought it might be a ploy.”

Others, you wondered distantly but you were more focused on the last thing he said, face twisting.

“I would not fake a soul bond,” you said tightly, mind turning to your stepfather and your mother, your dead father and your destroyed family.

“I insulted you,” he realized. “My apologies, it was not my intention. I was not one of the ones that thought that way but I figured it was best for you to know and prepare, some of them might doubt you when they meet you.”

“How many of you are there?” you asked, but the more important question that you just couldn’t push out was what are you?

“Excluding the Doctor, there are nine of us. I’m called Epsilon. Kappa is the youngest, then Iota, who is on your lap, and then Gamma, who’s sitting over there,” he explained.

You looked back over to where Gamma was sitting. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out the window into the dark night… or maybe he was. Amused, you realized that he was still watching you carefully through the reflection of the window. As soon as he realized that you noticed what he was doing, he turned his head away quickly.

“He’ll warm up,” Epsilon said quietly. You looked back toward him, watching as his lips turned up, red eyes glittering, as if sharing some secret with you. “He’s nervous.”

You couldn’t help the way you let out a puff of amusement, studying Gamma and the way he was digging his nails into the palm of his hand and tapping his foot against the wood of the window nook incessantly. 

“I don’t… really understand all of this,” you finally admitted, relaxing a bit with Epsilon. You let yourself lean back against the large, decorative pillows set up on the bed, watching the man that looked eerily similar to Dottore, wondering if this was what he looked like beneath the mask as well.

“This is new for all of us too,” Epsilon told you, “so I can’t really explain to you what all of the bonds might be or mean… but I’m sure that is not what you’re asking right now, is it?”

“Not entirely, at least. First I’d like to understand…”

What you are. What they are. Why you can see the thread and why the children think that I’m their soulmate too.

“Well, I’ll do my best at explaining then. You deserve that much at least.”

The heavy weight on your chest lifted, if only a little. You thought that this might be the first time in weeks, months, that someone was actually giving you answers. Your father passed and left you with only questions, the masked person from the inn gave you even more questions and not a single answer, and now even Dottore refused to answer your questions, he just sent you away for Pantalone to deal with. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, eyes meeting his again.

Epsilon gave you a small smile, lips parting to speak but before he could say anything, the door to your room opened again. Your gaze shot up, eyes falling upon a familiar masked figure standing in the frame, lips pressed together tightly. 

“Epsilon,” Dottore said coldly. “Bring Theta down to the lab.”

Epsilon sighed heavily, shooting you an apologetic look before rising to his feet. “Another time,” he offered, and you nodded, disappointed, ignoring how Dottore’s lips turned downward.

Epsilon made his way out of the room, slipping past Dottore, and Gamma threw himself off the nook and scampered after Epsilon, fleeing the room without another look toward you. 

The door slam shut behind them, an eerie silence sweeping over the room as he left you with Dottore.

Dottore’s already sour mood worsened when Epsilon flung him a triumphant look as soon as his back was turned to you. He wondered what he said to you in those few minutes he was in here alone with you but for some reason, he doubted that you would tell him and he by no means wanted to add more fuel to the fire by appearing interested in you. Narrowed eyes followed Epsilon as he left the room, shutting the door harshly behind him and the Gamma segment so he could speak to you without unwelcome ears listening in.

The Kappa and Iota segments made no move to leave—one being fast asleep and the other now watching Dottore suspiciously, shifting behind you to peek over your shoulder at him. Dottore could see the boy clutching something in his hand, knuckles white around the object and arms tensed as if ready to throw it. Dottore raised his eyebrows, albeit knowing neither of you could see the action anyway. 

He ignored Iota and drew closer to the bed, taking a seat on the opposite side of the mattress that Epsilon had been sitting on as he observed you. You looked exhausted—your eyes looked heavy and tired, they didn’t have the same spark in them that they had earlier in the night, and the blood from the scratch marks on your was smeared messily, staining your skin and dress. 

Irritated, Dottore wondered why Epsilon hadn’t cleaned it up, pulling out a cloth from his jacket pocket and shifting a little closer. He grabbed your arm first, ignoring that tingling sensation as it reappeared as soon as the pads of his fingers were pressed against your bare skin, and especially ignoring the red thread tied around your finger. 

He could feel your eyes on him as he carefully wiped away the blood, distantly noting that Iota had shimmied out from behind you and was darting to the opposite side of the room. 

“He will not bother you again,” Dottore finally said, sparing a look to the side as Iota approached from the side, this time with bandages. He eyed the boy curiously, wondering if this room was one of the places he fled to those rare times he was stuck in the palace and got overwhelmed by the amount of people. Iota turned his head away pointedly and Dottore just shook his head, taking the bandages and wrapping them neatly around your wrist and forearm. 

You didn’t respond to him and Dottore glanced up at you, waiting for you to say something. You looked away, Dottore bit back an irritated sigh, tying off the bandage and moving a bit closer to look at your face.

“Thought they just called you a doctor for the irony,” you snipped half-heartedly, keeping your eyes averted as his fingers grabbed your jaw, turning your head to the side to see just how deep Theta had cut you.

Dottore let out an amused puff of air. “They do,” he drawled, “but I’m usually presented as one to acquire more willing test subjects. I must at least know the basics.” 

You gave him a withering look from the corner of your eye, bottom lip pushed out. He was grateful for his mask hiding the way his gaze lingered on it, focusing back on the scratch marks. They weren’t too deep but he didn’t have an ointment with him to spread over them, so instead he just pressed the handkerchief to the skin, cleaning up the blood.

“What are they?” you asked, eyes steeled for an argument. 

Dottore sighed heavily, considering briefly trying to avoid the subject but you did not seem keen on letting this slide and he was not in the mood for an argument. He wanted to get this done and get out of your room as soon as possible, even if his body was betraying him by allowing his fingers to linger on your cheek as he wiped away the blood. 

“They are me.”

Concise and to the point, as he always was, Dottore waited for the explosion of questions and demands to come from you but you only stared at him, studying him. Again, Dottore was grateful for his mask because he did not like the way he felt beneath your gaze.

“How?” you finally questioned. 

“Experimentation,” Dottore said dryly, your eyes narrowed as if that was an obvious answer. His lip unconsciously pulled up into a smirk. “I was able to isolate and extract my consciousness at specific periods of my life after years of study into-”

“Irminsul,” you finished for him, voice little over a breath and eyes darting down to your forearm. 

Dottore’s lips pressed into a thin line, watching you carefully—he did not like that, or did he? A part of him was impressed that you’d managed to put it together so easily just from the little he said and the words that had been transcribed to you through the bond. But on the same note, he thought that the fact that the bond had given you enough words to so easily string together how he had gone about his research was unnerving. 

Not for the first time since the bond appeared, Dottore felt distinctly violated. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Study into Irminsul. All I had to do was create vessels for the consciousnesses after extracting them.”

“And they are… you?” 

You were looking at Kappa with a different expression now, Dottore couldn’t figure out what it was but it made him uncomfortable, vulnerable. There was a reason why he made sure to keep all of the younger segments far, far away from people. Dottore let his hand drop back to his lap, folding the handkerchief and placing it back in his pocket. 

“Yes.” His voice came out colder and sharper, and you caught the change in tone, looking up at him quickly with furrowed brows. “I’ll be taking them back to the labs.”

You didn’t look pleased, frowning as you looked down at Kappa, who was still fast asleep. Behind Dottore, Iota let out a noise of protest but Dottore only had to turn his head to the side to stop the boy from speaking his complaint out loud. 

“So what? You’re just going to leave again?” you asked harshly.

“Did you think I was going to stay?” he quipped back, sarcasm dripping from his words. “That you and the younger segments and I were just going to be one happy family?” 

To your credit, you didn’t look too perturbed by the harsh words but he knew it affected you, if the way your grip tightened on Kappa had anything to say about it.

