#there is so much to worry about but fuck it honestly

[umnitsa]

Dirty old man

Summary: Joel is on his seventies, but he still has needs.

A/N: Ok, so. One pic made the rounds in one of the discord servers I frequent and it made me wild, I won't lie (it was a pic/meme with aged Pedro Pascal). Highly inspired by @toxicanonymity's GILF!Joel (mine is a bit of a perv, but this isn't really a dark fic). It was also inspired by @atticrissfinch's MMITB (I wish I had a fraction of her talent for dirty talk, but I'm not even a native speaker of English, so I do what I can). Now you go read them both, I ASSURE YOU it'll be a good time. Huge thanks for all the people that cheered me on with this: Toxi, @romanarose, @beefrobeefcal, @gwendibleywrites, I love you all. (I must admit that I don't know if I'll ever continue this, honestly, although part of me wants to get to the sex scene. xD)

Pairing: No outbreak old man!Joel x Reader

CW: Joel being bold, dirty talk. That's it <3

No beta, we die like lonely writers xD

It wasn’t a bad job.

Sarah wanted to hire you to take care of her father, Joel. He wasn’t that old, but years of hard work in construction gave him some mobility issues. Sarah worried he spent too time alone, and that he could fall, get hurt and trapped without help because of his pride (which seemed to be a real possibility, considering Joel didn’t want to lose his independence in any way).

You were supposed to get the night shift, which was nice. The night shift was calm, except when it wasn’t. Sarah assured you she talked to her father, she wanted to introduce you to him, before you started working.

You prepared for war, if the man was as stubborn and grumpy as his daughter described.

Sarah introduced you and the old man looked at you over his glasses.

“You sure this pretty thing can lift me off the floor?” He asked, a crooked smirk stretching his lips. You considered answering him, but he raised his face defiantly and winked.

He was teasing his daughter.

You chuckled, to Joel’s delight. Sarah hired you on the spot.

***

Joel was grumpy most of the time. You could understand. Getting older was specially hard on some people. Losing their independence seemed to be a horrifying blow.

You admired the family pictures displayed on the walls and the bookshelves. They showed a younger Joel, large and proud, wearing tight tshirts that showed his big arms.

He didn’t change much, to be honest. His hair now was completely silver, as his beard. The wrinkles didn’t spoil his roguish smile. He was on his seventies, but looked younger, somehow. You blamed his brown eyes.

***

“You know what I miss most about my youth?” He said softly one day, entering the living room. You were looking at his pictures. He slowly moved by your side and placed a hand over your back, rubbing gentle circles. “All the pussy.”

You turned to him, astonished at his boldness. He smirked, then shrugged. You felt your face getting warm and a different, slick, syrupy warmth pooling on your lower belly. He licked his lips and sighed.

“It was easy to get pussy with those looks.” He pointed at one picture of himself and smiled proudly. “Didn’t fuck as much as I wanted, or as much as I could. Tried to be a good dad. Don’t regret anything, but... Oh boy, I miss it.” He looked you up and down, his smile turning appreciative.

“Thought old pervs like you liked tiny thin teenagers.” You scoffed.

“Only dumbasses want those.” Joel chuckled, his hand sliding lower on your back. “I like them older. Like you. With those eyes, like you know and did everything under the sun.” Joel hums, closing his eyes. “Get them cockdumb and they cry so sweetly… Mmmm, the surprise in their wide eyes...” He licks his lips, watching your reaction. You laugh, trying to hide your own arousal.

“Well, Joel, I think the preference is because they are supposed to be tight.” You said firmly, standing your ground. You refused to look shocked, and you saw no reason to scold him, at least not yet. Maybe it was your pussy talking.

Joel leaned over you slowly; you stayed very still. His warm breath tickled your ear.

“After a certain size, honey, everything feels tight.” He said softly, grabbing his half hard cock through his pants. You looked down and gasped, noticing the girth of his bulge inside his huge hand. Joel stepped back, smiling proudly, and moved into the house, dragging his feet. “Lemme know if you want a ride, sweetheart. Them blue pills are easy to get.” He turned and winked at you.

[educatedsimps]

I just thought for fics in which sakusa/atsumu(or maybe of your choice) feeling guilty after a fight with reader is very patient and understanding(such a green flag for him). Its quite rare to see reader who have those traits soo i would to see ones in your writing! I hope its not a hassle

≪ back to fics masterlist

miya atsumu x f!reader, sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

a/n: GIRLLLLL you know i’m all for this typa angst ✋😌 OF COURSE i’ll gladly write for atsumu and sakusa cuz those two are 🤌🏻🤌🏻 anyway thank you for requesting bae it's not a hassle at all :) HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, timeskip spoilers, one mention of killing/suicide? not serious tho. also swearing lol

— MIYA ATSUMU

wc: 749

"That was a shit set, Miya," Sakusa hissed, glaring at his teammate. Panting, he continued, "The hell is up with you today?"

"Nothin', I swear!" Atsumu barked in an effort to defend himself.

Truth was, he was in over his head about the fight he had picked with you that morning. He had said some nasty words to you that he didn't mean and then left for work still upset. He didn't even remember what you had been arguing about, but the crushing guilt that sat on his chest had been suffocating him all day.

He hadn't clocked a single service ace since the practice match had started, and - as Sakusa had so graciously remarked - his sets were absolute shit.

But honestly? He couldn't care less about the match. The only thing on Atsumu's mind was you. He knew he shouldn't have said what he said, yet he did, despite knowing better. And now he couldn't stop thinking about you all by yourself at home. He couldn't stop picturing you curled up on the couch in tears because he knew how much his words had hurt you. All he wanted was to apologise but he was certain you didn't want to see him any time soon.

"Well it's clearly somethin', Tsumu. Your sets are worse than Hinata's," Meian said, earning a screech of protest from the ginger. "Go take a breather, we'll swap you out for now." Clapping his junior on the back, the Jackals' captain called for Barnes. Sighing, Atsumu made his way to the bench and yanked off his compression sleeves.

Plopping down on the bench in the most ungraceful manner possible, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and hung his head as droplets of sweat fell from his sweat-slicked hair. His left knee was bouncing nervously as he tried to regulate his breathing. He couldn't tell if his laboured breaths were from his physical exertion or the sheer guilt that was devouring him from inside out.

"God, you're so overbearing! Can't ya just leave me alone for one second?!" His own words seemed to be mocking him, sounding like a broken record in his head.

You were the most incredibly caring and patient person he had ever met, yet he threw your care and concern for him back in your face, like it meant nothing. He knew his words would cut deep, and his selfishness and utter refusal to let you have the last say made him stupid enough to actually say it to your face. The worst part was that he didn't even apologise.

His leg bounced more and more nervously under him, and his mind was going into overdrive worrying about you. Sitting up, he turned and reached for his duffel bag on the bleachers two rows up. Fishing for his phone, he dug it out from his bag to see absolutely zero notifications from you.

Feeling the knot in his heart twist even tighter, he unlocked his phone and stared at your contact, his trembling finger hovering over the call button. Do I call her? Text her? Is she okay? Does she even want anything to do with me anymore? Fuck, does she wanna break up with me? She's not gonna leave me, right? Right? He could feel himself becoming delirious with worry.

"Fuck it," he muttered to himself, throwing his compression sleeves and water bottle into his duffel. He grabbed his shoe bag before yelling to his captain, "I gotta go, urgent matter!" he sprinted out of the gym.

Slamming his car door shut, he sat in the driver's seat and stared at his phone again. It was nearly lunch time and you'd normally text him and tell him about how your day was going, or hop onto Facetime to "have lunch together". He always found that cute.

He couldn't risk losing all that with you.

Driving to your favourite takeout place, he ordered a bunch of your favourite food and hopped back into his car with his arms full. And as he drove back to your shared apartment, he prayed for you to just spare him a glance. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and whisper a thousand apologies. He swore he'd understand if you didn't wanna see him, and he didn't care about being forgiven, he just wanted to apologise and make it up to you.

And apologise he did, because since then, he had never ever fucked up like that again.

— SAKUSA KIYOOMI

wc:

"Oh you fucked up, Omi-kun. Big time."

The curly haired man sighed as he downed another glass of sake. He was squeezed into one of the booths at Onigiri Miya while the infinitely more annoying Miya sat across from him, casually popping his brother's freshly rolled rice balls in his mouth.

"I know, Miya. I-" he slammed the glass on the table. Sighing heavily, he continued, "She wouldn’t even get angry at me. And I acted like a fucking high schooler, ignoring her an- and getting angry at her. She definitely doesn't wanna see me right now. I’m such a fucking jerk."

"You know Tsumu did the same thing a couple weeks ago, right?" Osamu said, coming by with a cleaning towel to wipe up the crumbs on the table. Then he flicked it at his brother. Atsumu expertly dodged it before shooting his brother a nasty glare.

"Fuck off, asshole… as if you’re so perfect," Atsumu grumbled as Osamu stalked off. Turning to his teammate, he sighed. "He's not wrong, though. Remember that practice match where I couldn't get in a single service ace? Yeah, I fucked up that morning."

"That's why you left halfway," Sakusa hummed, mindlessly tapping a finger on his glass. Atsumu nodded.

"Well... what did you do about it?"

"Me? Well, I fucking grovelled. I prayed to every god that she would listen and that she wouldn't leave me. That she'd hear me out at the very least and see how sorry I was. Don't tell 'Samu, but I even got on my knees at one point. Been a changed man since," Atsumu stated proudly, leaning back in his seat with his arms behind his head.

Sakusa rolled his eyes, rubbing his temples. "Changed man, my ass. You're still an insufferable prick."

"Maybe. But I'm not the one who fucked up and ran away tonight," Atsumu said, looking at Sakusa pointedly.

As much as he hated to admit it, Atsumu was right. Sakusa had run away after the argument - if you could even call it that.

He was scheduled for an interview that day and the interviewer was an absolute douchebag, picking on him about every little detail in his life, most of which wasn't even related to the brand Sakusa was endorsing. This resulted in him leaving the media building pissed. Even his PR manager opted not to say anything on the way out. Smart one he is. Sakusa figured his mood would lighten up before he got home but it only got worse, which was how he ended up taking it out on you the moment you asked about his day.

He knew his words cut deep, yet he chose to leave the apartment "for a breather". Until he himself with a bottle of sake and his favourite pair of twins at Onigiri Miya.

Unlike Atsumu, Sakusa had absolutely no idea why he had said what he said - the words just fell out of his mouth. Then he panicked and left.

Fucking coward, he berated himself. How could he just leave you after saying that?

Then again… how could he face you?

He wasn't sure if his body was heating up from all the alcohol or from his guilt. You had never once raised your voice, let alone lost your temper with him, but he lashed out at you out of nowhere.

Truthfully, he was ashamed that he let you see that side of him. That ugly, selfish, short-tempered side that no one but his parents had ever witnessed. He really only wanted to give you the best version of himself, and he had messed it all up.

Maybe it was a sign from the heavens - or just pure karma biting him in the ass - but he suddenly recalled the first time he saw you cry. It was before you started dating, you had just gotten dumped and he had, unfortunately for him, a massive crush on you. Typical fell-in-love-with-my-best-friend kinda thing, you know?

He remembered how his heart twisted and contorted as he watched you cry yours out over an incompetent scumbag. He still felt that same pain whenever he saw you cry.

He remembered holding you close and stroking your hair, promising himself he'd never be the reason for your tears. And one thing he very distinctly remembered telling you was that he'd kill anyone - anyone - who ever made you cry like that.

So when he stepped into your shared apartment and saw your figure curled up on the couch, he realised the person he'd have to kill was himself.

a/n: yes we're here for the grovelling men teehee

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[skinnybritishdudes]

So, holy shit. I, a person who has not written fic in a good fifteen years, suddenly decided to take a crack at this prompt from my own post the other day. It's got a bit of flirty/confident Edwin, some catwin, jealous Charles, and smooching.

I don't have AO3 yet so I'm just going to (trepidatiously) post it here and hope for the best haha don't be alarmed by my extreme vulnerability

3500 words, teen rating, no warnings.

The Case of the Tempting Mirror

“Of course it isn’t dangerous,” says Edwin. He’s standing just in front of the mirror in the corner of the office, wearing the green sweater Charles associates with the day he saved him from Hell. He’s looking back at Charles with an infuriatingly relaxed smile, head tilted slightly to one side. “He wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“He’s not the only threat out there, is he?” Charles huffs. “We ran into loads of dodgy stuff in Port Townsend.”

“He’ll protect me,” Edwin says. “Honestly, you don’t have to worry. It’s only that I asked him to gather some plant samples for me and told him I’d be by to check on his progress. It’s for research, Charles, and won’t take a tick. Nothing to get so worked up about.” He takes a step backward toward the mirror.

“He’ll protect you,” repeats Charles, nodding sourly, his mouth a downturned line. “Alright. Go on, then.” 

“We’ve been over this before,” says Edwin, more softly. “I can handle myself, and–”

“Right, got it,” says Charles. “I said go, didn’t I?” He flops down on the couch, looking straight ahead into the room instead of at Edwin as he leaves.

Edwin nods with a small sigh. “I will not be long,” he says, and takes another backward step before turning in one swift pivot to walk forward through the mirror and out of the office. 

The moment he’s gone, Charles growls loudly, his hands becoming fists on his knees. 

The fucking Cat King. Again. Couldn’t they ever be rid of that wanker? The first time Edwin said he was thinking about popping back over to see him, Charles thought he must be joking. 

“He was kind to me about Niko’s death,” Edwin had said, looking down. “And I think he’s sad, you know. I find myself wondering if he’s alright.”

“If he needs a friend he’ll have to find someone other than you, mate,” Charles had said. “He’s trapped you before, and you said yourself he’s a trickster. You can’t trust him.”

