#you regularly walk away from interactions with him like “what the FUCK was that”

[luckykittysshowerthoughts]

Michael trying to court MC but it just has the energy of a curious child poking a Weird Neat Thing He Found in the Bushes with a stick then jumping back when it moves

[lipringlrh]

race for your heart | mv1

summary: you’re not meant to be there, but you can’t stay away, especially not from the racer who can’t stop winning.

pairing: illegal street racer!max x fem!reader

an: might be my fave thing i’ve ever written. thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts? i’m also not an illegal street racer and have never seen one so might not be accurate x

word count: 3.7k

warnings: illegal, police chase, speeding, mentions of drugs and dodgy men

feedback appreciated and requests open!!

…

You'd been here a few times before, not regularly, never more than twice a month, but enough times to know how everything goes. You weren't meant to be here the first time, you found it by a complete accident but you were grateful now. It filled you with both excitement and dread to be here. It was illegal and wrong, nevermind the fact someone could die.

The place was crawling with creeps and criminals everywhere, one wrong move or one wrong sentence could get you on the wrong side of some dangerous people, but you lived for the thrill. The danger of the drive, and watching the drivers do it. In brand new sports cars you could only dream of affording. You didn't really know much about the drivers, except one.

Max.

He caught your eye instantly when you'd first shown. He was stood there, head to toe in black, his arm placed carefully on his car, showing off all the right bits. He was the reason you kept coming back. He was fast, quicker than all the other drivers, and everyone knew it. He was the one people wanted to challenge, to beat, but they never seemed to.

You'd seen the bets. The money people were giving to the winner after every race. More money than you knew what to do with. You craved it, the luxury and the lifestyle, but it seemed impossible. You weren't a fast driver, and you weren't a criminal by any means yet you still found yourself drawn here every time. And drawn to the driver everyone deemed untouchable.

He was the same today: a winner. You never expected any different, no one did. All the prizes were handed to him on a gold platter. Crowds cheered for him, men patting him on the back as he got out of his car to grab a beer. He met your eye again as he sat at the bar. He was left alone now, the crowds already moving on to the next big thing to talk about. He didn't look away, and for the second time, he found himself walking over to you.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" He grumbled, taking a sip of his beer. He changed his clothes after the race, now dressed in a white button-down and jeans.

He was weary of you the first time you met. You looked lost, you were, and you were not the kind of person to be here. You looked too pure and good to be surrounded by lousy criminals with more money than they knew what to do with. He wondered if you were with the police, trying to scope out the area and shut it down, but he learned quickly he was wrong.

You explained you were lost and he blindly believed you. He was worried once you figured out what you were doing that you would go to the police but he made you promise you wouldn't, and after he watched how your knees went weak after he called you a "good girl," he knew you wouldn't.

He saw you the next few times you went, looking less and less lost every time, but he never caught your eye long enough to feel confident in walking over. "Can you imagine that?" He thought to himself, "I'm treated as though I'm a fucking god around here and I still can't talk to a girl." He beat himself down over it, watching you interact with people he never wanted you to talk to, in fear they'd ruin the pure image he'd created of you in his head. So he watched from afar, giving creeps the eye long enough to scare them off. Of course, you didn't know it was him sending these men away, but sometimes you were grateful and other times you weren't. He felt bad for a moment before not caring again. "It's to keep her safe," he promised to himself every time.

You didn't reply to him immediately, instead drinking in his appearance: the way his face looked under the moonlight, the way his jaw locked when you didn't reply, and the way his shirt stretched over his muscles perfectly, letting you see everything.

"So?" he replied, smirking, watching you look him up and down more times than he could count, "are you going to answer me?"

You're eyes flew to his face again, watching as he became more confident the longer he saw you looking.

"What did you ask?" you mumbled, holding eye contact.

"I said: "What's a pretty girl like you doing here alone, again?" Think you can answer that?" he challenged, taking a step closer. He saw what he did to other girls, how he made them crumble, but nothing compared to you, and how he loved watching his effect on you.

"I- well, I just came for a beer?" you answered, sounding more unconfident the more you went on. You knew why you were here: because you liked it, but you didn't want to. It was criminal yet here you were, enjoying the thrill and the danger. And watching Max, racing or not.

"And the last time? And the time before that? You don't seem like the type of girl to go out drinking alone, especially to the type of place so dirty and illegal." He asked, teasing, stepping closer once again. His voice was growing louder even as he got closer until he was touching you and leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I think you like it, don't you?"

Your body shuddered at the closeness, your hand flying straight to his arm to keep balance. Instead, you made it worse for yourself, grabbing straight onto his muscles, and turning your face the slightest shade of red. You hoped Max wouldn't be able to see - you were too close and there wasn't much light, but you were very wrong. Crowds moved everywhere around you, but all of Max's focus was on you. It was impossible for him not to notice, he was trying to pick up on every detail that he could about you.