“You can’t just keep me here,” you spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m not-”

“You’ll find that I can do whatever I want,” Dottore corrected, rising to his feet. 

You didn’t hesitate, shifting Kappa down to lay on the bed next to you as you moved forward, fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold him in place. A commendable effort, but all it would take was one quick snap of his wrist to free it from your hold…

But he did not snap away his wrist. As easy as it would have been, instead he just stood there, staring down at you, waiting for you to say whatever you wanted to say. He tensed as if to pull away but his body didn’t cooperate—he blamed it on the bond but he wasn’t so sure that was the case.

“I’m not done,” you said. “I have more questions.”

“Another time,” he dismissed, finally forcing himself to pull his wrist back. Again, he felt a strange void as soon as the pressure of your fingers was removed from him. “I’ve wasted enough time tonight.”

Wasted?

“Wasted?” you echoed his very thought, scoffing loudly before shaking your head. “You know what, I don’t really care. What I do care about is knowing what that energy was around Pantalone—what was that?”

Dottore looked at her steadily from beneath his mask. “That is none of your business,” he said coolly. “Do not go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong lest you find yourself a guest here forever.”

The look you gave him was nothing short of murderous. “As if I won’t be already,” you spat, rising to your feet to take a few steps closer to him after he moved away. Dottore remained rooted in place, looking down at you. “I will not be kept here like a caged animal.”

“Then maybe you should not act like one.”

“Excuse me?” Dottore’s words held no weight, but he did very much enjoy goading reactions out of you, watching as your face twisted in fury at the insult. “I came here for a reason, Doctor, and that reason was not to be imprisoned by you. I have information I need to find and one way or another, I will acquire it. You can either-”

“You will do as I say so long as you’re in this palace,” Dottore said, cutting you off by pinching your cheeks between his fingers and tilting your face up to look at him. “Just because we have a bond forced on us by Celestia does not make you untouchable, control that tongue of yours before it lashes at the wrong person. Once I get the information I want, I will consider getting you what you want. Then, we will never have to see each other again. Until then, you have reaped what you sowed and it is no one’s fault but your own that you were not adequately prepared for the consequences of your actions, do you understand?”

Just for a second, he watched as a helpless expression spread across your face, eyes glassy and lips pressed together tight as you stared up at him. His tongue itched to say something else but no words formed on it before you snapped your face out of his hold, looking away. 

“Get out.”

A part of him wanted to refuse just to be spiteful—was it spite? Or was it something else, that heavy feeling weighing at his chest? That was a question he was not ready to answer, so instead, he smiled thinly:

“Gladly.”

i promise they’re going to start warming up to each other soon more than just in their internal narration <.< soon as in very soon wait til you see the scene i have planned

RBS APPRECIATED!

[silasours]

% 1 ━ Yours Deerly, A .

#chapters : [ previous | next ] #cw : your unique soul that piqued the great alastor's interest; he decided to write letters just for you until you finally reach hell. alastor x gn reader. may include adult themes and mild swearing. #note : quick thank you to @sea-bunniii for helping me with the fic title :3 this is the series I talked about, lmk if you'd like to be tagged! enjoy.

there is nothing around you but darkness for as long as you can remember now.

you never really understood what was happening; you tried pulling yourself out of this pitch-black surrounding but failed. you tried to speak but can't seem to utter a word from your parted lips. you rely on your hearing to keep track of your surroundings, but there's something in particular to note after quite some time. there were times when a strange, muffled radio static voice rang through your ears, words never clear enough for you to comprehend what it was trying to say. times when you'd see a blurred figure standing before you, but never clear enough for even a rough appearance, let alone a name.

millions of possibilities would run through your mind endlessly about them. is this a message for you, or are you just gradually losing your mind and hallucinating? you often try your best to push those thoughts aside while listening to the people around you who talk about your condition. but that, too, didn't bring you any good news. every day you would hear about how your life is merely hanging by a thin thread, that they might lose you any minute as they speak.

you mentally sigh, hoping that death would just swallow you up whole now instead of taking its sweet time. maybe by then, you'll finally gain your freedom back.

"hm." the radio demon squints his eyes slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the thin cane he holds. yet another failed attempt. he lifts a hand from the cane and opens his palm, an eerily green glow appears on top until it forms a certain line of words. "looks like this little soul is back in the human world for the time being."

it has been a month since alastor took notice of your soul. your soul that affected him ever so slightly whenever you traveled from the human world and back; it felt like something was lurking in his surroundings when your soul arrived at hell. he ignored it for a couple days, brushing it off as something uninteresting until it lasted for more than a week. with curiosity, he tries his best to wrap his aura around this thing he has been feeling.

noting that it was your soul he was observing, his curiosity grew. your soul would arrive in hell without being in an actual body and find its way to return to the human world. there was not a single effect cast on it, as if it's just a normal travel through countries and cities. nothing like this has ever happened in the underworld, not to alastor's knowledge at least.

as an overload who claims multiple souls, he naturally tried to claim yours as well after seeing the potential of it benefitting him. he tried to insert his voice and appearance into your soul and communicate with you once it returns to your body in the human world, but he failed every time. no matter how many times he improvised his ways, your soul rejects him without struggle.

annoyance started fueling him, yet it is also the sole reason why he has grown more interested in your unique soul. never has he ever struggled this much to obtain a mere soul; usually it could be done with just a snap of his fingers, yet all he could do to your soul is observe and know the place it's in through the aura that he managed to wrap it in.

keeping his head upright, he opens the door of the room that he claimed as his. closing the door behind him, alastor smoothes out his coat while walking down the dimly lit hallway of the hotel. the heel of his shoes thud against the carpet he walks on, chattering gradually growing louder from afar. the light grew brighter down the hallway he passed by until he reached the staircase, now able to view everyone at the main compartment of the hotel from above.

he takes his time walking down the steps, the sound of his heels catches the attention of the blond woman - charlie. her smile grew at the sight of alastor, hurriedly grabbing a small stack of papers from the long table and jogging toward him. alastor widens his smile, tapping on his cane while standing in place.

"why hello there, my friend! you seem busy, what could you possibly be working on?" he watches as charlie clumsily flips through the papers, a slight frown scrunched on her forehead until she finds the paper she needs. she smoothes the paper, turning it to alastor so he's able to read the contents clearly. she clears her throat before speaking.

"alastor, hi! well, you see, is it alright if i ask you for a small, tiny favor?" she seems hesitant to ask judging from her tone.

"why of course! ask away and i shall consider."

"great!" charlie returns to her usual bubbly self, quickly scanning the paper to look for the specific content she needs to show the radio demon. "here, take a look at this. it says here that it's required to write a letter for the request of a big stock sent to our location. and i'm, well.." her hand stretches to scratch the back of her neck nervously, an awkward smile on her face.

"i'm not so good with letters." she tries to relieve her own awkwardness with a chuckle, but it seems it did nothing but made it worse. "i was wondering if you could.. help out with the letters? just this once! I've heard how good you are with words when it comes to letters. please? i don't really have anyone else to ask." charlie gazes at alastor, her eyes shining with hope as her hands clutch tightly onto the papers.

alastor laughs. "i would love to, my dear! it is but mere letters, nothing i can't handle." he extends an arm towards charlie, his fingers stretched out with his palm facing upwards; a gesture to accept the papers and help. the woman excitedly places the papers onto his hand, his fingers now folded to hold the papers firmly. his eyes briefly look through the documents with a small nod of his head. "consider it done. fear not! I'll be able to finish this by dinner."