Edwin had been completely sure he’d be safe, though, and he wouldn’t entertain the possibility of Charles coming with him. He’d been so stupidly stubborn about it, and they’d bickered until the argument was exhausted unless Charles was willing to escalate it into a fight. Though he was panicked and angry at the situation, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt desperate enough that he would be right to beg or threaten or shout if that’s what it took to keep Edwin safe, but he knew he couldn’t be Edwin’s best mate and also be the guy who tries to control what he does by threatening and shouting at him. If Edwin wouldn’t see reason, what could Charles do? He makes his own choices, in the end.

This was the fourth time. Each time with Edwin so irritatingly determined to go, so unmoved by Charles’ obvious visceral concern. Each time with the same tense mini-argument before Edwin swivels away from him so easily. 

Charles stands up, his hands still in fists hanging at his sides. He rolls his head around as if trying to ease tension in muscles that aren’t there, then begins pacing in long strides back and forth across the office. 

And Edwin says stuff like “just a tick,” and then comes back three hours later. Every minute of waiting is agony, with Charles never sure if he’ll be back in a moment or if this is just the beginning of a much longer nightmare. He never knows how long until it’s reasonable for him to be as afraid as he has been the entire time, at which agonizing moment his barely-contained panic might become appropriate. 

The most nauseating thing of all - if Charles could truly be nauseated - is the sort of lightness about Edwin when he gets back from his visits with the Cat King. He returns in a good mood, the subtle smile at the corner of his lips lingering for hours. It makes Charles want to hit something, and then he worries about himself over that urge. Not rational, is it? 

When Charles asks him what took so long, Edwin will say they got caught up talking. It isn’t that he was whisked away to some kind of time-warp space like the first time, he’s just hanging out with his friend the Cat King, on the other side of the world, and lost track of time because he wasn’t thinking about Charles at all. But he never gives much of an account of what they talked about that lasted hours, and Charles never feels like he actually understands what Edwin is doing over there. 

It’s like he can’t even bring himself to suspect the thing he suspects. It couldn’t be, could it? 

No. It couldn’t.

He growls in his chest again. Could it? 

Charles stops his pacing in the middle of the room, sighs again, and turns to look at the mirror. It could be hours more of this. Likely would, in fact. Part of him wishes Crystal were here to distract him and wonders if he should go find her, but a larger part feels like it’s appropriate for him to be here and agitated. He doesn’t want to be distracted from his worries about Edwin, he wants to address them. 

He takes two long steps toward the mirror, then sits on the edge of the desk facing it. As always, for a moment he wishes he could see his reflection, but even his memory of that image is foggy now. He hasn’t seen his own face in thirty-five years and can’t quite conjure the details. These days when he tries to imagine his own face, he sees Edwin’s, the only one with which he’s so intimately familiar. 

The mirror ripples, just subtly, sending waves through the reflection of the bookshelf behind him. He isn’t even touching it - not yet doing the thing he knows he shouldn’t do but is thinking about anyway - but the mirror can already feel him searching for Edwin and is responding to his anguish. 

Charles holds his hand up two inches from the glass surface, just suspended there for a moment like he’s stopping traffic. He can feel the energy of the mirror reaching out to him, and though he knows he really, really shouldn’t do this in the end he barely hesitates before letting his palm touch the turbulent surface. It clears almost immediately, showing Charles a dimly-lit bedroom he’s never seen before. The space is lit by lanterns and a tacky neon sign, shabby but with a large, round, satin-sheeted bed in the middle. Edwin is sitting at the head of the bed, cross-legged, his posture as sharp as ever but looking relaxed and at ease. The Cat King lays curled around him on the mattress, his head at Edwin’s left hand, his knees tucked up on the other side where Edwin’s right hand rests on his ankle. 

Charles watches as Edwin gazes down at the Cat King, his left hand moving to bury itself in the cat’s loose curls. They both smile, the Cat King slowly closes his eyes, and Charles feels like he’s choking. 

~*~*~

“You did very well,” Edwin murmurs, running his hand through the King’s hair slowly a few times before settling in to gently rub and scratch behind his ears. The cat’s purring vibrates the bed, the sound filling the room as he moves his head into Edwin’s touch, his body squirming against his legs. 

“Thank you,” sighs the Cat King. “Right now I can barely remember all the traipsing through the filthy woods I had to do to complete your little scavenger hunt so I guess it must have been worth it.” He rolls over just a little, enough to expose a wide strip of belly through the undone front of his velvet robe. 

“Your help is much appreciated,” says Edwin, his right hand moving up to rub the back of his knuckles lightly, gently across the Cat King’s presented belly. “And I’m happy to be able to give you something in return.” He turns his hand over to pet more firmly with his palm, adding some gentle scratches.

The Cat King sighs contentedly, arching his back a little against Edwin’s touch, then frowns. “You could just come and see me, you know,” he says. “Without making me do your little errands.” He flips over onto his side in one swift motion, propping his head up on his hand while Edwins’ fall away. The ghost quickly brings his hands back, clasping them in his lap. 

“I thought you liked making me happy,” Edwin says, teasing and earnest at the same time. “That is what you told me, is it not?”

It was rather lovely, actually, the first time Edwin had come back to see the Cat King. First, he was oddly touched to find the King had had mirrors installed all throughout his warehouse in hopes Edwin would come through one of them. But the way he smiled when he saw Edwin had radiated such genuine affection, it caught him off guard. There had always been games between them before, tension and fear and deceit. But when he stepped through the mirror this time, not even fully able to account for why he was doing it but feeling compelled, the strange cat-man smiled at him with the unguarded elation of a long lost friend. Edwin couldn't help but feel an unexpected tenderness toward him.

And then the cat had been so eager to please him. They had spent most of that first visit with Edwin perched on the pallet throne while the Cat King sat below him, rubbing against his leg while they talked. The purring was actually remarkably soothing and satisfying, and Edwin found he enjoyed it very much. Something else he found satisfying was the feeling of the Cat King being at his command; of having him bound the way he had once bound Edwin to this town. So he took advantage of it, to both their satisfaction. 

“Yes,” says the Cat King with another sigh. “I did say that. And I meant it, dumbass that I am.” He pouts. 

“The knowledge you gather for me is useful,” Edwin says. “And don’t I always give you the reward I promise?”

The Cat King makes a hmphing noise in his throat. “I do like the petting,” he says. “But it also sort of makes it seem like you wouldn’t come and see me if I weren’t useful.” He pushes himself up and in one graceful motion is sitting knees-to-knees with Edwin on the bed. 

“You could refuse the tasks, you know,” says Edwin. “I’m not forcing your will in any way, unlike what you did to me.” His words have an edge, but there’s still a smile at one corner of his mouth. 

“You’re manipulating me with your adorableness and it’s humiliating,” says the Cat King. “It is like a fucking magic trick.” His frown softens. “I mean, look at your eyes. How am I supposed to live?” He leans forward, gazing into them sadly.

Edwin quirks his head to one side. “My eyes?” he says. 

“They’re, like, unfairly gorgeous. You didn’t know that?” 

“Actually, I–” Edwin fumbles. “As a ghost, I can’t see my reflection or be photographed so I haven’t seen myself in a very long time. I barely remember my own features.” When he tries, he sees Charles’ instead. That rich, warm, inviting brown, so full of kindness and compassion.

“That’s tragic,” says the Cat King in a breath, laying one hand on either side of Edwin’s face. “They are deep, deep, magical green. And so soft and beautiful. You deserve to know.”

Edwin looks down, embarrassed. He feels fluttery, too, though. Light and jittery. He flicks his eyes back up to look at the Cat King. 

“Are you ever going to let me kiss you?” the cat asks softly, hovering close enough to Edwin’s face to deliver if given the go-ahead. 

Edwin grimaces, and the Cat King groans, pulling back. “Are you kidding? You are the worst!” He throws his hands up. “Aaand I love you. What a disgusting nightmare.” The Cat King grumbles, his hand moving to slash across Edwin’s lips before the ghost has a chance to react. A glittery gold mark appears on his mouth and Edwin recognizes this feeling, knows he will be forced to tell the truth to whatever the Cat King asks now. It felt like a violation before and does again, but it’s also a dizzyingly liberated feeling.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” asks the Cat King, too frustrated to formulate a more thoughtful question. 

“I love Charles,” says Edwin simply, as if that’s the entire story. He supposes it is. 

“I mean, duh,” says the Cat King. “Everybody knows that. But does he love you back?” 

“No,” says Edwin. He doesn’t feel compelled to explain further; the truth isn’t complicated. 

“Then what’s the difference if you let yourself loosen up with me?” 

“I don’t know,” Edwin says. “I want to, in a way. That is, I–I believe I could because Charles truly doesn’t love me that way and I am increasingly intrigued, you know, by all these new feelings. And you are certainly not Charles but I cannot deny that you appeal to me, and I find myself wondering what would happen if I did try to let myself go with you.”

“You should let go,” says the Cat King, moving close to Edwin again. “Eternity is a long time to fucking yearn, and I can help you with that.”

Edwin moves his head without thinking, just a little and just in the right direction to indicate receptivity, and the Cat King eagerly moves an inch closer, so ready but wanting to be sure. Then Edwin exhales in a way that sounds like surrender and lets his eyes close, and the King closes the gap between them. Edwin is surprised when pushes back and lets his mouth move, firm and curious. They kiss only for a moment, and Edwin feels it: a tingle, a warmth, something more visceral than the sweet, chaste kiss he shared with Monty. The Cat King purring into Edwin’s mouth causes his whole being to feel like it’s vibrating in a way that isn’t unpleasant in the slightest, and he finds that even without a body he can still shiver. 

Edwin’s eyes are half closed and dazed as they pull apart, the Cat King exultant but meaning to check that he’s still OK before going any further. As it turns out, he doesn’t have time to ask the question.

“That’s enough of that, then,” says Charles in a rough voice, twirling his cricket bat as he emerges from the mirror at the far end of the room. He advances in battle stance, feeling very sure something is going to get smashed to bits tonight and the Cat King will be lucky if it’s not his face. 

“Charles–” Edwin begins, shocked, with no idea what to say next. He would blush if he could, embarrassed to have been caught like this but also surprised by the surge of emotion he’s feeling at seeing Charles this way. 

Charles would not have been able to describe what he was feeling looking at Edwin in this moment, either–the sharp ache and the rage that had sent him hurtling through the mirror, the need that is swirling in his chest like fury. 

“Excuse me,” says the Cat King, turning to face Charles. “You are not invited to this rendez-vous and I will absolutely fuck you up.” 

“We’ll see who gets fucked up, mate,” says Charles. “Get away from him or I’ll–”

“Oh, are you under the impression he’s not enjoying my attention, Charles?” the Cat King purrs, eyes wide with mischief masquerading as innocence. “Look, he’s still got my mark on him, so he can’t lie. Edwin, didn’t you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” Edwin says, his voice emphatic but his face miserable. He sounds like he’s choking, and it reminds Charles painfully of that day on the stairs in Hell. “But only because I know that Charles won’t.” He gulps. “You were right, eternity is a long time and I’ve been longing more and more to experience–oh, do take this cursed thing off my mouth, please!”

The Cat King touches Edwin’s lips perfunctorily and the gold mark disappears. He then scoots away from him and stands, crossing his arms and turning away, stung. 

Edwin turns to look up at Charles, standing next to the bed beside him, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Edwin, do you want me to kiss you?” asks Charles, before he can decide what to say.

“Yes,” breathes Edwin without a beat’s hesitation. “But not if you–”

While Edwin is answering, Charles is climbing onto the bed, his long limbs surrounding him in an instant. He drops the cricket bat on the mattress beside them and takes Edwin’s face in both of his hands. 

“I think the fuck NOT,” says the Cat King, kicking the mattress hard with one foot and sending Charles and Edwin sprawling, almost falling off the other side of the bed. “You two will not be having your big romantic moment in my fucking bed, thank you very goddamn much. Are you fucking kidding me?” He points at Edwin. “Don’t you dare come back here, do you understand me? You take your scrawny ghosty boyfriend and your nasty teasing lying manipulating–”

Charles and Edwin scramble off the bed and move quickly toward the mirror, holding hands. 

“I truly did not mean–” begins Edwin as he passes the Cat King. 

“Fuck you,” the King interrupts. Edwin grimaces, his eyebrows knitting together in remorse. He gives the Cat King one last look, then follows Charles through the mirror.

“But let me know if you need anything,” says the Cat King pathetically, flopping back onto the mattress. “I love you,” he whines, and it turns into a meow as a plume of pink smoke envelopes him. He becomes a sleek black cat with green eyes, slinking slowly to the head of the bed to curl up in the warm spot where Edwin had been sitting. 

~*~*~

The moment they’re back in the office, Charles turns and advances on Edwin, arms outstretched to embrace him. 

Edwin takes a step back and then to the side, moving away. “Wait,” he says, one hand on his chest. “Let’s take a breath. What is happening here, Charles?”

“You said you wanted me to kiss you, didn’t you?” Charles feels a desperate kind of urgency but forces himself to slow down, and he gives Edwin a smile. 

“I did, yes,” says Edwin, straightening his posture and casting his eyes to the side, trying to compose himself, too. “But I know that your feelings are not the same as mine. You don’t have to pretend for me, you know, frankly the idea of that is–” he makes a sour face.

“That’s not it,” says Charles. He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry for spying on you. That wasn’t right, I know. But I wondered–I kept wondering what you were getting up to with the Cat King for all that time.”

“Oh? And that gave you license to invade my privacy, did it?” Edwin quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“It didn’t,” says Charles, his smirk becoming a bashful smile. “But I’m not perfect, and it’s what I did.”

“And you didn’t like what you found me getting up to, is that it?”

“Sort of,” says Charles. “But more like, I felt like I wanted to tear the Cat King limb from limb for touching you like that.” 

“A bit extreme, perhaps,” says Edwin, his face fighting desperately to crack into a grin. His exhilaration in this moment is palpable and thrumming, even without a heart to race.  