His head lifted back up so you could see him fully like he could see you. Your faces were barely apart, a few centimetres at best, but it still messed with your head, a million thoughts flying everywhere at once until there were none. None other than Max and what his lips would feel like pressed against yours.

You let out the slightest nod as a response to his question. You didn't want to admit you liked it but with Max so close to you it was the only reaction you could even fathom of giving. He was messing with your head and he hasn't even done anything yet.

"Are you going to answer me like a good girl or just stand there?" he says, with the cockiest attitude you'd ever seen. He knew what he did to you, and what else those two little words would do, and he loved it.

Before you got the chance to reply, you felt pressure on your back and you were pushed into Max. He grabbed you and kept you upright, but he couldn't miss the sudden uproar of the crowd and the fact they were all running in the same direction.

He gave you a once over to make sure you were alright before looking forward to try to see what was happening. People were screaming and running and he couldn't tell why. His arms wrapped around you in a protective manner, pulling you closer in an attempt to keep you safe.

So many people were shouting at him and he couldn't make out what anyone was saying. He was trying to figure it out but it seemed impossible. You were almost pushed again but the person managed to stop themselves. Max didn't care, he was almost starting to shout at them for their recklessness until he finally found out what was happening.

"Police! Run!" the man screamed at him before carrying on running himself. It was like his fight or flight mode kicked in and he wasn't going to get caught.

"My car," he said as he realised an escape plane, telling you at the same time. He found your hand and took off running, dragging you with him. He led you both to the side of the crowd so that you wouldn't get lost and led you quickly to his car.

Police were everywhere, especially near the cars. They were parked on the road but out of the way of the runners. Many of them were unregistered or stolen, and others held bags upon bags of drugs. Police were stood by his car, trying to look inside the windows for anything immediately suspicious. They were covering the drivers side and he knew he would have to be fast.

"When I jump across to the drivers side, get into the passenger seat and shut the door," he called back to you. You processed the information, barely, and nodded, but Max was already focused on using his free hand to find his keys.

He got them, twisting them around, and unlocking the car just as he was about to reach it. The police were looking in the backseat, but were too slow to process the flashing orange lights and the doors at the opposite side opening.

Max leaped in and switched sides like a machine, doing it with so much ease it seemed impossible. He grabbed the driver's side door, holding it close as officers tried to open it.

"Get in," he screamed, watching as you paused for a moment. You made eye contact with an officer whilst quickly overthinking your whole life up until this moment. How did this happen?

You couldn't think much longer and you got inside, shutting the door shut with a slam. You let out a sigh of relief much too quickly as your breath hitched with the speed the car had just started.

Max locked the doors and took off in a flash. The car sped up in an instant, going to speeds you never dreamed of. Max was absorbed into the roads, dodging people and officers as he tried to escape.

Your hand gripped the seats until your knuckles were white; this was not a situation you ever wanted to be in. Max noticed, taking his eyes off of the road every few seconds to double-check you were okay.

"I do this every day and I've never got hurt," his eyes flicked back to your face after trying to reassure you, which was obviously failing.

"You won't get into trouble with the police either." he tried again. After looking at you again, he realised how badly he was failing. He didn't know what to do. He was fine in situations like these and had never had to comfort anyone. Every solution was running through his mind, not only to get out of here safe and alive but to make sure you knew that.

"Hold my hand," he ordered softly, holding out his hand for you to grab.

"Don't you need to focus on driving?" you questioned, worried. He laughed and lifted his other hand off of the wheel too. When he saw your face he immediately put it back on but kept the other outstretched for you to grab.

You looked at it for a second before grabbing it, interlacing your fingers together, and bringing your hands to rest on top of your thighs. His thumb immediately started traveling back and forth along the back of your hand as you decided to focus on that rather than the road in front of you.

"I promise you I will keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen," he spoke gently. He smiled at you, not that you were looking, but he thought that it might lift the mood anyway. "Trust me," he added, in the softest tone he thought he'd ever spoken with. He shook his head - he was going soft for a girl he's only ever spoken to twice.

You nodded gently, genuinely trusting him for a moment. That all faded when you started hearing sirens in the distance, getting closer and closer.

Max looked through the wing mirrors before speeding up the car even more. You subconsciously squeezed his hand more, gripping it like a vice.

"Okay, pretty girl, I'm going to need my hand back but it's only to keep you safe. I promise I'm going to keep you safe." You didn't believe him but you tried anyway.

You let go of his hand reluctantly, going back to squeezing the seats. You let out a shaky breath and tried to see what was going on behind you. You were on a motorway, going much higher than the speed limit. You could see three police cars in your view, all trying to catch you up.