"thank you so much, alastor!" charlie flashes him a grateful smile before jogging off, feeling relieved without having to worry about finishing something she's not particularly good at. alastor's gaze fall onto the papers he holds, something molding and forming in his head; an idea. he hums to himself as he dives into deep thought, paying no mind to his surrounding for the time being.

if he, the great alastor isn't able to physically reach out to your little soul, there ought to have nothing else that will be able to achieve that as well. though, leaving messages until you physically arrive in hell may help him accomplish his goal. as one first falls into hell, they often get hit by a strong sense of confusion and even panic. if he takes advantage of the emotion you may hold, luring you in with a false sense of security, things will certainly go smoothly and result in success.

his thoughts abruptly got interrupted by vaggie's voice yelling from the kitchen, demanding for everyone to have lunch now that it's all prepared. instead of walking forward, alastor turns around and starts walking up the very same stairs he just walked down minutes ago. he rarely joins them for any group activity; it's only common to see him joining them if the event will benefit him in any way.

a small tune is audible from him humming as he walks, the papers that were once held by him vanish in a split second, leaving behind small traces of dark green sparkles around the area. the chattering grows soft once again the further he walks from the stairs, now walking down the hallway until the familiar door is in his range of view. using the very same aura to push the door open, he enters his room as the door shuts itself behind him.

walking towards his neat working desk, alastor's heart pounds against his chest from the clear idea he has in his head. he sets his cane aside carefully, allowing it to lean against the desk before pulling the plush chair from the elegantly carved table. he sits on the chair, papers and calligraphy pen appearing with a simple snap of his clawed fingers. paying no mind to the letter he should be working on for charlie, the pen straightens from the table by itself and starts scribbling words onto the blank sheet of paper.

he completely sets his focus on the letter he plans to write for you. it's been a while since he picked up his favorite pen to handwrite a letter for someone, the feeling stirs something in his chest. is it excitement? or is it nervousness? even alastor doesn't understand himself. brushing the thought aside, he lowers the pen until the tip comes in contact with the paper lying flat on the surface of the desk. the paper he chose is a special one; it's vintage, like an old paper that has been left sitting in the drawer for years.

it has a sense of familiarity in it, providing comfort in an odd way to alastor. it almost felt like he was writing love letters for someone he doesn't know at all. ink flows from the pen and onto the paper, the small glob of black ink weakly reflecting light from the desk lamp he has. cautiously, he glides the pen across the paper; every stroke and every curve of the words gradually form a sentence, and then a whole paragraph.

he would pause from time to time, digging for the correct words to write in his brain. it was unexpected to even the demon himself, to think that someone like him would spend this much effort for a mere letter. it took almost half an hour for him to finish his first letter to you, signing his name at the bottom with a content heart.

his eyes scan through every word he wrote, reading everything all over again until he confirms that it has no mistake. his fingers reach out to grab the envelope beside him, sliding the neatly folded paper into it. feeling satisfied with his work, alastor seals the letter with wax that has the shape of a radio pressed onto the top.

he holds the letter; it has a color of deep shade red along with a couple of drawn-on flowers. he pulls the drawer that's seated on the lower left of the desk open, revealing an empty compartment. alastor places the sealed letter in the drawer, pushing it back in until there's a click signaling that the drawer is fully closed. he glances at the letter he promised to finish for charlie, finding it now neatly lying on the desk without a single movement.

alastor exhales lightly from his mouth, allowing his back to lean against the chair with his head tilted back. he feels his muscles relax despite never realizing they were tensed before this, eyelids falling, shutting until he sees nothing but darkness.

"ah.. such troubles i need to go through for this little soul."

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[stargirlrchive]

cw: simon riley x gn!reader, situationship angst no comfort, break up (kinda), cheating (not really i think?), mentions of sex

your throat tightened as you watched simon sleep besides you. eyes filling with tears as you sat up, the thin blanket falling off your body as you stood up to dress yourself.

it was difficult to articulate what you had been feeling. how you had been mourning something that never was.

you had loved him in the dark for so long. had memorized the feeling of his calloused hands all over your body. had learned how to be everything he needed. had yearned for him to love you back.

until it felt like that thread of hope you had for him snapped. withered away into nothing.

his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. you had shared the last night you would with him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

your mouth had been greedy all over his body this last time. kissing and licking, marking him, hoping to feel that flutter in your stomach once more.

but you had grown numb to him.

and the look in his eyes as you sunk down onto him made you queasy. he looked like he was in love.

as if some fog had lifted from his eyes and suddenly his world began and ended with you.

you didn’t want this.

not now. not when you were ready to let him go.

so your eyes shut as you let your body take over, closing your heart off and only thinking about the ache between your legs.

one that prior to a few weeks ago had only been satiated by him.

the first time you had found release with someone else that wasn’t simon, guilt ate at you. barely able to hold his gaze as his mouth trailed over your skin.

but now you had grown numb to that too. simon or any other warm body, it didn’t matter. they all gave you the end result that you wanted.

you had just gotten your sweater over your head when simon’s hand curled into the sheets, looking for you to pull you closer.

when he felt the lack of your body warmth his eyes snapped open, groggy as he tried to find you in his darkened room.

“where are you goin’, love.”

the rumble in his voice would’ve made you fall to your knees before.

“im leaving.”

he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and tried not to frown as you refused to look at him. “just stay. i’ll make you breakfast in the morning, can leave for work after that.”

you didn’t respond. and some part of you was praying that you’d feel for him what you once felt but you couldn’t.

as much as you tried.

“think it’s best if i go.”

at the long stretch of silence you knew he understood what you meant. your feet quietly patting out of his apartment, out of his life, and you could suddenly breathe easier.

[a-hobit]

There are not nearly enough “Izuku midoriya in denial” fics for me.

Katsuki has accepted and is trying to confess but Izuku won’t let him or constantly forces himself to only see what Katsuki says in a platonic way. Eventually Izuku is stressed and cornered. Katsuki tries confessing but Izuku childishly slams his palms over his ears — eyes squeezed shut. Katsuki is devastated and feels like Izuku must be burdened by his feelings so he just…stops trying to talk and his own eyes go cloudy while he fights back tears. Izuku can’t hear or see but somehow feels the air change around him.

He opens his eyes. He sees the person he cares most about with a hand clutched over his breaking heart and the other trying to wipe away the tears falling down his face — twisted into an expression so broken it’s something that Izuku can no longer ignore.

His own hands drop from his face to settle on quivering shoulders while he panics internally. He can feel blackwhip on the edges of his fingertips in a painful bid to be free of his iron will grasp on his own heart. It’s unceremoniously shoved back into that tight spot between his ribs that seems to ache with every uncontrolled hitch or sob in Katsuki’s breath while he tries desperately to understand what’s happened and how he can fix it unscathed.

Asking what’s wrong doesn’t seem to help and Katsuki only shakes harder and diggs deeper into his chest. His hands grow tight on the taller boys shoulders as Katsuki is able to scrape out the barest hint of his overwhelming feelings.

“Why won’t you let me? Are you angry with me now — disgusted? You let round face confess and gave her every bit of the kindness and compassion I know you have while rejecting her…don’t I deserve that too? The be able to speak and be spoken to? To love freely and hear an honest answer?”

“Will you not even look me in the eye so I can tell you the truth? That I love you?”

The thin thread of steel control that Izuku has been grasping to from that very first time he allowed himself to see, and love, and care, fully for the man in front of him snaps. Controlling that feeling has been the only way to keep blackwhip strangled and weak but the acknowledgment is paramount to the heavy door put on it with lock and key slamming open without mercy or thought.

Izuku suddenly let’s go of his companions shoulders to grasp desperately at his thin shirt — now covered in a foreboding inky blackness that seems intent on grasping something. Katsuki only has a moment of warning before he’s violently tugged straight to Izuku — their torsos knocking the air out of both of them in a rush. They’re both covered in strings of agitated looking tendrils that seem to tighten around them with every breath or unapproved move away from the other.