“Just a feeling, innit,” says Charles. “I wouldn’t actually have done it, of course. But it made me realize some important things.” He takes another step forward and reaches out to take one of Edwin’s hands in his, pulling him closer still. “Like how much I wanted to touch you like that. And that I didn’t want anybody else to, either. And once I knew it, of course I had to tell you, didn’t I? Especially since the alternative was watching you snog that creepy prick.”

Edwin doesn’t wait any longer, moving his free hand to the back of Charles’ neck and pushing himself up to kiss him with his joyfully irrepressible smile. Charles drops Edwin’s hand and winds his arms around his waist, pulling him in tight while Edwin wraps both arms around his neck. There is no room to regret that they don’t have skin to feel with as the explosion of love and delight reverberates all throughout their beings, crackling like electricity and unfurling like endless blooming vines. Like reality itself was exhaling in relief, the world becoming the way it was always meant to be. 

[poppy-metal]

moot said sm abt art letting out a moan when he pisses in the morning and now im thinking of having that be your fantasy - wanting art to piss on you - but he's so embarrassed about it, the act so degrading he doesn't know if he can bring himself to do it - but he wants to please you so bad and you look genuinely discouraged when he makes a face when you bring it up, he's quick to reassure you its just something he has to think about more. honestly, he'd be more into you pissing on him - that feels more right, in his eyes. it also kinda brings the curtain down around this shiny image he held of you, this sweet girl who liked missionary sex and holding hands - you were secretly touching yourself to the sound of him pissing into the toilet every morning? he doesn't know what to do with that.

arts done alot to keep patrick out of his relationship with you - hes stingy about it. protective of you - for what, he doesn't know now - some deep rooted worry that you'd want patrick more, like every girl does. but he can't stop thinking about it. and patrick notices him brooding. and art knows - knows patrick is, well. more liberated when it comes to sex than art is. has more experience. is less romantic about the whole thing. so he caves.

"have you ever...... um. has a girl ever wanted you to - you know -" he makes a gesture with his hands, flushing.

"cum on her tits? yeah, loads of tim-"

"no not cum - the other. the other thing. that, uh. comes out."

"piss? you mean piss?"

"yeah."

patrick stares at art long enough for art to squirm. "fuck off. it was a question, alright? forget it."

but patrick is grinning now - "holy shit."

"stop it."

"your girlfriend wants a golden shower?"

"that's disgusting - "

"give me your phone."

"what? no. why?"

"i need to see this chick."

"i introduced you months ago, patrick."

"yeah, and i fucking forgot. hand it over -"

art pretends hes annoyed but he surrenders his phone regardless into patricks outstretched hand. thumbs flying over the keypads to find his gallery. art scratches behind his ear, still blushing, wondering if it was a mistake to bring it up. he feels guilty he basically outted this kink of yours to his friends when its private. he wonders if you tell your friends he likes it when you spit in his mouth. flushes more at the thought. god, is he a shit boyfriend?

patrick lets out a low whistle. "shit - how'd i forget those tits -"

"alright -" art snatches his phone back, pocketing it. "lets just drop it, yeah?"

patrick doesn't drop it though. in fact he has a long conversation with art that evening.

and the next time you're in the college cafě, getting a blueberry scone, you jolt when you feel an arm brush yours. are startled to look up and see patrick zweig already looking down at you. he nudges your shoulder with his. nods to your scone, and then his plate. "I got it."

you're not one to argue with free stuff. patricks loaded anyway, so you nod. you look around him. "is art with you?" he was supposed to meet you for lunch.

"we're going to meet him." patrick pays for your stuff and turns to you, walking backwards into the cafeteria. he jerks his head, "come with me."

you do, hesitantly. as you walk beside him, you catalog him. of course, you know him. but you dont really know him, know him. he's arts best friend, and a bit of a tennis prodigy, if one that might burn out too quickly if he doesn't regulate himself soon.

still. you aren't around him much, you think because arts worried you'll cheat on him if left alone with patrick for too long. and you get patricks appeal - hes tall and athletic - more filled out than art is yet, he has that whole devil may care kind of look to him, mussed up hair. a smirking pink mouth. something about the way he carries himself, too. confident and assured. its..... hot. you can admit that.

but you love are. you're in love with art. and its for the ways that hes opposite to patrick, that you do. hes a golden aura. a beam of sunlight where patrick screams night - he's soft and kind and he cares about you. he thinks about you. he considers you. he's not shy, but he's soft spoken. he listens. he's like a lazy river - or a fluffy cloud.

patrick leads you up the bleachers to one of the outside tennis cours, and you look out - spot art practicing with someone on the other side of the net. he doesn't see either of you yet, and you dont call out to him. you like watching him play. his precision and grace.

you sit near the top row of metal slats and patrick sits one row below you, so he can prop his legs out and spread his arms behind him on the one you're sitting on. "you sit like a third grader." you tell him, which is true. all sprawled out with his big long limbs.

patrick tips his head back to look at you. green eyes spark - he has a water bottle that he tips back and pulls a long swallow from. you dont watch his adams apple bob.

"i need alot of space to air my shit out." he parts his thighs wider as if to cement that statement and you try not to notice the way his shorts slide down his thick tan legs. they bunch all the way nearly down to his crotch.

"classy." you tell him. picking at your muffin as you stare out at art again. when he hits the ball, he jumps. his shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of pale skin and you rub your bottom lip. mouth filling with saliva because you know what that skin tastes like, feels like, under your tongue. like faint salt, and soft toned muscle.

"you'd know all about being classy wouldn't you?"

something about the way he says it - like there's a hidden meaning, makes you glance back down at him. hes still looking at you.

he's rolling his water bottle sideways up and down his thigh, and he looks like he wants to say something else, but it'll make him laugh, so he doesn't.

you squint. "huh?"

one side of his mouth quirks up. he takes another swig from his bottle - looks out over the courts and shrugs.

well, no.

you swat at his shoulder, irritated, he's pulled you in somehow. "what does that mean?"

he shrugs again - holding a mouthful of water. he swishes it from side to side as he looks up at you. swallows it slowly. holds his mostly empty bottle up and taps your knee with the open lid - "just means you're not as innocent as we all thought."

your eyebrows draw together. your stomach does a little flip. you have the distinct feeling he's making fun of you. like hes in on something you're not apart of.

you settle on, "whose we?"

green eyes flit back to the court - you follow and you find art again. he's turned from his opponent, using the end of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. he fishes a sports drink from his bag and downs nearly all of it in one go. as hes wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he turns slightly, casually taking in his surroundings. you can tell the moment he spots you and patrick because he freezes. his wrist still at his lips. he doesn't wave. you dont either.

you look back at patrick. hes still looking out at art.

"you and art...." you start. "you talk about me? together?"

patrick takes his time turning back to look at you. he seems to be communicating something across the distance to art. he says, without looking "uh huh." and when you shove his shoulder with your knee, he finally gives you his full attention. bad idea. something about him - you feel - like prey or something. you dont know. pinned under his gaze. "art tells me everything."

he puts emphasis on everything, and lets that sink in for you, which it does. slowly.

because there's really only one thing you've brought up with art recently that would be anything worth the dramatics of this. you feel your cheeks fill with blood. your gut pitch with shame.

"i -" you look down at your shoes. pink sneakers. with a frog sticker art had given you, because you like frogs and you told him that and so he got you a sticker of one. "um."

"hey, its cool." a warm hand pats your knee. "its why i wanted to talk to you."

your head jerks up. you shy away from his touch. you want to look out for art and signal him over but you dont know what to feel about him talking about that..... with patrick.

"really." patrick says your name, softly this time so you'll look at him. "im not making fun of you." he tongues the inside of his cheek, half smiling. "i think its hot, actually."

you do glance out for art now. he's back in position, but he keeps shooting glances over where you sit. you swallow. "you do?"

"fuck yeah -" he says it with such conviction that you believe him. "the way you look like you read five verses of the bible before bed and sign the cross over your chest before you give head just makes the fact that you want some depraved shit like that fucking sexy."

you shift around on the bench. you feel at once, buoyant with the praise and wrong for liking it so much.

"i dont know if art sees me that way." you fiddle with your fingers. "i think he thinks its gross - that im. weird."

"art is very repressed sexually." patrick states this like he knows this very well. and well, yeah, you cant exactly dispute it, can you. "but he's a fucking freak, trust me. I've seen his porn history."

you want to see his porn history. god. you want to know every depraved undignified thought arts ever had.

"i think that's why i want him to-" you flush. "to do that. because he's so.... good. and i want. i dunno - i guess i want him to act more shameless with me - maybe that weird - like i want to corrupt him or something -"

"it's hot." patrick interrupts. and you look at eachother. and you see a kind of kinship in him, thats in you. a kind of.... love for the depravity. of wanting to introduce people like art to it. "give me your phone."

he takes it from you before you even hand it to him. he fiddles with it, and you take the time to admire all the freckles on his sunkissed cheeks. he slips it back to you. grins.

"what did you do?"

"gave you my number." he stands. shoulders his own bag - caps his waterbottle. "art's gonna chew your ass out in a minute, sorry about that. I'll be in touch, though." and he's bounding down the bleachers before you can say anything, giving art one of those aggressive, half hug, half wrestle moves as he passes.

you blink - startled to realize art has finished up. his bag is over his shoulder and he's making his way up to you. he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"did you give patrick your number?"

"he wanted it for notes he forgot to take, i think." you lie. stand up. greet your boyfriend who you want to piss in your mouth and on your tits, with a kiss. "hes a nice guy."

"mm" is all art says.

-

and maybe you should have been more mad that art went behind your back to talk about something you shared in confidence. maybe you would have been, if you hadn't shared something secret with patrick too - a plan of sorts. you'd feel more guilty about it if you weren't so turned on by the thought.

and can you really be mad, when it works out so beautifully. after one of arts matches - where you'd so sweetly been on the sidelines to give art water between his sets. when patrick had rushed him out the door in the morning with no time for a bathroom break.

its almost too perfect the way you both corner him in the locker room after. when hes desperate and about to burst. bladder full and heavy from all the water he'd consumed.

when patrick blocks him and corners him in the shower, twists his arms behind his naked back, you're there in a flash. a look of betrayal flashes in arts eyes, but its quickly replaced by desperation when patrick reaches around him and grips his cock.

the whine he lets out is long and pained. "no - dont -" he gasps.

you cant really be mad at art for going behind your back at all because you aren't sure if he could ever bring himself to do this on his own. you tell him that, with coaxing hands up his trembling thighs. looking up at him in utter adoration as you tongue the pink slit of his cock. "its okay, baby." you tell him. naked and kneeling before him, licking licking licking at his tip, until you coax out a bead of piss, just a drop. and you moan as you close your lips around his head and suck it into your mouth like honey.

art sobs. he knees wobbling with the force to keep his urine from flooding out into your mouth. "stop -" he pants. "i cant hold it it - if you - if you keep - oh god -"

"she said its okay, man." patrick coos. licks the shell of arts ear. his hand comes down to press against arts pelvis. "look at her." art forces himself to. "thats your girlfriend, dude. she's fucking hot - and shes naked on her knees for you in a lockeroom shower after you fucking dominated that match. and all she wants." the heel of patricks hand digs in. "is to soak up all that piss you've been holding onto for her."

another little drop of piss slides down your throat and art gasps. his hands weakly come to press on your head, fingers curling in your hair. hes giving in. looking down at you with near awe in his expression instead of his earlier fear and panic. pink lips parted.

"dont you wanna see her swallow it?" patrick breathes. "fuckin rub it into her tits - you can do anything to her. she's fucking yours man - so why dont you be a man and fucking stake your claim, huh?"

that's what does it.

art groans, eyes nearly rolling back in ecstacy. right before he releases, he knock away patricks hand from his dick, grips himself by the base, and uses his other hand to keep a grip on your hair.

the tip of his cock, flushed and throbbing, rests on your fat bottom lip, "its coming - " he chokes, tightens his grip on your hair, "fucking take it -"

and then it explodes out of him all at once. a thick pulsing stream of hot piss pours into your mouth, half of it going right down your throat, while the other half splashes down your chin, flooding down your chest, between the valley of your breasts.

the moan art lets out if pornographic. his legs weak as jelly as his bladder unloads in a yellow stream that soaks you nearly from head to foot.

it seems to go on forever. both art and patrick seem entranced by the sight. the way you moan and swallow what initially went down your throat. gasp when it hits your chest like it actually feels good.

art feels another part of his brain click on. whir to life.

"s-stick your fucking tits out." he grunts, still whiney. but you listen anyway. pushing your chest out towards them, your nipples hard and on display.

art bites his lip. angles his cock so the rest of his stream splashes wetly over your hard nipples. he trails the rest of it down your stomach and - most blodly - the last of it hits your pussy - you whine when it does.

"of fuck." patrick grunts when he sees it.

when the flow peeders out, you pant like you ran a marathon. buzzing with electricity.

art looks down at you like you're the most beautiful thing hes ever seen in his life. on your knees soaked in his filth.

patrick has to reach down and grip himself.

"c'mere" art calls to you, holding out his arms. you fumble and stumble into them. wet chest smashing into his. he doesn't seem to care. his hands are feverish as they run down your back. cup and squeeze the globes of your ass. he licks into your mouth and you're both moaning into eachother. tongues smacking wetly.

patrick rolls his eyes. turns on the shower to its hottest setting. which is just warm for a lockeroom shower.

"you two freaks come over here," he calls out, stepping into the warm spray. "you both smell like fucking piss."

you giggle against arts mouth.

yeah. maybe you're glad he told your secret after all.

[hhughes]

୨୧ ⋅ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍﹙⠀JH86⠀﹚

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ◞ fem!wife!reader x jack hughes

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ◞ in which jack’s wife gives birth

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐜𝐰 ◞ complications during birth. talk of death.

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐰𝐜 ◞ 3.2K

⠀⠀╰  ꒰ 𝐚/𝐧 ◞ more of jack and pregnant!wife!reader since we all loved them sm!