Max hit the pedal again, speeding up impossibly faster. His eyes were on the road, occasionally on the police behind him and occasionally on you. If he had it his way, they'd be always on you, but he promised to keep you safe and was doing his damn best to keep it.

"We're going faster than their cars can physically go. We'll lose them in no time." He did another once over of you, taking in how petrified you looked once again. "Sitting so tense is going to make you more tense. I don't want you to worry yourself sick."

"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a quick look in the mirrors to see the police much further in the distance than you thought they would be.

"Don't apologise, pretty girl." he spoke, moving the car to the first lane.

He went round a sharp turn, almost heading onto a junction exit but only just missing it. He sped up again, heading around the next corner with flying speed.

"The police will think we just turned off, we'll turn off at the next one." You just nodded, going along with everything. You barely knew the man yet you were on a literal police chase with him.

He slowed the car down to a normal speed, placing his hand back into yours, "see, we're okay."

"We're okay," you repeated, trying to reassure yourself. His thumb was back to tracing lines on the back of your hand and it was helping you more than you'd like to admit.

It wasn't long until you turned off, traveling at a normal speed down some city suburb roads. You headed into an area you'd never seen, full of some of the biggest houses you imagined the city had to offer. You didn't even know where you were going yet you trusted Max blindly.

He parked in front of a huge residence, with all sorts of fancy cars parked in front. You imagined multiple massive families could live there with tonnes of spare space due to the sheer size of the front alone. It was truly extraordinanry.

"Where are we?" You questioned. Max had turned off the car and leaned back in his seat. His hand never left yours, and his thumb never stopped brushing back and forth.

"My home," he spoke, watching your face convey more emotions than he thought was possible. Your mind was racing a mile a minute: what did he want from you? was he kidnapping you? did he want something in return for saving you? You didn't like the thought of what was happening at all but Max read you easily.

"I can drive you back home if you'd prefer. Or take you somewhere, get you a hotel, anything," he spoke sincerely. He fully believed anything you'd want him to do, he would do for you, and he would go to the ends of the world to do it.

"I don't think I can be alone right now." You said, training your eyes onto yours and Max's hand.

"I can take you to a friend's? I can stay with you? I can take you somewhere crowded? Whatever you want me to do, I will do." He said, promising himself he would do whatever you wanted.

It was stupid - so stupid - the way Max had made you feel safe and the fact you wanted to stay by him. Not one thing led to the conclusion that he was a good man yet you still wanted to stay.

"My house is probably over an hour away." You knew Max could drive fast, you knew he could get you there much quicker but you didn't want to leave him. You looked out the window, at his house.

Max saw the way you looked at it, longingly yet worriedly. He didn't want to push you to make a decision, he wanted you to say it himself. He gave you hand a few reassuring squeezes, urging you to say what you felt.

"I want to stay with you," you whispered. You still stared at his house in horror and amusement. Max could see you in the reflection and could feel the worry radiating off you - he wanted nothing more than to make you feel safe.

"Let's go to a hotel." he said, your head immediately flicking back to look at his, "We can get different rooms if you'd like, but if you'd feel more comfortable there, we can go. It's no problem at all."

"Yes please," you nodded, grateful for Max's thinking. The more he was talking, the more comfortable and safe you felt around him. Past you would probably be calling yourself stupid in every way you knew how, but you felt like it'd be okay this time.

He drove off carefully, sticking to all the speed limits, something he rarely did when he was alone. He took you to a nearby hotel, only a ten-minute drive away. It was a lovely-looking hotel, something you'd never check yourself into though when you could just get the classic cheap ones that always worked fine.

"You okay?" Max asked carefully as you peered outside.

"This looks expensive, Max."

God, he loved when you said his name. You hadn't said it a lot but he felt like he could get addicted every time.

He chuckled in amusement, "I've got more money than I could use if I tried, it's on me."

You nodded and opened the car door, unfortunately dropping Max's hand in the process. Not for long though, as Max whipped around the side of the car to grab it again after muttering a small, "let me open it for you next time," to you.

He ordered two separate rooms but made sure they were next to each other and handed you both keys to your room and the spare keys to his, making you promise to let yourself in of you needed anything.

You felt yourself drawn to him, becoming disappointed as he left you to your own room, longing for more. You led in bed, in the same clothes you'd been wearing all day, wanting nothing more than to just be with him again.

You also couldn't stop thinking about the night that passed and how it could've ended much differently. You were reckless and a complete disaster of a person but you didn't think you would change it if you could.

So you left. You got all your belongings and you knocked on Max's room. He opened the door rather quickly, with a sudden look of confusion on his face when he realised it was you.

His hair was messy and stuck up in every direction but he still looked flawless. He had no shirt or pants on, just boxers, and you couldn't help but admire his whole body.

"Are you okay? Just let yourself in next time. What happened?" he asked frantically, worry laced all over his voice.