Izuku can feel the humiliation creep up his throat while his nose knocks into another. All he can see is twin red eyes that read to him as shocked. The blood finally reaches his face as he thrashes against the tight renforced hold that black whip — his own damn quirk!— has got them in. Quickly he ducks his head down and pulls at their restraint. He’s embarrassed and can’t choke out an apology fast enough.

“No!! I’m so sorry! I - I can’t make it stop — I don’t want you to hate me and I can’t even get control of my own quirk! God Kacchan please — !”

The tears are cold on his burning cheeks but there’s a soft hand to delicately wipe them away and gently pull Izuku’s face back into view. The other rests sweetly on his chest while Katsuki wears a unreadable look on his face. Their noses are close again and they can feel the breath the both let out unevenly.

Izuku’s eyes are wide and searching while Katsuki slides his hands over Izuku’s shoulders to clasp together around his neck. Katsuki’s head drops down in a thud against his collar bone while his own hands find themselves desperately grasping at his oldest friend’s school uniform. Not really caring about the creases he’s making his eyes squeeze out another tear or two before his head hits Katsuki’s collarbone in a mirror image.

They both take a moment to steady their breathing and hold each other like they’ve never been able to before.

Once they’ve both had their fill their heads pull up so they can meet eyes once more. Izuku feels a shutter come up his back as he croaks out a few words heavy with months of held back feeling.

“…you love me?”

Katsuki eyelids flutter and then pin Izuku with a fierce and determined expression.

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you before you run away or make some lame excuse or fucking — put your hands over your ears?! Like a little kid?!”

He huffs petulantly and ironically child like in his own way. Izuku’s finally able to whisper out—

“…why?”

His eyes shoot wide as they take over Izuku’s face. He’s so lost for words he almost doesn’t hear the next confession.

“You — you don’t know me at all. You don’t know how selfish I am Kacchan…you haven’t seen me without you. I…I wanted Shigaraki dead when I saw what happened…it’s too much — and black whip! Just now didn’t even listen to me at all and just — took what I wanted! I don’t want you to be chained to someone so…so not worth your time Kacchan. You don’t deserve to be chained to my mistakes…my selfishness for you.”

“You don’t need such a burden to drag you down.”

Katsuki could only stare in disbelief that someone so forgiving, so loving, so kind could treat themselves so horrifically — could talk like that about themselves. It made his stomach turn watching Izuku fold more into himself with every nasty declaration of his own worthlessness. It fills him with so much anger he can’t help the venom in his voice when he replies.

“Who the hell do you think you are telling me what I can or can’t love?! It’s not your decision to make whether or not you’re a burden to me. As if I couldn’t handle you!”

[thetempleofnyx]

i know you can take it cutie | 𝕥𝕠𝕛𝕚

❥summary: just rambling about different ways toji fucks you. :))

❥c.w: toji is very horny, the word c*nt is used, toji is a little shit and a lil rough, a lil mean. this is barely edited! it’s been a while since ive posted but i hope this is good and that you like it!

＾ω＾

toji likes to tease you. slapping his fat cock against your clit. likes to grind himself against your wet folds, spreading your slick all over his cock before pushing in just the tip, only to pull out just as fast. he likes it when you beg for him to put it all in.

sometimes toji likes have you spread wide open for him. his hands behind your knees pushing your thighs to your chest, revealing your dripping cunt to him as he slowly pushes himself in. it makes his stomach coil with heat, with an almost primal need to cum, to bottom out deep inside you and fill you to the brim until you can’t take anymore. but he wants to take his time, dropping into you with slow, deep thrusts.

you gasp and whine over just how big he is, at how much he’s stretching you out and filling you up, at how it's too much despite the way you clench around him every time he pulls back, like your wet cunt doesn't want him to leave, and it makes him slowly unravel. he sinks himself deep inside you, his hips flush to yours, pushing right against your clit.

he stills and grabs your cheeks with one hand to make you look at him. your eyes mist over, the tears hanging on to your lashes threatening to fall like rain drops. you feel so incredibly full, so incredibly stimulated, you can hardly think of anything but full full full.

“t-toji” you whine, an adorable pout decorating your face. “it’s t-too deep toji- god you’re so deep.”

you gasp as he shifts above you, driving his cockhead into your most sensitive spot, your pussy clamping around him like a vice.

"oh sweetheart," he coos, his voice like honey but the wolfish grin on his face is anything but sweet. "you gonna cry for me baby?" he asks of you, his thumb tracing your bottom lip before slipping inside your mouth and you suck on it like you would his cock.

“pretty baby just needed something in their mouth, didn’t they?"

he pulls his hips back and slams back into you, making you feel every intimate inch he has to give as he spilts you open. but the subsequent tears that spill from your eyes at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure, sweet cries of his name filling the room snaps the last thin thread of sanity toji was hanging onto.

he lets go of your face to grab onto the headboard, using it as leverage to drill himself into you. as he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head at how deep he is inside you, he can’t help but go harder; the poor bed struggling under the intensity of his fucking, the wet sounds your pussy makes every time his hips connect with yours is music to his ears.

toji can so easily fold you in half, repeatedly sinking into you because he can't get enough of the lewd squelch of your cunt around his cock every time he bullies his way back in. “fuck, this sloppy hole is always so tight, no matter how much i fuck you.” it's his favorite sight to see, the sticky white mess you leave around the base of his cock with each roll of his hips, pussy staining his hips with a shiny slick. “fuck you’re so messy. look at how you’re creaming all over me doll? it feels so good.”

one of toji’s favourite ways to fuck you is in a full nelson. it’s so easy for him to drag you up and down his cock, his large chest enveloping your whole body as you lay against him. he whispers filthy words about how tight you feel as he rubs at your clit, determined to make you squirt for him, to make you cry out his name. “i can feel you squeezing around me sweetheart. gonna make mess all over my cock aren’t ya?”

toji, who is so strong, he can hold you in the air, your legs thrown over his arms as he drags you back and forth on his cock, like you’re his own little cocksleeve. or sometimes he'll have you on your back, his hands tightly gripped around your hips as he holds them up and off the bed so he can drill into you at a good angle, the smooth roll of his hips abuses your sweet spot until you come so hard you shake in his hold, overstimulated. but he’s not gonna stop there, once you’ve had your fill he is sure to have his. “what do you mean it’s too much? you can take it cutie, i know you can.”

toji likes when you’re bouncing in his lap, his cock splitting you open as he mouths and toys at your tits. “go ahead and fuck yourself on my cock.” he says with a smirk, a large hand squeezing and pulling at your ass. he will never grow tired of your whines of “but ‘m tired toji” when your thighs start to tremble and burn. you have him so terribly wrapped around your little finger because all you need to do is tell him, “i like how you do it.” with that little pout of yours and he’s gone. he can’t enough of you and will take anything and everything from your body that you’re willing to give if it means he gets his fill of you.

toji is so big in every sense of the word. he gives you all he has to give when he fucks you and he makes it so you have no other choice but to take it, crying and gasping in pleasure.

[dmitriene]

SOMETHING GOOD.

requested synopsis: when you get out of an abusive relationship, leon begins to loom in the distance, and you face an internal struggle with your own feelings, but he lends a helping hand and always remains by your side until you feel comfortable enough.

cw: fluff, comfort, emotional and physical hurt, bits of suggestive maybe, described past abusive relationship, mentions and description of abuse and being abused, really vile words, mentions of blood, possibly mentions of selfharm (no cutting things), cries, emotional outbursts, self accusation, many metaphors, many intimacy, one night stand, leon is helping reader and just in love, falling in love, confessions, pet names, hints on proposing. pairing: bf id leon scott kennedy x gf fem reader

author's note: after a quiet long time, i'm back with leon kennedy and with request about him, so here i am, please read all the warnings and then continue to the fic, i didn't write once in my life about such themes, but, i hope those who will read it enjoy, and if you struggle, please search help in any face you can, also tagging the one who requested the writing @paladin-heart5.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

No one is protected from abusive love, from violence, from rude words — at first it begins imperceptibly, fleeting words, too sudden control, outbursts of anger, too rough touches to scarlet, poisonous marks on the skin, almost bloody kisses, and then it’s too late, when there’s a loud crash sound in the air that come with a blow, and the cheek with the broken flesh of the lip burn with acute pain.