You were sitting sideways on Jack’s lap in the lake house living room, while he was rubbing his hands up and down your swollen belly. 

“What are we eating tonight?” Quinn asks, from the other couch. 

“Chicken nuggets?” you ask, looking up at Jack and he smiles down at you.

"Whatever you want,” he whispers, kissing your temple, and Luke groans from his seat next to Quinn.

"You guys are so mushy.” he teases and you stick your tongue out at him.

"You're just jealous." you say with a smile and Luke grins back. 

He was a little jealous. He’s had a front row seat to your and Jack’s love from the moment you met, when you got married, up until now when you’re having a baby.

It’s like you guys fall more and more in love every day. Luke feels fortunate that he gets to witness that as often as he does. He can only hope to one day find something similar. Until then though, he is more than happy to tease you about it.

The guys honestly couldn’t eat any more chicken nuggets. It’s all that you’ve been eating for weeks. They even started calling the baby a little nugget because of it. 

“Chicken nuggets…again?” Quinn asks

“Yeah,” you agree, shifting to the side and groaning a little as pain shoots up your back all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks

“I got a pain.” 

“A pain?” Jack asks, face full of alarm as he watches you. “What kind of pain?”

When you feel another pain shoot up your back, you cry out a little and grip Jack’s hand and sucking in a breath. “Pain, pain.”

“Like baby pain?” Quinn asks, his eyes wide in concern.

“I don’t know,” you say, shifting side to side, hoping it would lessen the burn in your back. It couldn’t be time. You weren’t ready. “It hurts.”

 “Do we need to go in? Quinn, grab her bag!” Jack says but you don’t move, leaning into him more as your back tenses up. It hurt, badly, but it was probably just braxton-hicks, you had those before. Though, this time felt more intense and that kind of worried you. 

“I don’t know. Wait. It’s not time. I’ve got like three more weeks.” you hiss out a breath.

“Maybe we should call my mom…I doubt she’s far” Jack says and you shake your head.

“No, I’m okay-” but before you could even finish your sentence, fluid rushed out of you, wetting your thighs and Jack’s lap in the process.

“Are you pissing on me?” Jack cries out.

“No. I think my water broke.” 

“Oh fuck. Can you stand? Quinn! Get her bag. We gotta go.” Jack says frantically, gently moving you off his lap and onto the couch.

“Ew, you have baby juices all over you.” Luke says and Jack sends him a glare.

“Shut up, Luke! Let me change and we’ll leave. Is that okay…can you wait?” Jack asks, hand on your lower back rubbing soothing circles.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I wanna change too,” you say calmly as the pain lessens enough for you to stand, but Jack doesn’t move. 

“Maybe you should stay here. You don’t wanna move too much right?”

“It’s fine.” 

“Why are you so calm? You’re having a child!” Luke yells even more frantic than Jack.

“Yeah, this isn’t something to be calm about. You’re gonna go crazy over cuddles and chicken nuggets but not about actually giving birth?” Jack asks exasperatedly and you roll your eyes moving past him.

“Let’s get changed and go to the hospital.” you say calmly, believing you have more than enough time to do so.

You heard that births can take up to hours. So when you got to the hospital and in the bed for the Dr. to check you, both of you were very surprised when she said… “You’re already 6 inches. This is gonna be fast, hope you’re ready.”

You look at Jack, who stares back at you, equally panicked and you both laugh. 

“We’re not ready!” he says, shaking his head. “I haven’t finished my book on how to be a good dad yet.” 

“The house in Jersey isn’t near done.” 

“Did you install the baby seat?”

“No, I thought you had.” 

“God we’re a mess! I thought we had three more weeks,” Jack says laughing a little, face full of happiness but you could see the concern in his eyes.

“Well, it’s coming. Might want to call your family, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” the doctor says, taking off her gloves.

“I've already called mom and dad, they’re on their way.” Quinn says and Jack nods appreciatively.

“I’ll call Dylan and Neeks, tell them what’s going on.” Luke says and makes his way out of the room.

“Want me to call anyone else?” Quinn asks

“Trev and Cole,” Jack says and Quinn nods making his way out of the room as well.

Both your parents had died in a car crash when you were little. Your grandma raised you but she passed away a few years ago. You felt a brief moment of sadness, thinking about the fact that you didn’t have any family that was going to be here. But that wasn’t true. When you fell in love with Jack, his family automatically became your own. His parents were your parents. His brothers are your brothers. And you were about to start your own little family with him.

When it’s just the two of you alone in the room, Jack turns and looks back at you gently brushing your hair away from your face. Not saying anything and simply admiring you.

“We got this.” you say, looking at him, trying to reassure him. 

He nods but it’s not confident at all, you could see it in his eyes. He was freaking out. 

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna be fine.” you say, laying a kiss on the palm that was cupping your cheek.

“Never expected you to be so calm about this,” Jack says, a little amused. 

“Right? Usually you’re the calm one.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “But you’re right, we got this.”

Jack caresses your cheek slightly before tilting your head up and kissing you hard on the lips.

“You’re amazing and I love you so much.” he whispers against your lips and you tear up a bit.

“I love you too. Let’s do this.” 

Nothing could have prepared you for the pain once it actually started up.

“I don’t think I can do this.” you say, gripping onto Jack’s hand so tightly he winces.

“Yes you can. You’re the strongest woman I know, baby. You can do anything.” Jack responds, pressing the washcloth along your forehead as Ellen comes rushing in.

“I’m so sorry. We were already home, and my phone was off. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay mom.” Jack reassures her.

“Everyone is in the waiting room. They wanted me to tell you they love you.” Ellen says taking the spot on your other side and holding the other hand.

“It hurts,” you cry

“I know, you’re doing great. Are you ready to meet our little baby?” Jack asks and you nod. 

“All right. Next contraction, we’re doing this.” the Doctor says, taking a seat at the end of the bed.

“Okay,” you agree, letting out deep breaths.

“You got this, baby.” Jack says, laying his head against yours as the contraction hits and you push with everything you got. 

After several more pushes, the cries of the baby finally filled the room.

“It’s a girl!” the doctor exclaims and you turn to see Jack with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

Ellen lets out a soft sob as the doctor places the baby on your chest.

She has Jack’s chin and nose. She looks just like him actually, but as she screamed in sheer frustration, you figured that was all you.

Still unable to speak, you just moved your finger along her little head as Jack cut the cord.

You lay a little kiss on her head. You felt a little dizzy and out of breath but you were pretty sure that was normal.

“What do you think? Eleanor or Rosie? You said you’d know when you saw them.” Jack asks eyes on his little girl. You did say that, but you couldn’t think right now. Closing your eyes, you suck in a deep breath but it feels like you can’t quite catch it. 

“Jack-” 

“Code blue, she’s crashing. She’s bleeding too much.” 

Completely confused, Jack looks up from his perfect little girl to the doctor who was still between your legs.

“Clamps. And get them out of here.” the doctor says and when Jack looks up at you, he sees your head hanging to the side, eyes closed as the nurses hurry to get the baby off you. 

“Baby! Are you okay?” he cries reaching for you, shaking you a bit but you weren’t moving. He wasn’t even sure if you were breathing and before he could check he was being ushered away.

Ellen calls out to you as well but someone grabs her as well, pushing both of them out of the room.

“Sir we need you to wait outside,” the nurse says but Jack rips his arm away, trying to go back in.

“No, I wanna know what’s going on with my wife!”

“She’s bleeding, and the doctor is doing everything that she can. You can’t be in there while she does that. Please just let us do our jobs.” she says and shuts the door in his face.

 “It’s gonna be okay Jack.” Ellen says, her voice trembling as she embraces him. 

“She needs me,” Jack argues

“It’s okay. Let them work on her.” 

-

Seconds turned into minutes and still there was no word. You had to be okay. Jack couldn’t do this without you. People didn’t die during childbirth anymore…did they? He really should’ve finished that damn book. Closing his eyes, he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart and slow his breathing but it didn’t work.

The door finally opened, but it was only for a nurse to bring out his daughter. His daughter. Those two words should fill him with utmost joy but he couldn’t think about anything but you. Closing the short distance between him and the nurse who was pushing his daughter in a little bassinet, he stopped her. 

“My wife, is she okay?” 

“I don’t know sir. The doctor will be out in a moment.” the nurse says without making eye contact. “Would you like to come with your baby?” 

“I need to know about my wife. Mom,” he says, turning to Ellen.

“I’ll go,” she says, walking away with the nurse.

Jack wasn’t sure if he made the right decision. Should he have gone with the baby? Is that what you would want? No. He needed to know you were okay first.

When the door opened again, he had to take a step back as a nurse came out, pulling your bed with her. 

“Baby?” he gasps and swallows thickly when he sees the blood stained sheets. He’s never seen that much blood.

The nurses just wheel her past him as the doctor finally comes out. 

“Is she going to be okay? Please just…tell me something.” he begs.

"I don't know yet. She lost a lot of blood and she won't stop bleeding. So we are taking her to the OR for a transfusion and to see if there is a tear in the uterus that's causing the bleeding. It could be a number of things, but I won't know which until I'm there."

“Is she gonna be okay?” he asks desperately

“Jack, I’m sorry but I can’t answer that.”

“Please, she’s everything to me. I need her.” 

“I know. I’m going to do everything I can.” she says and runs down the hall, leaving Jack standing there, his mind going a mile a minute.

Taking a shuddering breath and swallowing hard, Jack covers his face and walks backwards into a wall, the hard surface giving him the support he needs. Jack couldn’t even really fathom what had just happened. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why was this happening?

“Jack?” 

Lifting his head he sees Quinn and Luke racing towards him, Trevor on their heels. 

“Mom texted from the nursery. Are you okay?” 

Jack couldn’t even answer them. He couldn’t say the words out loud, as if not saying them would make them less true. 

He just fell into Trevor and thankfully his friend caught him, wrapping his arms around him and holding Jack up as his cries filled the hall.

“They don’t know what’s wrong. She won’t stop bleeding.” he says against Trevor’s shoulder and he feels both his brother’s hands on his back.

“It’s okay, she’s gonna be okay. She’s the strongest woman I know. It’s okay, just breathe.” Trevor says, his own voice frantic as if he’s trying to convince himself. 

“Where is she?” Quinn asks, and Jack shakes his head, backing away from Trevor as he sucks in a breath, not meeting their eyes as he says, “In the OR”

None of them said anything. They stood there awkwardly, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. 

“Cole is on his way,” Trevor says and all Jack can do is nod.

Jack could sense everyone's anxiety, including his own. There was only one word being repeated in his head. Please. Please don’t take her away. Please don’t let him lose the one person he loves the most after it took him this long to find her. Please don’t let his daughter grow up without her mom. Please. Jack didn’t really know who he was pleading to. God. Anyone who would listen really.

Finally, a nurse came up to them, her face filled with worry. “Mr.Hughes, there's a waiting room by the OR you can wait in.

“Do you have an update on my wife?” 

“No, not yet. I’m sorry. Please follow me.” she says, looking away. 

Together, the guys walked to the surgery waiting room and while Luke and Quinn sat with the rest of the family, Jack stood by the door with Trevor right beside him. 

He had a perfect view of the door to the OR from where he was standing and he wasn’t moving until he knew you were okay.

Looking back to Trevor, Jack swallowed hard. Trevor wasn’t normally the serious type, but he looked as stricken as Jack felt.

Fighting against the sting in his eyes, Jack leaned his head against the door frame and said, “I have the most beautiful little girl.”

Trevor nods, his hand coming to rest on Jack’s shoulder. “I heard, congratulations man.” 

“I didn’t go with her. Does that make me a bad dad?” 

“No. It makes you a great dad because you’re protecting her mom.” and Jack nods, tears flooding his eyes. Neither of them say anything after that as they continue to wait. None of them were prepared to wait as long as they did.

“Should I go check on the baby? Do you think she’s okay?” Jack asks 

“Mom said she’s fine. Healthy.” Quinn says 

“She’s the cutest little thing. Obviously takes after her mom.” Cole says teasingly and Jack smiles.

“Obviously.” Jack agrees, his smile fading a little. 

His head was aching and his heart was heavy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t gonna make it. Jack wanted to be optimistic but no one has said anything…and the longer he waited the less hopeful he felt. Was this what his life was going to look like without you? Forever seeing the negative in things…hopeless.

“She didn’t even get to name her. What should I do? I can’t name her. I suck at naming things.” Jack states frantically looking around the room.

“Dude, she’s gonna name her. Don’t worry.” Quinn says.

Jack slides down the door, sitting on his haunches, his face in his hands as he breathed in and out, thinking.

When Trevor came and stood next to him again, a hand on his back, Jack’s tears fell faster. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“Don’t think like that. She’s gonna be fine.” Trevor says, his eyes filled with the hope Jack was lacking.

“And if not?” Jack whispers

“Then we’ll raise her. As a family. I mean I’m not even half the person your wife is, none of us are but between all of us I’m guessing little nugget will turn out half decent.” Trevor says and Jack chuckles. 

But a world without you, wasn’t a world where Jack wanted to be. 

Swallowing hard, he looked up right as the door opened and the doctor walked out. He stood up quickly as the doctor walked towards him, letting out a long breath.

“Doc, please tell me she’s okay.” Jack begs.

“She’s stable. We were able to stop the bleeding and replace the blood, she’s going to be just fine.”

“Thank you.” Jack whispers, his voice trembling.

“Of course, I'm sorry I couldn’t give you more earlier, it happened very suddenly and my only priority was to save her.”

“And she’s gonna be okay?” Jack asks

"Yes, she'll heal fine. We'll monitor her once she's released for about the next month or so, but she should make a full recovery.”

“When can I see her?”

“She’s in recovery right now, she should be awake in the next hour or so. A nurse will take you to see her.” the doctor says and Jack thanks her again.

-

“You’re so pretty.” was the first thing you heard when you woke up. When your eyes finally adjusted to the lighting in the room you saw Jack standing next to your bed, looking down at the little bundle in his arms.