"Can I stay with you?" You asked nervously, refusing to look at his face.

"Of course, pretty girl," he replied with no hesitation, he would do anything to have you nearby. He stepped aside and welcomed you in, taking everything out of your hands and placing it on a table.

"You take the bed. I can either join you, take the sofa out here or take the chair in the bed room. And here," he said, picking up the shirt he'd changed into after racing, "take this, you can't be comfortable sleeping in that."

You took the shirt with a "thank you," and got changed in the bedroom. The shirt was long enough that you couldn't see anything if you tried, and it was incredibly comfy.

You poked your head out of the bedroom to see Max half asleep with his head in his hands. You gently called his name, his head jolting suddenly towards you.

"Will you stay with me?" you asked, a lot more confidently than before, but still a little shaky.

Max got up with a nod and headed inside the bedroom. He watched you get comfortable in bed and snuggled into the side you hadn't chosen.

You immediately moved towards him, throwing a leg over his, and your head on top of his chest. His arms moved instinctively around you, pulling you impossibly closer. He was so tired but wasn't going to waste an opportunity of staring at you a little longer.

"Sorry the night didn't turn out how you planned," he mumbled, wanting so badly to kiss your forehead but didn't want to overstep boundaries, "and sorry for scaring you."

"It's okay Max," you whispered, turning your head to kiss his chest ever so delicately. He decided to kiss your head in retaliation, smiling all the way through it.

"Tell me if you want to go again and I'll be there," he chuckled against your head, "goodnight, pretty girl."

"Goodnight, Max."

…

this might be my favourite thing i’ve ever written so reblogs and feedback would be really appreciated !! :) also thinking of making this a mini series, thoughts?

[purity-in-blood]

On Your Knees For Salvation

Minors don’t interact! This is 18+ and I beg of you to heed the warnings

Notes-I got a very, very carried away but this was such a blast to write! There were so many routes I could go with this particular scene. Either way I really hope you like it! If there’s anything else you’d want me to write based on the shooting don’t hesitate to send it in.

Tate Langdon x female reader

Trigger warnings: Heavy mention of school shooting, mention of religion (derogatory), foul language, forced worship, superiority/God complex, authoritative kink, dacryphilia, degradation, choking, biting, rape/non-con, loss of virginity, voyeurism, blood kink, gun play, slight knife play, throat fucking, boot worship, dumbification

Tate Langdon walked through the halls of Westfield with practically a bounce in his step. He knew all too well the stares he’s currently getting will soon transform into terror once it’s the right time. For the past 6 weeks he’s fantasized about this very moment and played around with every scenario imaginable. In his mind, this will kickstart a revolution that’ll help purify the world plagued with sinners and a controlling government. Today is one Tate wholeheartedly looked forward to—a cool autumn day that’s perfect for hiding a gun under a trenchcoat, worn many times already with this uniform.

He began shooting in one of the hallways closest to the cafeteria so they didn’t have a clear exit from there. With each shot he relished in the way there’s always a different reaction—a scream, cursing, trying to keep running which only prompted a second bullet to enter. Tate deliberately steps on a wounded student while moving through the carnage, he noticed them crawling and thought to place a boot onto their back, keeping them in place. He took aim at their neck before pulling the trigger even as they tried pleading. The blood splatter wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest, he sucked in a breath and continued walking as the sight and smell of crimson threatened to overwhelm him. Pools of blood, binders and parts of flesh were scattered as well in a way that all seemed like a horror movie set. He violently kicked at a binder in his way and send papers all over, laughing at how everything so easy fell into place. This was only the start of his wrath on those he deemed unclean. Tate had this hunch you’d be hiding studying in the library today so that’s his next destination. There’s no rush after all.

Today I was with my one of best friends, Stephanie, studying for some upcoming English test we forgot about last night. The session together went smoothly until there was this strange popping noise. It made studying far more difficult once tension spread throughout the room an hour later.

I heard what was happening before realizing the dire situation as the entire school ran through the hallway. Screaming was soon accompanied by gunshots which immediately sent me into fight or flight as a student burst through the door. Everyone turned their head as he barricaded it with one of the heavy chairs. I recognize him, Kevin, a childhood friend I’m close with to this day.

“Somebody’s shooting up the school! He’s just shooting people.”

It was like the air had been absorbed from my lungs. My first thought is to run toward him and check if he’s been shot. There’s a noticeable amount of blood on his shirt and skin, black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. But thankfully there didn’t seem to be any visible flesh wounds.

“Do….do you know who it is?”

I fidgeted with the pendant at my neck, the only symbol of my faith that’s on me at all times. I don’t go to services regularly but that didn’t mean I was banned from praying. I’m pleading to our Lord to protect us from the shooter. Silently begging for this nightmare to end as quickly as it started. I hoped against all odds someone heard.