When the eyes swim with salty tears, flow down the cheeks and seem to leave burning traces, when it is too late to move, because the bird in the cage can only flutter its wings against the bars, but never really fly away — an imitation of freedom given to take your gaze away from the truth behind the golden cage, but a bird that can't fly won't survive, and so you thought.

— “he's just shows his love this way„ “i should appreciate it„ “it's my fault„ “if i wouldn't annoy him he wouldn't do this„

Your own thoughts are poisoning you, dissolving like an acidic liquid in your very being and the thin veins under your skin, accumulating at the bottom of your throat and rolling onto your tongue with nausea, you must spit it out, get it out of the depths of your mind and body, scratching your skin until there are bloody traces, but exposing yourself again and again under fresh blows, until bruises bloom before our eyes, which cover reality, pushing it further away.

The marks on the skin hurt and burn, your past version of you screams and vomits in salty tears, poisoned, the disgusting reflection of the current you on her once pure skin and soul, your new reflection in the mirror — causing neither emotions nor tears, there is nothing left that you would like to do, say, instead of throwing away the empty shell, you turn into it.

Your wings no longer flutter, you no longer cover yourself, you don’t snap, you don’t cry — you are slowly dying, and your abuser doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like that his doll no longer reacts when her threads are pulled, when his bird doesn’t chirp and flutter wings when they try to pull them out, he gets bored of playing, mocking, and he leaves you in this poison.

— “you're boring, barely experiencing a single emotion, so fucking annoying, sex with you is like shagging a corpse, at lough you also look like one„

— “i'm done with you„

Plays in your head like a creaking vinyl record, scratching painfully against the walls of your mind, and you don’t feel relief when he leaves, because you’re still bleeding, choking on poison, tearing your flesh and fighting with yourself, and he’s beaming, hands up to the elbows in blood which is not visible to others, teeth are exposed in a vile grin, fangs shine under the sunlight that is repelled from you, every scar and bruise burns.

You emerge with torn wings and deep wounds on your back, with a scattering of purple and yellow hues on your skin, haunted by light, uneven scars and accumulated toxins at the bottom of your body, you do not fly out of the open cage, but pause before crawling out, letting the rays wash over your skin and soul, even through pain.

— “i deserve it„ “deserve better, better life, better care, better love„

And the old you, the one behind the mirror, reaches out and wraps her arms around you, draws out all the pain and tears, changes places, locking everything behind a solid glass surface, allowing you to flutter again, spreading your regrown wings through pain, through therapy, the play of emotions and constant reminders that you deserve better, you deserve to forget, you deserve to no longer be afraid.

This better comes in someone else’s image, “Leon Kennedy„ the word rolls across your tongue like liqueur, tartly sweet, like his pale blue eyes turned in your direction, like his plump lips that folding into a smile before he stretches them wider and shows you his snow white teeth, pressing against your thin neck and scratching your skin with his stubble , leaving tickling marks and warm kisses, blowing dark strands of his hair from his face to cling to your flesh again and again with tenderness and adoration, desperation for intimacy.

This is the first time, after all the events and years of therapy, when you allowed yourself close contact, more than a nod, more than a slight flirtation — you allowed someone else's warm hands, covered with calluses, to trace every contour and curve, to bend over you to run their lips over you, kneel in front of you with such warmth in the blue pools that your knees become weak.

The first, and the last, you say to yourself and the reflection in the mirror, pushing away from the fleeting permission to feel loved, afraid to open up, afraid to let someone get too close to your painfully grown wings, even when he appears on your doorstep with a bouquet of lush flowers, with a wound on his cheek covered with a plaster, with a loose tie thrown over a broad shoulder, with playful sparkle in the eyes and bared wrinkles around.

— “it's.. no, nono — i can't, i won't, i'm sorry„ scattered pieces of sharp glass pour from your lips, your eyes burn following the skin along which warm, acidic tears flow, you reluctantly open, release the sharp thorns of self defense, grown by your own strength, and his gaze gets lost, flicker around, and you don’t even see through the wet veil, you just feel, feel how warm wide hands wrap around your body with care, as if holding a crystal.

Fresh buds scatter under your feet when he presses you to his hard, but so warm chest with absolute tenderness, collecting the scattered pieces, pressing into the thorns in response, holding you when your knees gave way and unbearable bitterness curled up in your throat, when you pull his jacket towards you, screaming into his solid figure, while he buried himself in the top of your head and whispered quiet, fragile phrases intended only for you.

— “it's alright, sweetheart, i'm here, shh.. — i won't force you, promise i won't, it's alright„

He repeated again and again in a low baritone, staying with you that night until all the tears, all the accumulated grief leaves you completely, flowing as far and away as possible, leaving you in his arms, pressed against limp muscles, in a tight embrace that doesn’t prevent you from breaking free, running away if you want, but in his arms you wanted to linger, you wanted to dig a place for yourself, to stay as long as possible.

And you stay, you let him into your abode, which he enters carefully, curiously studying and looking at, playing with the blue flashes of his eyes and toothy smiles with you, watching how new colors of blush slowly bloom on your skin, your eyes run from meeting his shyly, eyelashes tremble from his every gentle touch and stroking, treating you patiently, spreading his arms so that you can cling to him and rely on him at any time.

A sense of responsibility and anger arises in Leon — his fists turn white and his jaw clenches every time he observes what past relationships have left on you, the fear of saying something unnecessary, the fear of allowing being touched without warning, knowing that this will be followed by a reflex, an attempt to cover up , and the blood in his veins boils with acute hatred for the one who treated you this way, with contempt for the mere realization that this man is still there somewhere, and if Leon could, if he knew — he would’ve finish him off.

With each time you are around Leon, it becomes easier, simpler — you more often take the initiative, discuss your feelings with him, argue while preparing dinner together about the fact that you have already eaten this dish, and it’s time for Leon to stop fixating on the same thing, to which he snorts, waving his head and kisses the top of your head with a slight chuckle, stroking the curve of your shoulder with his thumb and silently agrees, pressing you closer, proud of every change you make.

You learn to accept his attention, bouquets of flowers, payment for purchases — be it new clothes, something for personal care, jewelry as a gift for memorable days, you learn to accept his touch, at first with slight avoidance, then with tension, and then coming to his hands yourself — hugging while sleeping, while watching a movie, kissing his bare muscular back in the morning when he is preparing breakfast, running his lips and nose along his stubbled chin and jaw, kissing the small moles on his neck, finding scars on his skin that are far from yours in meaning, but equally painful in the past.

— “i love you, truly, Leon„ you lick each other's wounds, small , but deep kisses, warm touches, skin to skin when the moon rises in the sky and his confessions turn into sweet whispers, and your love into meek, sincere smiles and tears of happiness, when he fills your insides not with poison, but with something sweetly stretching, leaving not painful wounds on the skin, but blooming buds demonstrating affection, whispering into the sweaty, warm skin under the pads of his fingers — “I love you too, darling, with everything i have, i love you„

His words are sincere, connected with your by red thread, when his dark wings bloom to wrap them around you, he is warm, covered with his own honest earnings of scars, missing feathers, problems in order to trust, but he reveals himself to you from the most beautiful and ugly sides, he tells about his past, about horrors, losses, allowing you to exchange your own experiences, when his hands stroke your bare back along your spine, and yours his in return, touching each other’s wounds and scars, whispering in unison — “I'm proud of you„

And so much more awaits you together, because Leon has long put off the idea of buying a beautiful, neat ring, the diamond for which he chose with his own hands, putted aside in a bluish velvet box and waiting in line at the jewelry store, only then, when you would be ready.