“Might even be prettier than your mama. Don’t tell her I said that” Jack whispers and you smile.

“I heard that,” you say, voice a little scratchy and Jack’s eyes lift to meet yours as he walks closer and gently lays the baby in your arms. 

Jack felt his eyes tear up and his heart swell seeing his two girls. 

“She’s perfect.” you whisper

“Just like you,” Jack says, his voice breaking and tears dripping onto your head as he kisses your temple. 

“Don’t cry.” you say reaching up to wipe his tears.

“I thought you were-” Jack cuts himself off, not even wanting to think the thought. 

“I’m okay. We’re all okay. I love you.” you say and Jack smiles down at you.

“I love you. More than you’ll ever know.” 

The day was far from perfect, it was three weeks too soon and it was filled with uncertainty and it wasn’t particularly a day that Jack wanted to remember, but it was the day that his Hope Eleanor Hughes was born and he spends every year thankful that he gets to try to replace the bad memories of that day with good ones.

[heizlut]

Promises

ꕀ cw: toxic relationship

ꕀ tags: switch fem!reader, dom!geshu lin, angst to smut, manipulation, rough/raw sex, creampie, oral fem!receiving, cheating, just overall toxic shit, lowkey emotional/soft ending

ꕀ nsfw under the cut

ꕀ m!list here

a/n: this might be the longest fic i’ve ever written😗

The relationship you have with Geshu Lin was hardly conventional. Both terrible for each other, but unable to let go. It was like a drug, the constant fights, the lies, the twisted love…

It wasn’t like Geshu Lin didn’t love you, no, it was more that he loved you too much and it honestly scared the fuck out of him. He didn’t know how to love you correctly even if he wanted to. A healthy relationship was an abnormal concept to him.

He was always a cold man, always harsh, always looking for something to keep his adrenaline pumping when commanding his soldiers just wasn’t enough. The sadistic side of him always craved more, relishing in the way you’d fight with him, loving how beautiful you looked when upset. It was wrong, he knew that.

But you always came back to him, that was one thing that would never change.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

After yet another heated argument with you, Geshu Lin found himself wrapped up with two cute medics in his office and a large, half-drunk bottle of alcohol on his desk. His tongue was down one of their throats while he groped at the other. Sure they didn’t feel like you, not even close, but he needed to let off some steam, yet still craving the spike of adrenaline that came with the drama.

You didn’t want to stay in your shared home any longer, wanting to find him, wanting to fix things even if it was only temporary. Whenever he left the house after a fight, he was usually found getting shitfaced with some of his soldiers. So with a heavy sigh, you step out of your home and head towards the base.

The soldiers greet you politely, but some duck their heads and keep walking, knowing exactly what was going on in their general’s office. The door to the office was left open, Geshu Lin didn’t exactly care who saw his transgressions, knowing none of his soldiers would say shit about it besides give him a disappointed look.

Standing at the open door, your heart drops. The expression on your face had you looking like a scorned angel. “What the fuck, Geshu…”, your voice cracks slightly. His eyes snap to yours and for a fraction of a second, he froze.

You looked so beautiful, ethereal even, with such a heartbroken look on your face that it made his heart spike. The shock of seeing you didn’t last too long before a smirk graces his lips, pulling away from the two medics.

“There’s my pretty doll~ Come over here, baby. Don’t be mad”, Geshu Lin coos, patting his lap. But you stay in your spot, unable to move, unable to think. Geshu Lin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he takes you in, giving you a fake pout, clearly playing the victim.

“I was just thinking about you, baby. I missed you. Don’t you see how hard it is without you?”, he speaks. Then he pauses, reading the expression on your face, “Oh, come on, don’t cry, babe. Look, I’m not paying attention to these girls anymore. It’s all over now. We’re good, right? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Geshu Lin gets up from his seat, sauntering over to you. He leans in, trying to plant a soothing kiss to your cheek, “Besides these girls are just dumb little medics, doll. They don’t even compare to you…”

You quickly turn your head away from his attempt to kiss your cheek, then give him a sharp glare. Even with such a look, there was still pain and even concern. “You know, I came here to check in you and make sure you were okay because I was fucking worried”, you start, a tear of anger rolling down your cheek, “But you’re apparently just fucking fine with two ditzy medics hanging off you.”

Geshu Lin’s confidence falters, just a bit. He knew it would be a mistake to push you too far right now. Even though the alcohol in his system made him braver, he was smart enough to know when to reel it in. He reaches out, trying to wipe away the tear, but he stops short, unsure of how you would react.

"I'm always fine, babe. You know that," he said, his tone now a little more subdued. "You need to stop worrying so much. You're gonna go crazy." He gave a weak chuckle, clearly not feeling it. "It's not like they're anything. They're just...a distraction. A way to keep me busy while you're busy doing your own thing." Geshu Lin’s voice grows quieter, more desperate as he tried to assuage your anger as he steps back, sitting back down.

“Please, babe, don't leave me here all alone. We should go home and make up, like we always do. I'll make it up to you with my body and my mouth, I promise… Or you can stay here with me, doll. I'll make you feel better either way." He shifts in his seat, leaning towards you with pleading eyes. His hands reach out, hovering over your hips, ready and desperately wanting to pull you onto his lap if given the chance.

Tears still brim in your eyes, looking like you could break down right then and there. You look at the two girls who sit there awkwardly, clearly feeling the tension between you and the general. If looks could kill, those medics would be dead on the spot.

But then you look back at Geshu Lin, your gaze a little softer towards him. “Get rid of them”, your words are commanding but the tone of your voice is quiet. It’s a bit eerie to hear and it makes Geshu Lin’s heart pound in his chest.

His expression falls into defeat as he realizes the game was up. With a sigh, he flicks his wrist dismissively at the two girls, speaking with a curt tone, “Get out of here.” The two medics reluctantly get up and make for the exit of his office, one daring to cast a dirty look at you over her shoulder for ruining her fun.

Now that you two are alone, Geshu Lin shifts in his seat, his arm resting on the back of the couch as he looks up at you. The vulnerability fades from him and his cocky attitude returns, “What do you want, doll? You came all the way here to make sure I was okay. How sweet of you. And here I was, thinking you couldn't care less about me. Clearly, I was wrong”

His voice is laced with cynicism, but with a hint of genuine curiosity. Geshu Lin wanted to know what was going on in that pretty little head of yours. Were you genuinely here because you were concerned and wanted him home or were you looking for another fight, either way was thrilling to him.

Even with his words and his tone of voice, you feel yourself falter. There was nothing new about this. Geshu Lin would always be the same and you would always crawl back into his arms. You move forward, straddling his lap and settling against him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into the crook of his neck, “Shut up.”

Geshu Lin’s eyes widen as you settle into him. He didn’t know quite how to react, but he feels himself growing hard at the feel of your body on his. It was a visceral reaction, one that he couldn't control. His arms instinctively drape over your waist, squeezing you tight as if he’d been dying to hold onto you.

He inhaled roughly as you bury your face into his neck, the scent of your hair mingling with the faint stench of alcohol in the room. "Fuck, baby," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper. He didn't know how to respond to the vulnerability he was seeing in you.

Geshu Lin wanted to kiss the top of your head, to reassure you that everything would be okay, but he didn't. Instead, he just holds you close, his heart pounding in his chest. The tension between you was palpable, a mixture of anger, lust, and love.

You press your lips to his neck, making Geshu Lin’s breath hitch and his body tense up as shivers run down his spine. As your lips pepper soft kisses up to his jawline, a low groan escapes him, his eyes fluttering shut. “Why did you do this… Why even get with those girls when you have me…?”, your voice is quiet and soft, but still laced with pain as you continue to press kisses to his skin.

"Because... because I'm an idiot, I guess. Because I'm the general and it’s something I can do. Because I'm drunk and I can, and because I want to feel alive." Geshu Lin’s voice is thick with regret. "But you know what the worst part is, doll? I don't even like them. I just...fuck, I don't know..."

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, his expression raw with emotions. "I like it when you're mad at me, though. I like the way you look when you're pissed off at me. That also makes me feel...alive. It makes me feel like I'm important to you or something."

Geshu Lin’s hands tighten on your waist, an almost desperate need to hold onto them, “But really, I'm sorry, babe. I swear, next time, I'll come home to you. I'll stay away from those stupid medics. I promise." He knows his promise to you is empty, it was one he’d told you over and over and yet here you were…all over again.

He leans in, pressing his lips against yours, the kiss intense, almost as if to make amends for the night's events. It was sloppy, rough, and filled with a hunger that Geshu Lin couldn't control, his tongue seeking out yours and demanding entry.

You part your lips, letting your tongue move against his. The kiss is full of hurt, rage, and desperation as your lips press with his. This was a routine that would continue again and again, both unable to break out of it.

Geshu Lin’s body responds to your passion, his hands roaming up and down your back, gripping your ass before he squeezes it, pulling you closer. The kiss intensifies, becoming a battle of dominance, each trying to take control, your tongues tangling and dueling in a primal dance.

He could practically taste the hurt and rage in your kiss, and it only fueled the fire within him. He was addicted to this rollercoaster of emotions, the highs and lows pulling you closer and pushing you further apart.

As the kiss broke, Geshu Lin’s breaths are ragged, his eyes dark with desire. "Let's get out of here, babe," he whispered, his voice husky with lust. "We'll go home and I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll make love to you, treat you like the angel you are."

His hands begin to roam again, his fingers slowly making their way under your tank top and sliding up your spine, tracing the curves of your back. He was making promises that he'd break again in the future, but in this moment, he wanted to make it right. It was a temporary fix, a Band-Aid over a gaping wound, but it was the only way he knew how to keep you close.

Your lips graze his as you speak, “Then take me home…” Your words are hushed against his lips, still lingering with traces of hurt and a need to reign him back in, to have him love you like you needed him to. Geshu Lin’s eyes gleam with excitement, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he nods, "Okay, doll, lead the way." He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he stands up.

He was feeling cocky, the booze and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can’t help but smirk, his grip on you tightening as he leads you out of his office and off the base. Geshu Lin leans a little, speaking so that you’re the only one who hears him, “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget all about this. I’ll make sure of it.” He knew that the night was far from over. He was eager to make amends and to bring you back into his world, even if it was just for one more time.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

Once you both enter your shared home, you immediately strip off your clothes, standing naked before him. Geshu Lin’s golden eyes widen, his lust growing at the sight of your bare form. But the piercing look in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine.

“Come on, make me forget. Show me that you love me”, your voice is thick with tension and hint of desperation for him to make all this go away, to just love you. Without hesitation, Geshu Lin mirrors you, quickly stripping off his clothes and revealing his toned, muscular body, his cock throbbing and leaking with anticipation. His eyes never leave yours, drinking in the sight of you, his own desire burning brightly.

He takes a step towards you, his hands caressing your body, lingering on your breasts, your back, your hips, then moving down to your ass, gripping it hard and pulling you close. "I'll show you love, babe," he whispers, his voice thick with desire as he begins to kiss a trail down your neck, and to your breasts. His tongue laving at your nipples and making them harden.

Geshu Lin pulls back only to gently push you towards the bed, to which you sit on it, legs spread and with a heated gaze. His eyes trail down to your slick pussy as he takes in the sight of your arousal, his cock hardening further at the sight.

He crouches down and leans in, blowing cool air on your wet slit, making you shudder and your hole twitch. “You're mine, and I'll show you how much you mean to me. Trust me, baby, I'll make you feel like the angel you are, and nothing else will matter," he promised, his voice low and dangerous.

Your eyes grow heavy-lidded with lust and a twinge of anger and hurt. You reach forward, tangling your fingers in his silver hair, tugging slightly. Geshu Lin’s eyes darken, the tug on his hair arousing him even more. “Then shut up and eat my pussy”, there’s a viciousness to your voice, but it also hold a deep need for him.

A wicked smile spreads across his face, and without saying a word, he begins to eat you out with a hunger that’s intoxicating. Diving in, his tongue explores every inch of your pussy, lapping at it, nipping at the sensitive skin, and flicking his tongue against your clit, causing shivers of pleasure to run through your body.

Geshu Lin kept up the rhythm, teasing and pleasuring, his hands gripping your hips tightly. His fingers dig into the soft flesh, holding you still and allowing him full access to your body. He could taste the urgency, the anger, and the lust, and he fed off it. It fueled him, making the experience even more intense.

A low growl left his throat as he continued to feast on your wet cunt, making you moan and writhe on the sheets beneath you. His tongue never stops, never giving you the chance to catch your breath, to think, only just to feel. Every now and then, he'd look up, his eyes filled with lust and devotion, pleasing you as if his life depended on it.

He can see the waves of pleasure crashing over your body, the knuckles of your fingers gripping his hair even tighter, desperate, needy, and raw. The room was filled with the sound of their moans and the slurping noises from Geshu Lin’s mouth, the scent of arousal in the air.

Your back arches off the bed as your eyes roll back, moaning so prettily for him. Your grip tightens on his hair even more, giving him a stinging sensation that went straight to his cock. Your hips roll, pushing your pussy further against his mouth and tongue, desperate to regain control the relationship.

Your moans are music to his ears. He feels a surge of triumph, a mixture of satisfaction and vindication as his tongue brings you closer and closer to the edge. Geshu Lin keeps up the rhythm, now more determined, wanting to make up for everything.

He knew this was the key to reeling you in, punishing and pleasuring you at the same time. It was a complex dance, a fine line between pain and pleasure. Geshu Lin wanted to see the full force of your orgasm, to make you lose control, to make you forget everything but the pleasure he was giving you. But he didn't want you to forget this night, this moment, and the way his mouth made you scream his name.

He would make you his again, if only for a moment, in the most primal, obsessive way. His mouth relentless, his tongue merciless, his grip unforgiving, and his drive insatiable.

It’s not long before you cum hard all over his tongue, legs shaking and chest heaving. Geshu Lin lets out a satisfied growl as your juices coat his tongue, the taste and sensation of it only fueling his hunger for you.