“I-I don’t know. I couldn’t get a good look at his face. He just…shot Mark Kingston right in front of me, blew his brains out.”

The description alone made my stomach churn but it couldn’t compare to what Kevin must’ve seen. He then grabbed my arm as Stephanie joined us behind the very last row of bookshelves. If need be, we might have a chance at scrambling for the tables closest to our current spot.

The three of us held our breath as each shot rang louder and the barricade rattled violently. Over and over the shooter tried to enter. Every kick was with more vigor than the last, making the hair on my neck stand on end. At last, the chair is sent across the room with such force—smashing into the librarian's desk and scattering everything on it to the ground—that everyone cried out before silence settled once more.

The door slowly opens and we get a full view of the shooter. He’s in all black, holding a shotgun in both hands but the thing that chills me to the bone is the cheerful tune he’s whistling. It’s one I’ve heard multiple times in the hallway enough to where I could whistle it myself from memory. I would’ve found it endearing but now it’s as if death taunts us.

He starts from the opposite side of the library but that doesn’t make things any better. Even if we could run for the exit it wasn’t likely we’d make it out alive. He shot Kyle, the lead jock, who curled himself into a ball under a table while begging for his life. Even though I should be looking away my eyes were glued on the horrors unfolding.

There’s another gunshot but clearly the next victim wasn’t dead. Melissa had started crying which only seemed to amuse Tate. He looks down at her with contempt like she was an insect he wished to crush. My hand went to my necklace and I lowered my head in prayer when he finally spoke.

“Quit your bitching! It’s not like I hit a vital organ or anything.”

He then moved onto his new victims, 2 frightened girls who somehow got the same shotgun blast—they were hugging tightly when he fired. The smallest—Cassidy—flew backwards from the impact as the other gasped in pain. He lifted Aileen’s chin with the barrel and her lips parted as if to speak. His other hand went to her cheek to thumb away a tear before lowering close.

“You must understand I’m taking all of you somewhere safe. This isn’t just about revenge. I prepared for this noble war.”

Tate brushed his lips against hers so gently they could be mistaken for lovers despite the circumstances. Luckily for her, the trigger wasn’t pulled and he backed off. Once he’s out of sight Aileen brought her knees up and curled in on herself. Trying to block out everything going on.

Tate resumed whistling as he casually walked among the shelves but we hurried toward the table when he was distracted. Although I was last to move. Stephanie clung to me while I attempted to comfort her and Kevin tried shielding us the best he could.

Somehow, it appears he’s looking for a specific person from how calm he is.

Another crying girl caught his attention and he didn’t hold back—once near her table, Tate kicked a chair and crouched in order to get a direct angle of her. They’re now face to face. Tate’s balancing his weight on the balls of his feet while holding the shotgun level to her heart. She started begging, mentioning a desire to go home as he leaned even closer. Yet again he showed tenderness toward a victim by brushing tears away, cupping her cheek. He’s staring at the girl almost with pity.

“I’m taking you to salvation. Are you ready to be set free?”

She managed to choke out a “Yes”—likely hoping to appease the shooter—which prompted him to lick his lips before firing. There’s a spray of blood and a ragged hole where her heart had been. He cursed under his breath and stepped over her crumpled body, deliberately placing one foot after the other into her open wound. Such a display almost made me gag.

“Oh God. Why is this happening?”

Stephanie whispered close to my ear and I gave her a gentle squeeze. This close, I felt her heart racing against my own chest. There wasn’t an explanation for any of this besides bullying. Or maybe it was something related to his home situation. I knew their household is dysfunctional but I hadn’t once thought of that being the cause of murderous intent.

Simon, the first to be injured, was attempting to call for help. Tate immediately changed direction, leaving bloody footprints as he did so toward the librarian’s desk—nearest to the exit—where the boy lay with his hand crushed underneath a computer.

“Sure. I’ll help you.”

He said it nonchalantly and with a smile like there’s plenty of time to be had. The shotgun is pointed straight at his jaw before the shells rip through him. Blood paints the wall after Simon goes limp and Tate calmly wipes at his face to remove the splatter.

“His face! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Aileen was sobbing hysterically now but is paid no mind. He moved back to the rows of bookshelves and started violently knocking books off in an attempt to scare anyone from their hiding place. The few shots were far closer than expected and we huddled together in the cramped space. Expecting to be shot then and there.

“Pathetic bitch. Get up!”

There's a sound of hurried footsteps and struggling, at first I thought he went over and grabbed Aileen. Until the female spoke. It was one of the injured cheerleaders, Melissa, who I didn’t know all that well but I’m aware of the fact she isn’t afraid of speaking her mind. I both admire that courage and fear for her in this moment.

“That’s enough Tate! You’re not saving anyone by shooting up the school. Honestly, this is the most obvious cry for help I’ve ever seen. I almost feel sorry for you.”