[stupidthoughtsinwriting]

Don't leave me... I'll stay (Loki)

Summary: After an argument causes a rift between Loki and Y/N, the day is spent ignoring the other until Y/N decides to spend the night away from Loki.

Warning: Angst? i dunno what else to put in but angst eheheh. long maybe? this is a very long fic eheheh. ohh and another thing is that this may be prone to mistakes as i dont have anybody to proof this so... ehehhe

Note: eheheeh the liar has finally posted what was promised, precisely a month late or later. eheheh sorry to those who waited, school has taken a lot of my time, I barely open my laptop to work and im rarely here anymore but i've got until the monday off so lets see what i'll do with that eheheh

The context is vague, I apologize but i am complete rubbish at this. at everything really, including writing so eheheh. To those brave souls that braved this whole thing, Thank you! so very deeply, from the bottom of my heart for even showing the slightest bit of interest in my rubbish ideas. Hope you like it and im stopping myself from going any further and prolonging this intro ehehhe, Enjoy!😊

‘No Loki! Just because I have this disease, doesn’t mean you have the right to keep me locked up like some sort of china. I am able to do just about everything I could before I told you and you have no right telling me what I can or cannot do’ you countered his argument but being stubborn, neither of you relented nor ceased.

You were now second guessing whether it was right or not, telling him about the chronic illness you were diagnosed with, but you knew that you did the right thing if you wanted this relationship to have a good foundation. The reaction however… was not how you thought things would go.

It was simple at first. Barely noticeable and could have been mistaken as added doting to his already caring nature with you but overtime, it became more and more obvious how he was setting up these restrictions you never would have agreed on. It only grew ridiculous, and you would have allowed the passive ones, but this was the final straw.

Your patience had worn thin over the entirety of the argument however, as comments grew more rash and the final ‘disapproval’ of your oncoming task was remarked, you snapped. He had no right to restrict you of activities and tasks he thinks are too much for your condition and it only insulted and hurt you to think that he thought you so frail and weak that even simple chores were too much.

‘I am going on this mission, whether you “approve” or not, because just telling you was out of courtesy. I refuse to be told of my restrictions by anyone besides myself. I would have understood your concerns if the situation were more grave, but for the love of God, it’s a simple data extraction.’ You exasperated, growing tired of fighting about something you know he won’t fold on.

‘In an abandoned Hydra base!’ he pointed out, choosing not to acknowledge how you outright dismissed his concern, no matter how much it hurt. ‘You know of the dangers that lurk in those retched lairs and often times there are still those who patrol the premises. You do remember when Rogers and Romanoff were attacked during their little escapade in Camp Leigh, do you not?’

‘Of course, I remember, I’m not a moron’ you snide, glaring daggers at the raven-haired god and you were just about to justify how Barnes was going with you however the comment he let out was the final pull on the thinned thread.

‘Well, you certainly are acting like one’ he mumbled without thinking, turning away. He thought it was low enough so you wouldn’t hear but he thought wrong.

‘I beg your pardon?!’ you all but screeched out of fury. Loki flinched before he turned at the high pitch and fury, he heard from you. He saw the outraged his comment caused in your eyes. The fire that burned in those beautiful orbs of yours was terrifying however, what truly frightened him was how you took a breath, calming yourself and before he could so much as apologize, rolled your eyes and turned away.

‘I’m done’ you raised your hands in surrender, turning your back to him.

‘What do you mean you’re done?’ he asked as fear of losing you threatened his being. You mean everything to him and just the very thought of losing you and him being the very reason you were gone… it opened a holocaust in his mind.

‘This conversation, I am done. I’m ending it before either of us say something or does more damage that there already is’ you yield, busying yourself with tidying up the files you had splayed out all over the floor.

Relief flooded his senses before guilt quickly bore fruit.

He watched as you packed up your work and strode out of the room. It took him a minute, but he followed you out and once he finally reached the living room, he met the sight of you slipping on your trainers and throwing your gadgets, wallet and keys in your bag before moving to the door and slamming it shut.

He stood frozen in the threshold of the hall as he processed what happened. All he wanted was to keep you safe. Never did he think that things would go this bad.

You stormed out of the flat and went to the compound for the briefing you had with Bucky. It was scheduled for tomorrow, but you just could not stay in the flat, not with him, not at the moment. You needed a cool head and quite frankly, yours was blazing.

You called Barnes to reschedule, which he agreed to but before he could ask why, you had already hung up. You needed to calm down, seriously.

You took a scenic route around the city before heading to the facility. You parked at the car park and turned off the vehicle before you let your head fall on the steering wheel. Loki’s’ words really stung but in his own way, you knew he meant well. He loved you but it felt demeaning to be confined to one place or to be babied. You are a grown woman; this disease may affect you in some way but you wouldn’t let it define and control your life like its slowly doing to Loki.

You took your phone to look at the time and was greeted with lock screen background of you and Loki cuddling, fast asleep. Someone from the team took the picture to spite Loki but you found it adorable and set it on your phone. It brought a small grin to your lips until you got a message from Barnes saying which conference room was being used for the quick briefing. You sighed, taking your bag before exiting the car and heading in the building.

The briefing was quick. Only about the layout of the base, where to go and what to take. You were in and out in possibly ten minutes, but you longed for it to be longer. You didn’t want to go home yet so you stayed for a chat with the others, talking to Wanda about her relationship, discussing with Bruce the project he was working on before you went and left with a goodbye, heading for the shops for dinner prep and a bit of groceries, taking your time in each aisle to pass the minute until you really had to go home.

Loki had texted Thor after you left, asking if you were at the compound. It took a bit for his brother to respond but eventually he replied with ‘Barnes says she’s on her way for a meeting’. He felt relieved to at least know where you are, knowing you were safe and not alone somewhere. 

Hours passed until he heard your keys on the front door, the metal snake keychain giving a distinct clink with the rest of your keys. He looked to the door from where he sat on the living room, watching as you trudged in the brown bags of groceries. You kicked the door closed and placed the bags in the kitchen bench, never sparing him a look. He could sense that you didn’t want to be around him, he could always sense it. He’s had years of experience with being ignored nor wanted. He knew when to take his leave, so he left for the bedroom, never sparing you a sound of his departure.

You saw Loki on the chaise when you walked in. You blatantly ignored him, but he was on the couch. The only indication you got that he left was when you heard the bedroom door close. You were fixing everything you had bought to the cupboards and the pantry when you just heard the soft click of the door closing. You felt bad with how distant you two were being but what stung more is that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as you that he had to leave. You wanted to make things right. You were thinking of things to say as you put away the vegetables, but he seemed to want the opposite.

You put everything away and started making supper, finishing an hour or two later. Loki still hasn’t left the bedroom, though you did hear the shower run a few minutes prior, so you ate by yourself, wallowing in your thoughts about the mission and Loki.

Your bowl was half gone when he emerged from the room and moved to where you were eating on the table. You had prepared him a bowl, which now sat at the other end of the table. You weren’t talking to each other, but you still care and love him. The soup had gone a bit cold, but it was there, and he sat and ate it anyways.

Both of you stayed silent, neither breaking the silence as the tension grew thick. You quickly finished the rest of your meal before standing abruptly to start cleaning up. You let the bowl rinse and soak in the sink while you stored the leftovers in a container and to the fridge. You had put more than enough on his bowl, so you were sure he wouldn’t be asking for seconds. You quickly washed the dishes whilst he ate while reading his book. He was nearly done when you left the kitchen and proceeded to the bathroom.

He let out a sigh and dropped his book when he heard the shower running. He has been staring at the very same paragraph over and over but not once has he actually paid attention to the text let alone understood it. He was hoping to break the ice between you two, but he froze, missing his chance.