You tug his hair once more, pulling him away from your soaked cunt. “Come here and fuck me”, the viciousness in your voice is all the same as before carrying along something primal within it and you finally release your grip.

There’s a wicked gleam in his golden eyes as you command him. Geshu Lin crawls up onto the bed, his eyes filled with lust as he positions himself between your legs. His hard cock throbs, standing proudly as pre-cum leaks from the tip. "As you wish, doll", he whispers, his voice thick and husky as he lines his cock up with your entrance.

Geshu Lin gazes into your eyes, staring for a moment before slamming into you, drawing a loud meek from your lips. His cock fills your tight cunt, stretching it to fit his girth. He leans in, nibbling on your neck, breathing heavily, "You belong to me, you know that, right? And I’m all yours", he growls, the words dripping with dominance and obsession.

Geshu Lin begins to move, his hips thrusting forward slowly at first, savoring your body, then picking up the pace, his eyes never leaving yours. He was marking his territory, filling you up completely.

He’s rough, intense, and possessive, his tongue snaking out to lick the bead of sweat on your neck. "I love you like no one else could ever love you, and I'll never let you go, babe," he said between panting breaths, his voice filled with desire, greed, and need.

You dig your nails into his back, not caring if it hurt. It was only fair your boyfriend felt a bit of pain. The sensation makes Geshu Lin hiss but his thrusts never cease. “Just shut the fuck up and fuck me harder”, you command. Your voice is rough, angry, hurting, and desperate.

Geshu Lin can feel your need, your anger, your pain and desperation, and it only fuels his own lust. He drives into them harder, a nearly violent force, the sound of skin slapping and wet squelching fills the room.

He leans down, nipping at your ear, "I'm sorry. I'll never do it again." Geshu Lin’s words came out between thrusts, his body relentless, his cock filling you with every drive. "You're the only one for me, babe. I swear it."

He continues to pound into you, his grip on you tightening and his eyes fixed on yours, never faltering, never breaking the connection. He was showing you through his actions, his intensity, that you were his priority, his everything, that he was yours.

Geshu Lin wanted you to forget the past, to feel loved, desired, cherished, and to hate and love him all at the same time. His breathing becomes ragged, his thrusts more powerful, each one sending pleasurable pain coursing through both of you. It’s a battle of dominance, claiming each other, lost in the chaos of desire and need.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Nails digging into his skin, hard enough to draw blood. Your eyes stay on his, your gaze piercing yet heavy-lidded. “Then quit doing that shit- NGH!”, your harsh words are cut off by the orgasm that washes over you. Your pussy clenching hard around his thick cock.

Geshu Lin’s eyes roll back when he feels you cum on his cock. As he refocuses, he stares into your eyes, a primal lust consuming him, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, as if trying to leave an internal mark on you, to be forever remembered. He was a hurricane of emotions, a mixture of lust and apology all wrapped into one.

He couldn't help but smirk, "I'll never do it again," he pants. It was a lie of course, his body tensing, his balls tightening as he felt his own climax approaching. "I'm yours, babe," he says, the words a plea, a promise, an apology, echoing through the room, his voice thick and hoarse, as he pumps into you, chasing his high.

Geshu Lin lets out a deep, guttural moan, the sound echoing in the room as ropes of hot, sticky cum flood your cunt. He collapses onto you, his body trembling and heart racing, sweat dripping from him. His breaths are heavy and his forehead presses against yours as he looks into your eyes. His cock is still inside you, softening, but he doesn’t move to pull out.

Your breasts move with every panting breath you take. The tension slipping away but always lingering. You knew his promises were empty, every word a lie. But for now, he was yours and you were his. Your features soften slightly but hold a hint of conflicting emotions hidden underneath.

Geshu Lin leans down, pressing a kiss to your neck, his hand moving to cup your breast, squeezing gently as he waited for you to speak, to break the silence, to forgive him or to not. He had laid himself bare, baring his soul in the most primal and raw way. The energy between you is charged, the emotions a tangled mess, but for now, it was a moment of peace before the next storm.

You look into his eyes with a mix of hurt and love, a small frown on your lips. Reaching up, you run your fingers through his sweat-damp hair and then caress his cheek- a sharp contrast to how aggressive you were earlier. “Tell me you love me…”, your voice comes out soft, almost pleading.

Geshu Lin swallows hard, a wave of vulnerability washing over him as he looked into those deep, intense eyes. He knew the question was a test, an ultimatum, but he didn't flinch.

“I love you, more than I hate myself," he whispers, his voice shaky, honest, and real. "I'm sorry for everything, everything I've done, everything I'll do. But you're mine, and I'll love you until you can't stand it anymore."

Geshu Lin’s words were raw and heavy, a confession, a promise, a plea, a declaration of his love, a self-loathing confession, and an acknowledgment of his flaws. He holds onto your gaze, not breaking the connection, his cock still inside you and neither of you pulling away.

You let his words linger, your heart twisting in your chest. The room is heavy with the weight of your emotions, your history, your love, and the toxicity. Time seems to stand still, waiting to see if you would accept it, forgive him, or reject it.

You gently pull Geshu Lin’s head towards you, pressing your lips to his. It’s gentle and soft, full of pain and love. His heart races in his chest when your lips meet his. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his hand gripping your hip, tugging you closer. His tongue teases yours, exploring your mouth with a need to reaffirm your connection with a blend of emotions- hope and fear, love and turmoil.

He loved you fiercely and he hated himself just as much. The kiss was a silent plea, an apology, and an admission. His body trembling, as he tries to show you through the kiss that he was sorry, that he loved you, that he'd never leave you, no matter how many times you’d break up.

Geshu Lin clings to this moment, this kiss. His chest heaving, as he tries to show you with every inch of his being that he meant every word he said, that he'd change, that he'd never hurt you again, that he'd make things right. Maybe it was a lie, but maybe he wanted to change.

The kiss was it’s own secret language, a silent agreement, an implicit understanding that you’d both try to make it work, at least for tonight. Geshu Lin continues to kiss you, his lips soft against yours and unwilling to break the connection, unwilling to let you go, unwilling to let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to heal each other.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

a/n: this apparently came from the depths of my soul, good god… see you all in therapy😃

[prismatoxic]

sometimes i feel bad for headcanoning marcille as bisexual bc EVERYONE sees her as a lesbian but i'll be real to me she like. heavily prefers women and she's also one of those "ugh, it's so unfortunate that i find MEN attractive" kind of bisexuals

loves her male friends! absolutely has had male crushes! also very much acts like being attracted to a man is a travesty and hates admitting when one is, in fact, attractive

falin's pan to me which i feel no guilt about whatsoever. she also like. feels the same in all directions. men, women, enbies, unknowable gendervoids, falin can and will like any of them. which i'm sure threw marcille for a loop for a while bc she just assumed any expressed interest in boys meant falin was just straight

i do very much ship them and they get together eventually (in canon settings, absolutely post-canon, like as soon as they have a moment alone to discuss things), but i also think marcille is a fucking mess who talks herself out of thinking falin is into her (falin is so blatantly into her), grapples with still treating falin like a small baby child sometimes, and resents any and all men falin seems to express an interest in even if she agrees (bc, honestly, gross)

compare and contrast to notorious bisexual chilchuck tims who is more than happy to admit men and women are hot (maybe others as well if you explained it to him) but also he has a job so he can't worry about that right now

[campwillowpeak]

Ziggy … how do you do it? I really love the community and many of the Yandere VN games but I just wonder how do you all do it? Like post stuff and share. Honestly I would like to share some of my thoughts and stories too but I’m too scared (I know that probably sounds redundant) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Honestly got no one to talk to about stuff like this, so it’s really refreshing to see blogs such as yours that are accepting and stuff plus got cool characters that we get to learn about!! And of course we get to interact with creators like you thank you ( … this last bit sounding like that PBS kids send off was not intentional ＿|￣|○ I swear )

If you're meaning how I do it like.. not being scared or nervous to? I separate online from real life heavily.... Literally NOTHING anyone says or does to me negatively online effects my real life... I post cringe and people make fun? Ok... I'm still here sitting in my room and chillin and nothing bad is happening

I have a bad take and people are in my inbox ranting? ... Ok and? I can still go out this weekend and play pokemon go with my wife

Drama going on and people who aren't even my friends are mad or shit talking me and my work? Uuuuuh... Ok? I don't give a shit about them anyway. .3.

I give literally 0 fucks about how I am perceived online outside of my friends

I'm just hear to make stuff I wanna make

Share it with friends

And put on my silly little jester hat and make my community smile and giggle, thats it... The rest of my entire existence exists offline .w.

I think too many people put WAY too much weight on what goes on behind a screen and what people online think about them... Just have fun, post and share your stuff, and don't worry about being cringe... we're on tumblr... we're all cringe, and you're much more liberated when you embrace that .w.

And I would love to hear about your thoughts and stories uvu

[rapunzelbro]

Heartbeats in Harmony 1 Velvette x Reader

An: Hi! So this fanfic is something that came to be literally because of a Chappell Roan song. Reader is super based on her too. This fanfic is taking place in the early 2000’s assuming the show takes place farther in the future. And because well. This is my story lol. Reader is 24 and Velvettes 25. This is before they go to hell and will slowly go into that. Anywho enjoy.

Masterlist 1 2

It's everyone's dream to be famous, to have all the attention on you. The money, the fans screaming song lyrics that you wrote at a large venue. But honestly? All you wanted was some peace and quiet. You wanted one day where you didn't have to worry about what to say in an interview or even how you'd keep a personal life. You knew what you signed up for when you started this career, and you'd never mentally adjust. That's why you created that persona.

The person who had the confidence you didn't, who doesn’t care what she wore, what she sang about. She was everything you wanted to be, but couldn't. She had perfectly styled hair, stunning dramatic makeup with the most sparkly outfit you could imagine. The famous one, the person you hid behind to keep yourself from going insane. Well, at least for right now.

Wincing, you hear the obnoxious noise of your alarm that only intensifies with your hangover, you sit up tiredly to turn it off, only to have it drop to the floor to add to your frustration. “Damn it come on” you mutter, standing up trying to locate where your phone is, laying on the floor to try and grab it from under your bed. A groan followed after taking too long to find it, “Darling, I love you, but you need to stop keeping that shit on after we go to the club” the other side of the bed shifted when you finally found it and sat back down. “I know Vel, I just forgot, sorry baby” Rubbing your eyes you look over at her, moving back under the covers with her, gently kissing her forehead. “Forgiven, come here” she muttered, getting closer to you, placing her head on your chest, her tight curls acting as a cushion, you two stayed in silence as she listened to the rhythm of your heart beat. “You have to leave soon, you know my manager is coming by” you finally spoke up “They can fuck off, no relationships allowed is an idiotic rule.” Velvette muttered sitting up after you ruined the moment. “I know, but it’s only to protect you”

Velvette was a close friend. Oh hell, who were you kidding, she was your girlfriend. You have known each other since highschool, she was the only one you honestly kept in contact with after you graduated. She has one hell of a passion for designing, so when you needed someone to help design your persona, you knew she was the one to help. She knew her shit and was excited to help, being the only one to truly support your desire for a music career, and you being the only one to support her dream of being a fashion designer. You two became inseparable ever since.

But the fame came too quickly practically overnight, it was too overwhelming for the both of you to manage alone, in desperate times you signed over to an industry that had reached out first, you didn’t think of the repercussions. You just needed the help, so you blindly took that deal. They got you started with gigs, collaborations, body guards, so much. But doing so, caused you to have to shift your persona to their standards, limit your friends and relationships. She would be everything as she was before, but more… adult. The songs, the music, dancing, her attitude, it wasn't what you wanted, but you had no choice but to adjust to their demands. While it made your career soar, you couldn't help the loneliness that consumed you.

“How much longer of that contract do you even have left now?” Velvette looked at you, an annoyed look on her face as you took her hand. “Two years, then I can find an agency that doesn’t force me to hide my partner.” Rolling your eyes you give her hand a quick squeeze before going to the bathroom to freshen up. “Though after the song I’m performing tonight, they’ll probably drop my ass” You call out, giving a slight chuckle as you come out of the bathroom beginning your makeup. “You’re seriously going to perform that? You might ruin all we worked for babe..” Velvette stands up draping her arms around your shoulders as she watches you apply your makeup, curiosity lingering in her eyes “If they can’t handle it then maybe they haven’t heard any of my music correctly, and the underlying meanings of it.” You respond by shrugging slightly before turning around in your chair gently putting your hands on her face “I want to show you off, not hide you, the damn rumors of me being with you are not exactly clearing up, why not confirm it?” Kissing her you turn back around to finish your makeup.

Velvette gives a slight hum in agreement, before grabbing her stuff from your room. “See you at 6?” she looks at you as she grabs the door handle. “Wouldn’t miss it” you reply smiling looking back at her. “Kisses Darling, good luck tonight” Velvette waves before leaving. Your smile drops as she leaves, giving a frustrated sigh you continue to prepare for your manager to arrive, you couldn’t wait to cause absolute hell tonight.

Taglist @the--rebel--fae @rainbowbunny15 @anxietycomments @bonkbonkbobk @leathesimp

[unicornpopcorn14]

1, 8, or 32 for skk (from the hug prompts) 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

bestie you can’t do this to me i will request all of them

THEY'RE ALL SUCH GOOD PROMPTS I AGREEEE

Hug prompts

Decided to go for 1- "Are you cold? You look like you're freezing."

Additionally, for @dazaibirthdayweek2024 Day 3: Good Intentions + Masks

Words: 3.3k. Hope you like it, Essie!! :D

Rings a Bell

You’d think being stuck with your former partner/enemy in a confined space is the worst thing that can happen to a person…

But no, it can get worse, when said confined space happens to be a fucking freezer room.

Yeah, Chuuya has no idea what led them to this. Well, he does, but thinking about it too hard might cause his fifth aneurism today, and, less importantly, dissipate his already fickle energy.