“You think I’ve done enough? I’m just getting started! Well that’s cute, at least I don’t feel the need to vomit after a big meal. I also know you’re the sluttiest cheerleader we have. I’m doing something that should’ve happened a long time ago. You know, I’d make you pleasure me but I have someone…more pure I’ve had my eye on.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when saying that last sentence and it nearly froze my blood. Surely he didn’t mean who I thought. There’s a thud, a gasp from Melissa that almost sounds like choking and then his boots are the only noise heard.

Suddenly, he turned on his heels and it felt like my heart dropped into my stomach when I saw his bloodstained combat boots appear in front of me. Tate Langdon knelt so we’re eye level, it’s disturbing how slowly he did so and the fact his gun is placed over his thighs. Just from body language it was easy to see the enjoyment he got from this.

“I’ve got one question for you, doll. Do you believe in God?”

That voice, oh that voice is dripping with a type of gentleness Tate rarely shows to anyone. It made bile further rise in my throat when he jabs at my religion. The answer is as clear as day since he asked what rested at my throat during prom. It’s likely he just wanted to see me squirm.

“No. I-I don’t kno—yes. Yes, I—“

I couldn’t understand why I tried appeasing this demon in human form. Though it seemed he waited for me to say “yes” before yanking me—by the throat—from my friends’ arms. Someone grabbed at my legs and monetarily played tug of war as I thrashed. Trying to get myself out of his iron grip but it proved useless. I begged, kicked and screamed as he dragged me to some tables. But it didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Why huh?”

He dropped me so I’m flat on my ass. I looked up while Tate reloaded his weapon, placing the shells between his teeth and flashing me a smile. This sadistic, dominant side is one I never imagined a boy like him to have. But maybe you can’t truly know someone until moments like these. He’s quick to cock his gun with a smirk, waiting for my answer.

“Because my parents raised me that way…”

“Why don’t you show me then? Start cleaning my boots. Show your devotion.”

My heart beat like a hummingbird and I was afraid it might burst through my chest. However, if it’s my time to die then so be it.

I sank to my knees in front of him once he leaned onto the table and lifted a boot toward my face. My stomach is in knots as I carefully sweep my tongue over the sole, into each crevice there may be drying blood. Even the leather on its entirety got a nice touch up. I didn’t stop until I knew there’s not a speck of blood or dirt left and I repeated this until Tate’s other boot was like the first. By then, all I could taste is blood and whatever filth was on the bottom. I mutter one last prayer under the disguise of wiping my lips, attempting to scoot back.

He grabbed for the collar of my shirt and hauled me up so my feet dangle inches off the ground. Those dark eyes of his are so dilated that the brown is almost nonexistent. I can even see my reflection in them and it confirms my assumption of being caught by the Devil.

“He won’t be able to save you. I’m right here, I am your God. Aren’t good girls supposed to be on their knees for their savior when praying?”

“Shut up Tate! You don’t know anything about religion and you certainly don’t know mine!”

That’s when I moved faster than he’s able to comprehend, my feet shot out and struck between his legs, that certainly got a reaction of cursing and dropping me once again.

I immediately went for the shotgun, trying to tear it from his grasp but he whipped it upward right when I had the advantage. It struck my jaw with such force teeth rattled and I feared some would fall out. Tears filled my eyes but I stayed defiant, rushing toward him again but this time he landed a blow to my head. Before I knew what happened, I’m dizzily lifting my head to see Tate executing yet another classmate then heading my way. Boots thudding with each step.

His attitude is on full display by kicking a chair forward, sitting right in front of me. I’m muttering prayers once the overwhelming dizziness goes down enough to where I form coherent thought. I gasp and try prying the hand pulling me on my knees but soon realize metal at my temple.

“Hey Kevin. Did you know your little girlfriend is a filthy cock slut? She’s given me blowjobs in the bathroom more than once. Hopefully she didn’t kiss you on the lips afterwards.”

I glanced at Kevin who’s staring at Tate with such rage that if looks could kill, he would be dead already. Tate however, appears rather smug at the reaction and to further prove his point starts undoing his belt. My face paled at the realization and I settled my eyes on the man currently leaned over me. The grip on my hair tightened once I turned my face away, trying to get as much distance as possible.

“Oh don’t tell me. You’re shy to suck me off in front of your boyfriend but not when it’s just us? And here I thought an audience would only arouse you more.”

Tate forced my head downward but even then I wouldn’t allow him entrance. His anger surges and he’s off the chair in a second to push his pants further down. Fully revealing his hardened cock in all its glory. Tate found this situation quite amusing, especially since the girl below him proved unwilling. It only turns him on even more knowing she didn’t want this too.

“Open your mouth, slut. Or would you prefer to have it blown off like his?”