He rinsed his own dish and made sure everything was good and locked up before he went back to the bedroom, preparing to go to bed.

You came out a few minutes later, steam billowing from the ensuite and following you. Your hair was wrapped up in a towel, your body clad in the oversized jumper you adored, with a nightie underneath. You still refused to acknowledge him as you made your way to the closet, grabbing a spare comforter.

This got Loki’s attention and was what broke the silence of the room, really the silence you have both established since the argument earlier.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he stopped fluffing the pillow in his hold. Your pillow.

‘I have a few case files to read and paperwork to do so… I’m staying in the living room’ you stated, hardly with any emotion, tugging at the comforter from the top shelf.

‘And the need for a blanket?’ he questioned again, looking over your well bundled figure. The sweater you had was thick and big enough to cover your legs if you were truly that cold, he knew that and the fact that you only use blankets whenever you were going to sleep.

‘It’s likely I’ll fall asleep on the couch so I’m preparing for the inevitable. To put it bluntly, I’m sleeping on the couch’ you say, finally turning around to see him holding your pillow before you moved to leave the room.

All Loki could do was nod, clenching his jaw as his hands dropped your pillow and watch as you left the room. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t will his lips to move in protest and just accepted what was going to happen. He didn’t want to force you seeing how that went earlier, so he let it… you, go do what you wish. He didn’t want to lose you and he’d do anything and everything to avoid that.

He got cleaned up in the bathroom before he went to bed. He couldn’t sleep and for hours he’s spent it staring up at the ceiling. Once he'd learned to sleep with you by his side, it was harder now to do so without you and the lingering thoughts of your fight earlier kept him company.

It took a while before the fatigue finally succumbed to him, his mind too tired to do anything that it finally forfeited and let him rest.

You on the other hand, haven’t slept at all. Not a wink of it. You spent a bit writing up some reports and looking over at some case files but after you found that you couldn’t focus, you packed everything up and tried to get some sleep. Tried. You really did but as tired as your body was, your mind worked wonders in keeping you up.

The fight you had was your fore thought, mainly the look in Loki’s eyes when you said you weren’t sleeping in the same room as him. He always tried to look impassive in front of others but with you, his eyes held so many expressions of love and adoration, you saw none of that as he held your pillow.

You felt bad leaving him alone. The gesture alone of fixing your side of the bed was heart-warming, that it made you feel like a monster when you saw the look he gave you. Of absolute disappointment? It wasn’t the right word, but you felt like you took the one good thing he had and crushed it in front of him.

You tried to stave off such thoughts, thinking of your task for tomorrow and such but it wasn’t any use. Your mind was going miles per minute, and you just couldn’t keep up. You stayed on the couch for hours, laying on the furniture as your eyes stayed transfixed on a spiderweb on the ceiling. You grew restless overtime so the idea of making tea came to mind.

You thought it a good idea for a cup to help you, so you finally got up. You took the towel you used from the coffee table and hung it on a chair as you turned the kettle on. You grabbed a cup from the drying rack and dropped the bag of chamomile you got from the jar, as you waited for the water to boil.

It was then you heard a whimper. It came fast and low, you were beginning to think that you imagined it when you heard it again. You left the cup sitting on the counter as you went to investigate, looking all around the open space of the flat until it finally registered to you that it was coming from the bedroom.

Loki…

Fast steps quickly took you to the door of the room, which was left open and from where you stood, you heard his cries clearly. The room, gloomy when you entered had scarcely any light. The only source came from the dim lighting from the hall and the sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains, but it was enough to help you at least see figures.

You moved to the general area of where the bed was and there you saw his figure, trembling slightly. From what you saw as your eyes further adjusted to the darkness, he laid on his side, his shirt damp with sweat, his face glistening and his hair sticking all over his neck and cheeks. He had a pillow in his hold, his head buried in the cushion, but the muffled whines and whimpers still persisted to reach your ears. It was your pillow.

It had been a long while since these terrible nightmares have plagued his nights. The last was far too long ago you hardly remembered it anymore. You remember how he once told you about it having something to do with you sleeping by his side. That something about you just calmed him and made his mind come to a peaceful state. The guilt you felt increased tenfold as the regret of leaving him alone ate you alive. You didn’t… you don’t… you couldn’t have imagined how much you had helped him without even realizing and now leaving him to his own devices… you felt like a pompous prick.

You sped to his side, whispering his name in hopes to arouse him but it proved to be futile.

You sat beside him, turning to the side to face figure. A finger reached to tuck the damp locks behinds his ears as you whispered his name again, hoping to get through his thoughts but it still wasn’t working. Your hands moved to cradle the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek in hopes to stir him as you continued to say his name.

‘Loki’ you said softly, knowing using any other tone or pitch would only frighten him further. You moved your head next to his, your body twisted in an awkward position, but you couldn’t care less. You continued to whisper his name close to his ear, your thumbs caressing those sharp angled cheeks until he finally stirred.

You felt it. That light shake of his head as he finally starts rouse, as if shaking off fatigue and merciless thoughts that haunted his mind. You pulled away a bit to see him properly, wiping the beads of sweat that coated most of his forehead with the sleeve of your jumper as your other hand continued their gentle caress on his cheeks. He had a furrow that pulled his brows together and normally you would have found it adorable but right now you only hoped to remove it.

He blinked slowly, gathering his bearings to check if he was truly out of the agonizing torment his mind had conjured. He was losing you. It was scene after scene of ways he loses you and all of it was his fault. From you leaving him after an argument, to the image of the mad titan snapping your neck in his grasp as he watched. Each scenario broke him in every way, and he just couldn’t bare it.

The sight was still fresh in his mind as he finally started to ebb away from the drowse of sleep. Then as panic set him as he realized and processed what had happened, he didn’t notice the soft whisper of his name or the caress of your delicate fingers. He was on the verge of complete panic, tears welling up his eyes when he felt it. You.

Your voice. You touch. Your scent. Everything. It all enveloped him to the point It became overwhelming, but he wanted it. To suffocate in everything you, to banish those horrid thoughts away.

‘y/n?’ he whispered meekly, still questioning whether he was still in the throughs of his nightmare.

‘I’m here, It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare’ you replied as tears started to pour from his eyes and cascade down his cheeks.

‘I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry, p-please don’t leave me’ he heaved, his voice shaking with every word, it broke your heart to hear him so broken. His arms moved to wrap around you, having a tight hold on your waist, leaving the pillow, as he wept.

You could only do so much to keep your own tears at bay, but you managed to stay strong. Your fingers wiped much of the tears, but they only continued to flow so you pulled him in to hide in the crook of your neck.

‘Shhh darling. It’s alright, I’m here, I promise’ you said in his ear, knowing his cries would only muffle his hearing. He cried and cried, apologizing just as much in between but you still dismissed every single one.

‘Shhhh, you’re okay darling. It’s only a nightmare, it’s alright’ you moved your body to lay on the bed fully, settling beside him comfortably as you held him tight. Your fingers weaved through his obsidian locks, scratching his scalp in hopes to console and comfort him in anyway as he continued to heave on the crook of your neck.

It broke your heart to see him like this. Frightened to the bone like a little boy, shivering as if dunk in the oceans of the arctic. All those years of suffering topped his insecurities and the lack assurance and consoling care throughout most of his life… of course he was afraid. Of the possibilities this life held. He’d seen the worst parts of it, of course id be difficult to peer outside that little protective box he hid in. And your argument certainly didn’t help matters.

He cried for a while and you let him. Bare his vulnerability to you and it was your honour to be shown this fragile part of him. You’d treasure the trust he had in you, to keep him safe in times like these. You wouldn’t let anything happen to him, especially like this. You love him too much.

He calmed down after a little while, still letting out soft sniffs and whimpers every once and a while, but he had calmed down. You placed a soft kiss on his temple, an assurance of sorts before pulling back to face him but his grip only tightened, a whine escaping his lips as he hid himself further in the safety of your hair.