A snicker resounds from beside him, “Chuuya’s growling like a dog again!”

“Shut the fuck up before I hang you from that meat hook myself…” He tries to give his usual bite, but it falls short as his stomach lurches again, feeling awful in all sorts of places.

Great news: he can’t see shit. Mostly blurry shapes and wavering colors, but never past that. It doesn’t help that he has the fattest migraine of the century, accompanied by an urge to vomit he honestly doesn’t know how he managed to fight against this long. Arahabaki, the damn scoundrel, decides to stay standstill and let him handle this one on his own. Fucking fantastic.

He had been told what poison he’s been injected with, but he can’t for the life of him remember the name right now.

And who’s to blame for all of this? You guessed it.

“Chuuya!!” Dazai claps with a higher-than-normal-pitch, which successfully sends stronger-than-usual-ringing to his ears, “How did you know the new method I was planning to try out?! And you’re offering to help me?! My, you should get poisoned more often!”

“You’re lucky I currently am, piece of shit…” God, he wanted to sound harsher than that– perhaps come up with a more creative thing to retort with, but that all gets swept away by low groans and helpless eye rolls…

Chuuya doesn’t know why he even bothers with looking out for that bastard when all he does is become a pain in the ass afterwards. Every time he tells himself he would wholly ignore his former partner the next joint mission, something like this happens which throws all of his vows to the curb:

Dazai was probably distracted, probably not, but Chuuya grabbed him aside anyways, rendering him without an ability for just a second.

And right then a needle buried in his neck.

They got their asses handed to them immediately afterwards, because of course, and the fuckers decided to add onto their frozen meat collection today of all days– thus, their predicament.

Which consists of opposite organization members seated in a freezer room against an icy wall, the mafia member certainly looking more limp and uncoordinated than the other. Chuuya doesn’t know how Dazai’s seated, but he’s 90% sure he isn’t staying still for the life of him, so guessing that would be impossible.

“Think Koyou-san will send a search party after you?” The question comes out as slyly as you’d think a Dazai-question would come out.

“This fast? No… She knows I can handle myself…” Dazai should already know this, as nothing has changed much in the last four years. Chuuya groans out, breathing coming in difficult, “I’d have to be gone for an entire week before she gets worried.”

“Hm, same with the Agency. But not that long. Just a day at most…” He hears shifting from beside him once again, overly wary of his surroundings since his sight is on hold, “So we’re stuck here until the poison symptoms wear off. Alone. Together. Great.” Dazai concludes like it wasn’t fucking obvious.

“At least you have the blessing of seeing in front of you.” Chuuya closes his eyes to stop his spinning vision, as perhaps that can help keep the migraine at bay, “Do you realize… how nerve-racking it is to stay this close to you while blind?! You might try anything…!”

“That’s right!” Dazai chirps, his enthusiasm successfully making Chuuya’s nerves prickle, “Chuuya better use his ultra-deduction-instincts if he wishes to stand a chance!”

He grimaces while thumping his head back, wanting to re-demand the other to shut up for how splitting his voice rings in his skull, but Dazai would probably take that as an opportunity to scream, so he resorts to: “God, I hate you…”

From (unfortunate) experience, and seeing how high on the awful-feeling scale this falls, Arahabaki will stay asleep for twenty more minutes -adding to the fifteen he already suffered through-, until he finally feels the need to fucking do something and starts kicking his freaky immune system to life.

His breath comes out as condensed clouds, each intake of breath colder than the last. The shitty smell of raw meat doesn’t help with the nausea, and he has half a mind to sleep all of this off, but leaving the suicidal freak alone with metal hooks all around is probably a wildly stupid idea. He’s still weighing his options-

“I’m booooored!!” Dazai suddenly whines, high pitched and grating. Chuuya jolts, opening his eyes in order to send the other a scowl out of habit.

Only various shades of brown meet his vision, swimming before him. The migraine remerges tenfold,  “Wh-”

“Chuuya, entertain me!” Dazai leans onto him, shoulder to shoulder, so roughly that the clench of his stomach tightens. Chuuya barely has the energy to push the bastard back, said bastard surely aware of that, “Be my jester! Now, now!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that? Hey-”

Just as Dazai straightens on his own, Chuuya feels his fedora getting snatched, followed by low chuckles and murmurs of “Disgusting hat, I’mma burn you when we’re out of here…”

If Chuuya were to sound crazy, he’d have told you that Dazai is purposely being extra obnoxious right now– ridiculously so, but four years of separation might have granted him the blessing of forgetting how annoying Dazai could truly get, thus doesn’t humor that thought…

“You have two seconds before I start calling for grantors of dark disgrace and level this whole room over your head.” He warns, and doubts this is a good idea at all (Forcing Arahabaki awake is never a good idea). But he’s seriously getting tipped over the edge and the drug rushing in his veins isn’t helping in the slightest, “Give it, now.”

Dazai stays silent for a few seconds. A few seconds too long. Catching a glimpse of his face threatens to empty out the contents in his stomach, so Chuuya just decides to close his eyes again and relish this brief moment of piece, brushing the flicker of confusion aside.

Then the grating is back, “Fiiiine…”

It’s weird how Dazai takes his already outstretched hand and places the fedora on top of it, even lingering the hold on his gloved fingers for a second before letting go. Weird, but not concerning.

“Smart choice.”  He plants his belonging back on his head, sighing lowly. The option of sleeping sounds like a dream right now– would save him the trouble of handling the two constant problems in his life at once. But nothing ever feels as good as it sounds in Chuuya’s case– sometimes his comfort comes with a heavy price, even.

Suffering through this it is, then.

“Ne, you really still can’t see?” Dazai leans onto him again– not as roughly, but certainly making Chuuya lose his balance all the same, “What about the headache? Is it getting any better? Is it? I’m bored- can you see yet? Can y-”

“No I fucking can’t, that’s why we’re still here!” Chuuya exclaims, successfully shoving him off, unable to handle Dazai’s toddler whining a second longer, “You think I wouldn’t have kicked the door down the second I regained my ability?!”

“Eh, you’re right. The air smells so bad when a dog is sharing it with me.” Dazai taunts, and must be leaning back onto the wall now, legs overly outstretched before him (probably rocking his heels back and forth) because God forbid he ever sit normally, “Too bad the door is too sturdy to budge with my kicks.”

“Cuz you’re a wuss.”

“Cuz it’s sturdy.” The other stresses, then it’s silent for a few minutes. The moment the headache begins to dissipate into a buzzing sting, rather than pounding ache, Dazai decides he should resume the torture session,

“Chuuya should cut his hair.”

That’s… so random. Even by Dazai standards. “What the he- Are you touching it?!”

Fingers tug on the longer end of his hair, brushing it, “Need scissors.”

Chuuya wishes he could recoil back in disgust, he really does, “Keep your grubby fingers to yourself, piece of shit! You know how much product I use?!” He tries to smack the hand away, never lands on it, “They’re worth your damn hands.”

Dazai blows a raspberry, and the fingers meekly abort, “My bad for trying to make a slug look a hundred times better.”

“This is neither the time nor place for it, freak.”

“Oh, so you agree to cutting it later? Consent granted!”

Chuuya springs up from the wall, “THAT’T NOT WHAT I-” At the violent lurch he receives in his abdomen, he gags mid-sentence, but thankfully doesn’t fully throw up. Or unthankfully. He isn’t sure what’s better for him at the moment. He tries to breathe through the acid in his throat, “Fuck…”

He hears shifting from beside him, peeking to deduce Dazai hugging his knees now– rocking back and forth? He closes his eyes again, wishing time wasn’t a slow bitch at the moment. One arm presses to his abdomen, right where it’s angry and upset, the other stays numb on the floor beside him. Several clouds form in front of his lips, with him somehow sweating midst the freezing room, the water cooling on his burning skin terrifyingly fast. Perhaps a minute more and they’d turn solid.

“Can your trusty dusty chaos God wake up any faster?” Oh, right. Dazai isn’t dead yet, so peace for him isn’t an option, “Does turning him off and on again works?”

Chuuya rigids once something that feels like ice pokes his cheek,

“Fucking hell, when did you find an ice cube?” He uncoordinatedly smacks the thing away, which turns out to be a hand. Huh. “You already know the answer to that, bastard. Why are you even trying?”

“Worth it…” He giggles, something breathy about it, off. Chuuya pauses, sharpening his hearing instantly, because anything off regarding Dazai is always a bad sign, and his sense about this never lies. Call it a sixth sense, if you will. “Besides, pestering Chuuya when he’s weak is fun! You think I won’t take my chances? You really don’t know me at all!”

At that his concentrated frown dissipates, immediately replaced by one of assessment.

“Wait a second…” He keeps his head hanged and eyes closed, but his tone rumbles all the same, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Whatever you mean, sluggy poo?”

Chuuya doesn’t fall for the bait, sharpening his hearing even more, “I thought you were being annoying just for the sake of it, but now you’re outright telling me you’re being annoying?” He lifts his head to look at the direction of the other, sending a glare with closed eyes, “You’re trying to hide something. Out with it.”

“Pfff, paranoid much, aren’t we?”

And just like that, Chuuya catches it.

The shivers in the other’s breathing, that automatically translate to shudders in his speech, are so subdued, desperately trying to stay hidden from him, trying to get concealed behind loud pitches and provoking fronts.

It’s a testament to how far gone his mind is in order for that to escape him.

“You’re-” Without asking for verbal confirmation that he wouldn’t get, Chuuya hurriedly takes off his gloves, “Gimme that- where is it?” He blindly wanders till he finds a bandaged wrist and grasps it. The stiffen of the other gets ignored as his hands travel to the only bare parts in Dazai’s body– his fingers and face. The fingers are frigid to the point where he can’t hold them for more than a few seconds, while the moment he clumsily smacks the face in order to cup it with both hands, it’s like all his body heat rushes to it– the skin cold, hungry and craving any kind of warmth, “What the hell- you’re fucking freezing!”

“Wow, what an astute observation, Chuuya.” He hears the roll of the other’s eyes, as Dazai’s quivering fingers hold onto both of Chuuya’s wrists, trying to push them away from his face but not putting that much effort into it, “It’s not like we’re literally in a freezer room.”

“No- this isn’t normal.” Chuuya declares, squeezing the cheeks in. How come cold skin can burn so much? “We’ve only been here for like…”

“Twenty minutes?”

���Exactly. Doesn’t it take about… way longer for hypothermia to kick in?”

“That’s you! You’re the abnormal one!” Dazai exclaims, sounding more genuine than he has been since they’ve been thrown in here. Scratch that– since he’d known him, “You think all people come with a built-in heater? I thought you realized that that’s not the case during your mission in Siberia. And you call me a fish.”

Chuuya pauses promptly. Oh, right. Sometimes he forgets that he isn’t the only one who occasionally wakes up to screams coming from within, or feels unprecedented urge to unleash chaos in stressful situations, or even runs way warmer than others. These are constants in his life. Constants he has to remind himself that no other person experiences…

And even if Arahabaki is asleep, the remnants of his abnormally high temperature is still very much intact. Chuuya doesn’t feel much past the chills of the poison itself, other than that? Coolness at best at his extremists. He’d need to stay here thirty minutes longer for the real frigidness to kick in…

Though Chuuya is equally aware that while his core temperature is abnormally high, Dazai’s core temperature is, funnily enough, abnormally low. Leave him out in the snow for a few minutes and you’d get a hypothermic mackerel popsicle in no time.

Chuuya grimaces. Stupid, stupid.

How could he forget that? His mind defends him, tells him it must have been the poison, that it must have played a part in brushing that fact aside. Chuuya wants to curse it out. He’s retained many random facts about Dazai by heart– so, so many, some even entirely useless; but when it comes to important stuff he somehow has to be reminded of them the hard way. What is wrong with him?

Well, time to make up for that. Harshly, because the bastard deserves it.

“I’m perfectly normal, thank you very much.” He lies through his teeth, but his voice is almost soft, fingers still intact with the skin cosplaying an ice wall, “You’re the one with a terrible immune system that is eager to kill you at the first given chance.”

Dazai chuckles, breathily once again. Shakily, the accurate word for it. “Dying by hypothermia i-isn’t too bad, actually!”

“Just- fucking drop it, will you? You don’t need to do that shit.” Once again he grits out softer than intended, finally cutting the contact. If he had his eyes working, he’d have seen the way Dazai chases the hands for a second before collecting himself and drawing back, “Come closer before I snatch you by the hair.”

“Chuuya wouldn’t have the energy to, anyway…” Dazai finally sounds as slurred and exhausted as he should, and Chuuya’s thankful he can even move– numbness probably there but hasn’t fully settled in.

“You remember our code?”

“Code white? O-Of course I do. Have many fond memories with it.” He hears the rustle of fabric, which means that Dazai is taking off his coat. Chuuya does the same, if a little slower.

“Stage?”

“Mild.”

Chuuya exhales, “Thank fuck, I wasn’t looking forward to sharing body heat with you properly.”

There is a pause, then, “…Severe, then.” He sees the smirk in the Dazai’s face without the need to see at all.

“That so? I’ll bash your head against that metal wall, then.” He knocks behind him twice, just as he senses Dazai drawing near, “Seems like it would do the trick nicely.”  

“No thanks, I-I change my mind. I’d like the mild-stage treatment.”

“Just as I thought.”

Chuuya suddenly feels a weight on his lap, and acts. He takes both of their coats and wraps them with it as make-shift blankets, just as Dazai gets comfortably seated, ear over Chuuya’s heart, knees tucked close. The redhead presses his lips on the hair beneath him before he can help it, feeling the frost that has settled there. One arm supports the taller’s shoulder and back, while the other wraps around Dazai’s midsection, keeping him caged in.

Now without the need to hide anything, Dazai’s shivers turn to trembles, rocking him to his core and rocking Chuuya along with it. The brunette wraps the coats tighter around himself, pulse audibly rapid and panicking, trying to compensate the body for the heat it lost apace.