The barrel traces the line tears had gone and stopped right under my chin, in the exact spot where Simon was blown away. I really couldn’t say no or else he’d end my life. Reluctantly, I licked my lips to moisten them, opened my mouth and he immediately slipped inside.

His gun returned to my forehead as a constant reminder that at any moment he could pull the trigger. He’s enjoying every second of this and there wasn’t anything we could do to stop him.

Tate bobs my head along his dick in such a way that each thrust makes me gag. It wasn’t much different from our time in the bathroom but at this moment he didn’t make sure I’m comfortable. Sometimes, Tate would ask if I needed a break or if he should slow down. But this is relentless. My already aching jaw felt as if it might snap at any moment but otherwise I relaxed as much as possible. Every movement of Tate’s hips forced me to take every inch of his thick cock. My tongue moved across shaft to tip, hoping to seem genuine in my effort to please. I felt the barrel slide roughly against my hair as he let out a sigh.

“You go down just like Holy Mary but this time I’m not on a cross. And you won’t be a virgin for much longer, little miss Mary.”

From that insulting comment I dug my fingernails into his thighs hard enough until Tate yanked my head back, getting a better angle that allowed him even deeper. His tip continues hitting the back of my throat with every thrust and I traced each vein with my tongue, fighting the urge to bite him. The only noise in the room was of me sucking him off. No matter the humiliation I kept my eyes on him even as tears distort his face.

I could feel the oncoming orgasm from the way his pace became uneven and it wasn’t long until he shot a load down my throat. After swallowing each drop, he pulled me off and it was a relief having air back in my lungs. The first few breaths I managed were coughs, my throat felt sore and uncomfortable from what occurred.

The fight in me hadn’t vanished so easily.

When Tate glanced arrogantly—for a few minutes too long—at Kevin I grabbed the nearest book and slammed it into his face. It seems I caught him entirely off guard and that mistake is all I needed. He threw his gun on the table and was about to lunge forward.

I suddenly had a burst of confidence, practically throwing myself over the table to grab it before Tate could. I avoided his grasp and backed away, my hands shaking while I lifted the heavy firearm and aimed at his heart.

“My patience is wearing thin. Doll.”

He quickly advanced on me and didn’t hesitate to press his heaving chest against his own weapon. His hand went for the middle then to mine upon seeing my confidence quickly waver, my finger soon slipped from the trigger. God damn it, I wouldn’t be any better than Tate if I did this.

I took in his appearance, bloody-faced from a possibly broken nose and those eyes burned into mine. He’s completely different from the boy I met on my first day of school. The person before me is tuned for the hunt.

“Tate please—“

We’re toe to toe but it’s clear he’s using our height difference to intimidate. I’m pinned between him and the wooden table without a way of escaping. It was my fault after all but either way I had no choice.

“It’s Sir to you. It’s Yes Sir for you! Didn’t your parents raise you to respect authority? I surely hope you don’t behave this way in church.”

I could feel the anger radiating off Tate in waves. He twisted my wrist hard enough I thought I heard bones snap and the gun is ripped from my grasp. It’s discarded immediately and his hands were around my throat in a warning squeeze.

Yet again I tested my diminishing boundaries even as I courted death. Each time my religion is mocked it’s like a physical slap to the face.

“You haven’t the right to be called as such! You’re just acting out in an attempt to gain control of your life when your childhood had none.”

This had been the wrong thing to say.

His free hand went to his belt to produce a switchblade that sliced through my panties. I certainly regret my choice to wear a skirt today, my thighs clenched together in a feeble effort to cover myself from him. I felt fingers trailing up my shaking legs that stopped at the hip. At that, I pressed myself into the table to avoid his icy touch which seemed colder than normal.

“I’m warning you bitch. After I’m finished with you, you’ll wish I had blown your brains out. Why don’t you beg for it? Beg for me to pop your cherry. I mean…I doubt someone like you has experience when it comes to sex.”

Tate’s voice had dropped to a threatening tone and there’s a sudden pulling sensation at my throat. He managed to yank my necklace off and toss it aside even when I caught hold of it momentarily. I couldn’t help the sob that came upon having my religion physically stripped by the Devil. I looked straight at him and said what’s expected past the lump in my throat.

“Ta—Sir. P-please take my virginity. Fuck me like the slut you say I am. I’ll even worship you as…my..my God.”

He slicked his fingers with spit and his own blood and brought them to my cunt after forcing my legs apart. Trying to provide enough wetness. Tate knew it took great effort for those words to slip past my lips so it’s why he entered without hesitation. I cried out from his first thrust that forced my body further into the table, arching my back when a hand slipped under my shirt to harshly fondle my breasts.

“Mmm…am I exciting you already doll? You know, I’ve heard virgins get wet the fastest. It would be terrible for your boyfriend if you’re a lying whore.”