He didn’t want you to pull away for fear of you having enough of him, but he wouldn’t have it. He couldn’t.

You hushed him softly, running a hand through his inky locks and caressing his scalp, assuring him you weren’t going anywhere and only meant to talk to him. He was reluctant but he gave in, nodding the slightest bit before pulling away to face you.

His face was red, eyes bloodshot and puffy around the eyelids, looking down and anywhere but at you. Streaks of tears, dry and fresh cascaded down his sharp features, causing his unruly hair to stick. The look he gave you completely broke your heart, rendering it to mush whilst he had the decency to look so heartbroken.

You kept your composure as a finger swiped a way those stray locks, tucking it behind his ear before he nuzzled in the warms of your palm. Your thumb glided along the prominent angle of his zygoma, brushing away whatever moisture was left until you tilted his head up, by the chin, to look at you. His beautiful emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears however he still won’t look you in the eyes.

‘Loki’ his name came off your lips in a soft whisper, finally grabbing his attention. Now that you finally had it though, all words seem to have left you, your thoughts drawing blank. A sigh left your lips as you let your head drop to his, your foreheads pressed together as you closed your eyes.

‘I’m sorry’ you said blankly, your hand rising to come through his locks and to scratch his scalp. Whether it was for his comfort or your distraction, you wouldn’t know.

He shook his head, dismissing your apology. Half of him didn’t know what you were apologizing for yet the other had an idea as to what, and even if it truly was what you were thinking, he knew that it was his fault.

‘No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have treated you as such, but please darling, forgive me. I cannot lose you, please. Don’t… don’t leave me’ he practically begged. He really couldn’t lose you. He just wouldn’t know what to do if he did, but he just knows he won’t survive it.

‘No, I must apologize’ you argued, continuing on before he could cut you off ‘My actions weren’t acceptable, but Loki… We cannot keep going on like this. I am my own person, I refuse to told what to do, let alone what I can’t. I refuse to be caged in the four walls of this flat like some treasured bird, I’m not. I will not be restrained. By some illness nor God or man. This won’t work if that is what you want’.

‘I know, I know. I-It’s not, It’s not what I want. I’m sorry but darling, I just can’t lose you. I can’t. I won’t survive it. Please, I won’t do it again, just please don’t leave me.’ He sobbed, dropping his head back down the crook of your neck and he held you in a tight embrace. You understood what he meant; you don’t think you could survive losing him too.

‘I won’t. I’m not leaving you. I would never. I'm staying’ You affirmed. You really wouldn’t, but you won’t stand being coddled to the brim.

You held on to each other tightly for a while. Just letting the others presence calm one another. Loki hidden in the arch of your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, while you laid your head on top of his, a hand mindlessly raking trough his gorgeous locks. It proved to be comforting for the both of you, evidently.

‘I only meant to protect you’ he mumbled with a sniff out of nowhere.

‘I understand, my love. And the best I could do is promise to be safe and extra careful. I won’t take too risky missions if that gives you a peace of mind.’ You offered. You knew he only meant well and cared for your safety. You love your job but often times, it was too dangerous, even for your standards after everything. Taking fewer and safer missions wasn’t a problem. As long as you had worked to do that involved helping people, you were satisfied.

You felt him nod his head lightly at the suggestion, causing a soft smile to bloom from your lips before placing a soft kiss on the crown of his head. You didn’t see it but a small smile curved his lips as well at the feel of your lips on his skin. The touch starved part of him relishing in these small moments of affection like treasure.

Your free hand moved to caress his back when you felt how damp the fabric of his top was. The sweat he had worked up earlier still hasn’t dried and you knew how uncomfortable he would get bathing in the slightest bit of dirt, hence why you thought of getting him cleaned.

You place another kiss on his cheek before attempting to untangle yourself from him. The events of the nights had taxed the god, but you wanted to get him at least a bit clean before he fully dozed off however, as you tried to get off his loving embrace, his grip only tightened, his droopy eyes opening wide to see the commotion. 

‘Shhh, It’s alright. I just have to head out to the kitchen to check something and I promise, I will be right back my love’ you said softly to his ear, hoping his drowse would keep. He gave a tired huff before reluctantly setting you free. Your grin only grew wider, and you place a quick peck on his lips before you scrambled off the bed.

You quickly checked the kitchen to see if the kettle hadn’t burned and once assured, you left it as it was and headed to the loo to get what was needed. You took a small towel from the cupboard bellow the sink and ran it under the water to get it wet. Once it was fully soaked, you wrang the excess water from the towel and quickly grabbed a spare shirt from the wardrobe before going back to the bedroom.

The darling god had his eyes closed with your pillow once again tight in his grasp. This time, the sight made you smile. At how adorable he looked, face squashed on the cushion. You could tell how exhausted he was though, so you made haste in getting him set for night’s (hopefully) peaceful rest.

You sat beside him on the bed, the shifting of the mattress making him dare open an eye just as you were about to rouse him. He gave you that small charming smile of his when he saw you and your hand moved to cup his cheek, letting the pad of your thumb caress his now dried cheeks.

‘Can you sit up for me, luv’ you asked, leaning down to his ear. He gave you a faint nod before you sat back and helped him up. The fatigue was really getting on to him as he laid his head on your shoulder, so you made sure to finish as soon as possible to finally let him have a good night’s rest.

You gathered his hair into a pony with one hand and held it away, while the other wiped the damp cloth on the back of his neck. He flinched at the contact, having been spared a warning, you promptly apologized and moved as quickly as you could.

You wiped his face with great care, before you pulled his shirt off and threw it on the nightstand, to be put on the hamper after you were done. You wiped him all over until you deemed it enough and gave him the spare shirt. He put it on and just before you could leave the bed again, he took your hand. He gave you a pleading look that spoke volumes, and how could you resist when he gave you those doe eyes.

You gave him a soft smile, leaving the little towel beside the shirt and made your way to your spot on the bed. You got comfortable before you looked at him, staring at you with great fondness, it made you bashful yet you still opened your arms, welcoming him in to be held, which with great eager, he accepted. He laid beside you, wrapping his arms around your torso as he inhaled the scent of your hair, a welcome comfort after the course of the night.

You pulled the covers up to cover you both, but the feel of his soft lips just made you forget about everything but him, making you snuggle closer in his hold.

He had his head laid on the top of yours, his arms tied around you and your legs intertwined. An arm of yours cradled the back of his head, tangling to the roots of his inky locks while the other drew abstracts on his back. You held each other, never saying a word yet the silence was finally comfortable. A tranquil state you two could once again relish.

The silence however gave your mind room to intrude the peace, thinking of how things got to this point. From the argument, to the dismiss of each other’s presence and up until the confession after the dreadful nightmare, you admit that parts of how this ended up being the conclusion of the day, was your fault. Yes, Loki had his own mistakes in the matter, but you could have taken a point and fixed it. Why didn’t you get a grip and made the effort to make things better.  You shouldn’t ha…

A deep sigh broke you out of your trance. A squeeze, you felt you were given as arms around waist tightened and you were pulled impossibly closer to the mass holding you.

‘I can hear your gears turning, darling’ Loki mumbled, followed by a small chuckle, breaking the deafening comfort of silence. The sound was well welcomed after the tension of the day.

‘Sorry, luv. Go back to sleep’ you reply, scratching his scalp. He hummed in response, a smile pressing against your hair before a quick peck was planted on the top of your head. You grinned, closing your eyes, hoping to finally get consumed by the black oblivion that was rest.

The gentle caress on your arm helped, lulling you to a peaceful state of mind. Loki knew what helped you too.

Eventually the night drew on, painting the dark skies with stars as the two held each other, succumbing to blissful state of peace promised by slumber.

The night was a lesson for the two. To understand the other, to work out their problems and to never go to bed angry.