Chuuya’s migraine begins dissipating a little, and he dares open his eyes, to find the variety of colors taking the form of actual shapes, now. He relaxes, just as he feels Dazai do the same– their positioning, strange as it may come for them, somehow feeling utterly natural…

“Gosh, I almost forgot your stupid tendency to never speak up in situations like this.” The mafioso chastises midst the curls, “What? Were you trying to make up for the fact that I got drugged cuz of you?” Chuuya is sure there might be a number of other reasons, like the fact that Dazai could have simply been waiting to die like that– to pass out from the cold and never feel it when Chuuya tries to wake him up again.

But Dazai’s silence grants him an abundance of answers, one of them that confirms his verbal question, and he tskes in displeasure.

“Goody-two-shoes act that makes me sick...” He rasps, his upset stomach comforted with the added pressure to it.

Dazai huffs, finding the energy to nuzzle his cheek to Chuuya’s chest exactly like a freaking cat, “My personal heater…”

At how weirdly endearing that sounds, Chuuya bristles, “I’m not your fucking-”

“Along with being my dog? Too many jobs for your brain to handle, Chibi…!” Dazai’s slurred speech sounds funny, but the words themselves cause the shorter to growl, “You’ll overwork yourself!”

“Your neck is in a perfect position to get snapped. Watch your words.”

“Hm…” Dazai takes the threat in stride, one of his hands that was lost under the blanket coming up to hold onto Chuuya’s shoulder, “The air still smells bad, by the way.”

“Then I’ll keep you trapped in it for longer.” Chuuya counters, sharing his former partner’s frigidness without mind or care. He meekly feels the forehead concealed under brown bangs, to find it minutely warmer than before. Good, great.

“How much longer are we staying here again…?” Dazai asks.

Chuuya blinks, cozy, “Not much. I can see better now.”

“Mm, then all your strength will be back in ten minutes at most…”

“Of course you still memorize the exact cooldown duration of my ability.” Chuuya would have rolled his eyes if it weren’t for his splitting headache, “Why am I not surprised?”

Dazai keeps quiet, head hanging as he mumbles, “Chuuya’s the one with a bad memory…”

The redhead pauses, unable to deny the present truth before him, “Maybe…” He mumbles back, then huffs, “But at least you’re a thorn in my side that annoyingly reminds me of the kind of stuff I eagerly want forgotten…”

“If it’ll make Chuuya miserable,” Dazai tilts his head up. Chuuya sees the smile so clear, bright and giddy. Blurry at the edges but real. “I’ll always be a thorn in his side that will always keep annoyingly reminding him…”

Something leaps in his heart at the connotation embedded in these words, of his former partner vowing to never leave again, to forever be a part of the mafioso’s life despite what life has done them, despite the circumstances. And Chuuya himself vows to never forget how such a simple word almost sent him in a haze of emotions so deep and human. The word always.

His hold tightens, and he hides his face before mumbling, “Of course it will make me miserable, bastard…”

~~~~

Hc for context: I’m a ‘Chuuya has amnesia as a trauma response’ believer. Like yeah he remembers some details regarding missions but otherwise blocks out anything his mind deems too stressful to deal with. “Your mission in Siberia” Actually had most of his subordinates die because they stayed for the cold too long. :’) Obviously, some missions with Dazai are in that chunk as well, along with the entirety of Stormbringer cuz I said so jnrgjrn.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! This wasn’t my best work so forgive me, Essie! I’ll try my best to edit and tweak some things in here when I have the energy. <33

[fizziepopangel]

"Ain't the Romantic Type"

* Author's note: Heyyyyyy everyone! I'm back with another fic, and let me just say that I'm really excited about this one because I'm honestly pretty proud of it. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do!

p.s. As always, you can always use the Fic Request Form to request something specific, and be sure to keep an eye out for part two of this fic since it'll be coming soon!😋❤️

“He just ain't the romantic type….” The words rang in Husk's mind as he stood in front of the mirror in Angel's room, adjusting his jacket for what he knew must've been the millionth time. He felt ridiculous; he hadn't been dressed up like this since he sold his soul, and after having gotten used to his usual attire, it felt wrong for him to be all dressed up.

Lost in his reflection, he almost hadn’t noticed Fat Nuggets by his feet with a worried expression. “Oink!" Fat Nuggets bumped his head gently against the hell cat's leg.

"What's wrong?” Husk stared at the pig, who didn't do much but stare back at him. "Don't look at me like that! You think I don't know I look fuckin’ ridiculous. I know it!” The pig snorted softly, bumping Husk’s leg again. " Look, I ain't got time for your pig crap right now, Angel’s gonna be back soon and I gotta make sure everything is perfect so… I don't know, go do whatever it is pigs do.”

Rather than leaving, the little pig sat down, oinking and snorting again. Husk groaned, annoyed as he leaned down to look at the little creature.  “Look, I’m gonna level with you, Nuggets, I gotta do this for Angel. Ok, so I need you to shut up and be supportive.” When the pig just stared at him, oinking in a way that sounded like he was almost annoyed himself. “He deserves this, right? You know he deserves this so just behave yourself tonight.”

Before the pig could make his oink-y little argument, the pair heard the keys jingle in the door. Husk immediately straightened up, fixing his nice jacket again and grabbing the bouquet of flowers he’d left on the coffee table beside the nice meal he had prepared for them, taking his place in front of the door quickly and putting on a smile just in time to see Angel open his door.

Angel steps into his room looking ragged, his bag from the club in his hand. It had been a shitm night, filled with more abuse from Valentino than usual, and a mess of men who did horrible things to him. He just wanted to go home and wash off the blur of the night before curling up in bed and hopefully getting some sleep… But as he turned around, he was met with Husk, smiling in his dress jacket with a bouquet of pink red and pink roses as he stood in front of a nice little candlelit meal on the coffee table. Angel stared at the sight in front of him, his lip trembling before tears began streaming down his face.

Husk was thrilled at first, his pride swelling until he realized that those tears were turning to sobs as he watched as his boyfriend sank to his knees in front of him. The proud smile he wore just moments before quickly turned to a look of horror.

 

“Angel? Babe, what’s wrong?” Husk did his best to keep the panic out of his voice, but he was terrified. He had talked to the sappiest person he knew (Charlie of course), and he had done hours of research online to make this night as romantic and perfect as he could, and as he glanced back at the scene he had set behind him, worried. “Did I do something wrong? Is…is this not romantic enough?”

Sobbing was the only response Husk got.

Fat Nuggets squealed and oinked, running to his owner and nuzzling into him in an attempt to comfort him.

“I can’t do this!” Angel sobbed raggedly. “I can’t, I can’t, I cant!”

Husk’s heart nearly stopped at the words. He and Angel had been dating for nearly a year and a half and he had thought everything was going well; decent dates, good sex, and amazing conversations and he had been trying his damndest not to fuck this up because he always seemed to fuck up the good relationships he landed himself in; always ended up hurting good people…. He took a breath, trying to keep himself from sinking deeper into that pit of panic. He knew he wouldn’t be any good to Angel if he started spiraling too.

“Angelcakes?” Husk’s gruff voice is gentler than he usually spoke, though it still shook slightly as he took a step toward his sobbing partner, a hand outstretched in an offering of comfort. “Angelcakes, baby, can you–”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” The scream that ripped from Angel’s throat was almost guttural and he scrambled away from his boyfriend’s touch, recoiling as if he were disgusted by the thought of being in his arms despite the spider demon’s usual love for physical affection. 

In an act of defense, Fat Nuggets placed himself in front of his beloved owner, staring at Husk as if daring him to come closer… But Husk just stood there, frozen as his boyfriend cowered away from him, trembling and sobbing so hard he could hardly breath. And that the scene everyone walked into when Vaggie slammed the door open….

[bloody-cupcakes]

omg wait what about dark reader play fighting with jd until you have him pinned to like the bed or something and teasing him when he starts to get turned on?

I think I'm starting to make the reader meaner and meaner with each one of these asks, and I don't even feel bad about it. Also I had to cut jump the scene to right after they started play fighting because I have no idea how to write that honestly 😭

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, noncon/dubcon elements, heavily suggestive, play fighting, brief grinding, mean reader (they make fun of JD for being horny), swearing, JD's a little bit of a pervert in this one

"Aha, got you!"

A proud grin was on your face as you successfully pinned JD down to the bed. He seemed a little miffed about "losing", only agreeing to do this in the first place because he thought for sure he'd win.

"Yeah, great," he grumbled with an eye roll, squirming slightly at the way your hands were holding down his wrists. "Now get off."

"Wait a minute-"

He scoffed in annoyance at your refusal to move right away, starting to feel more and more frustrated by the second. As you would soon come to find, that wasn't the only thing he was feeling currently.

"-dude, are you hard right now?"

He felt his face heat up at your question, trying to ignore just how much the answer was clearly yes. He could feel it, and now you could feel it, too.

But he didn't want to admit it, so he decided to lie through his teeth instead. "N- no..."

"You sure about that?" You smirked while pressing your knee further into his crotch, feeling the way his cock seemed to jolt forward and stiffen up in his pants at the action.

"St- stop-" He mumbled as he turned his head away, avoiding your gaze while his cheeks flushed bright red.

"Oh my God, you are." A sudden laugh erupted from your throat the moment you realized just how aroused he was, which did nothing but make him feel more embarrassed.

"S- shut up! It's not funny!" He tried to protest, the scowl he had on his lips immediately falling away when your knee forcefully rubbed against his groin.

It was now your turn to roll your eyes at him and the way he was acting. "Oh, don't be such a baby. You're fine."

"I- I'm serious, knock it off-" He tried to push you off him but you had firmly planted your body on top of his, your hands still pinning down his wrists at his sides.

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" You openly mocked, giving him a look of feigned fear. "Oh no, I'm so scared."

The embarrassment he felt about the current situation was quickly beginning to give way to another emotion he was much more well acquainted with: rage.

"Yeah, you know what? I just might."

If it had been anyone else, they would've gotten off him immediately. Hell, if it had been anyone else they wouldn't even risk play fighting with him to begin with.

But you weren't just anyone else, meaning you weren't scared of him, so despite the glare he was staring up at you with you did the exact opposite of what someone else might do and ignored him.

"Y'know, if I had of known you'd get so worked up over something as simple as play fighting-" you leaned down closer so that your face was mere inches away from his "-I would've done this a long time ago."

"Fuck you," he spit out angrily through gritted teeth as he tried his best not to give in to the arousal that was coursing through his body.

Merely shrugging, you responded calmly with, "Well, I mean, if you insist. I wasn't planning on going any further here, but if you really want to-"

Starting to become sick and tired of your teasing, he attempted to push you off him for a second time. Unlike when he first tried to do it, it actually worked, but that was only because you willingly let go.

You snickered in delight at his red face and heavy breathing, watching as he tried to pull himself together between all the dirty looks he shot you. It was clear you weren't worried or bothered by his anger from the way you casually leaned back, relaxing as you rested your hands behind your head.

"The next time you get hard from me being that close to you, I'll force you to cum in your pants for being such a dirty little pervert."

JD had no idea whether your words were meant to be a threat or a promise, and although he knew he should feel offended by them he couldn't help the shiver of pleasure that ran down his spine.

He could only hope you hadn't been able to tell how he did actually cum in his pants, which was why he shoved you off him in the first place.

If you knew just how difficult it was for him to be close to you without getting a hard-on, you'd never let him live it down.

[tchaikovskym]

decided to celebrate a bit for kind of not-officially yet getting into a phd, getting into new jobs (2 of them actually), and having car problems on top of it all, so, naturally, i deserve to overspend on food delivery

[dadrielle]

I can't stop thinking about just how emblematic everything in those conversations of Ashton being "a child" are of how, even at her most beaten down, triggered and traumatized, Laudna is not and will not be what Delilah wants her to be.

For Delilah, "they're still a child" is dismissive, a bit derisive, but doesn't even merit being truly hateful. She doesn't find Ashton worth the attention Laudna is giving them, not when there are such more interesting, important things to pull the attention of an adult. Children are only important when they are useful. She will indulge Laudna on the subject, because Laudna is useful, is her vehicle for action in the world, but she only cares about it in the context of getting Laudna to do what she wants. Calling someone a child is calling them unimportant. (Laudna is a child to her)

But for Laudna, who loves children and who understands intimately what it's like to have the helplessness of child, to be trapped under the authority of someone who will never treat you as a full person, even when they are being ostensibly kind, to be so confused and lost and powerless...a child deserves attention more than anyone else. Of course children lash out. Being a child IS in many ways quite awful because the world is so big around you and you don't know yet how to react to any of it, how to soothe yourself - and if you aren't given the attention, you never learn how. Ashton never learned how. Her instincts - instincts trained into her by manipulation and abuse from inside and the world around her - may say kill him, but she fights them the whole way because her heart is stronger and her heart says that the angriest, most volatile child needs care as much as any other. More, even.

Laudna hears Delilah call Ashton a child and agrees on the word, but they have diametrically opposed understandings of what that means, and diametrically opposed instincts on how to treat a child. Laudna doesn't want to hurt anyone, especially children. She loves children. She loves so much and so selflessly. And Delilah is so very very good at manipulating her but she has tried for 30 years to change the bedrock of Laudna's psyche, the truer thing that drives her beyond the base animal instincts of survival, and it hasn't worked.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

ok so I KNOW im annoying about how much ooc shit bothers me, I KNOW. y’all have come after me for ranting about it several times, HOWEVER, one ooc thing i will always accept is post-s11 ian as an emt. is it logical? not really. is he a felon? yup. but i still have hope🙏 like everytime anyone has ever done a fic where they explain ian becoming an emt again the logic is so flawed but i do not care because i desperately need emt ian back. if i ever see ian referred to as an “ex emt” in fics i will cry JUST LET HIM HAVE THAT FUCKING JOB UGHHH

[jasongraceenthusiast]

“ten is a bad person” you never even tried to understand him