The twisted smile on his face only widened once I truly started to cry. He showed no mercy in taking something we both knew I wished to keep until marriage. I wrapped my arms around his back, clawing at the fabric while my insides ripped at his invasion. It only provided more lubrication as even more blood coats his dick with each harsh snap of his hips. The pace is bruising as Tate buries himself balls deep and soon enough there’s a fire burning in my core. A sensation I tried denying even as this started feeling really good. The hand still at my throat tightened to where I couldn’t get enough air, my vision wavered but his laughter was distinct.

“Tell me, did you ever finger yourself to the thought of me after our sessions? I thought of fucking you like this for quite some time.”

His voice lowers to almost a whisper that’s a strange contrast from the dominant behavior earlier. I managed a nod, tears continue rolling down my cheeks when a moan gave my arousal away quicker than intended.

The pressure momentarily vanished to allow an opportunity to answer.

“Yes Sir. I’ve also imagined what you’d feel like inside me. I often fantasized about it.”

I ran my fingers through his slicked back hair once our foreheads came together in a show of mock intimacy. The sound of skin against skin is so disgustingly exciting, laughter rings in my ears as does the gunshots while he choked the life out of me. His intense, soulless eyes captured my gaze and I knew then he saw everything. My legs shook despite not fully standing which promoted him to slip an arm under my waist. Making it so there’s no distance between us.

Before this situation happened the few of us alive had stifled any noise that might have attracted the shooter. Now I can hear sobbing and prayers all around us. For Tate, this only made him want to fuck her harder and force her to show everyone she’s actually enjoying it.

Tate groaned when my walls clenched around his cock but he didn’t let up on chasing his own orgasm. Unfortunately my first time is mixed with pain and pleasure as my eyes rolled into my head. It feels as if I’m floating when my body suddenly jerks forward but my only thought is to feel him cum. My legs came around his waist when Tate hits a spot that nearly unraveled me.

“Please Sir…”

“Please what? You’ve got to use your words sweetheart.”

His voice is sickeningly gentle. His breath further heats my skin when he laughs into my neck at my desperate tone. Tate shifts our weight so I’m sitting further in his lap, yet another moan escaped at the change of position. The lack of oxygen clouded my mind and to his delight I’m bouncing on his cock like a whore. He’s stretching me to my limit with each thrust that forced his thickness deeper than I thought imaginable. I sharply pulled at Tate’s hair in an attempt to encourage him to speed up the pace.

“Please, please allow me to cum. I need to, Sir. I’m just a vessel to be used by a God such as you.”

“That’s right. Fuck, you’re so tight. You really are a slut after all and an unfaithful Christian. I’ll show you who’s God.”

Those words muttered into my skin are like poison though my body told a different story entirely. Each spot he touched felt ablaze. I felt awful for subtlety moving my hips against the very person who took the lives of our classmates just a few feet away. Tate is by no means a God though continues to act as such. The only authority he has is due to the uniform and gun.

I couldn’t help but consider how good he feels inside, his dick hitting a sweet spot that makes me fasten my legs tighter around him, coaxing him to go even harder.

“I want you to say it. Say ‘You own me Sir. You are my God.’”

Tate’s fully aware he’s being watched fuck her senseless and the fact she’s submitting is almost too good to be true. Another sadistic grin spread across his lips at the thought of what’s to occur when she’s swept to the hospital. At night, he often fantasized about this very moment, raping a girl such as this one before committing suicide. The crying and praying—hers and their classmates—only made him harder. And that she fought back. Tate’s looking into her eyes while she straddles him, her face is flushed and eyes half-lidded with arousal.

“Ah…you..you own me Sir. You are my God.”

My fate was sealed then and there. A few sharp movements were all it took before Tate fully buried himself, blowing his load.

There was only so much he could handle, their foreheads pressed together as her walls started to constrict as if trying to keep him sheathed. Tate admired her briefly, the tear stained face, parted lips, her breath on his tongue and tickling him. She looked absolutely ruined in the most beautiful way.

His cock throbbed and I’m filled to the brim with hot cum that goes deeper than he’s able. I pressed my face into Tate’s neck, nuzzling into him. Whimpering once I felt his blade kiss my flesh. He leaned down and bit my throat hard enough to leave teeth imprints. Soon enough my head lulled onto his shoulder as my consciousness quickly faded.

Tate groaned while pulling out of her before lowering the girl on the floor. She’s already dripping which prompted him to stuff her pussy with the underwear previously cut. Trying to keep as much in so there’s a higher chance of pregnancy. He carefully placed his trenchcoat—revealing his military coat underneath—over her body, then fixed his pants, grabbed his shotgun and headed for the exit. All the while whistling that very tune he had before starting the massacre.

Tate headed for the cafeteria—and shot the few remaining students under tables who were foolish enough to stay put. He picked up a discarded water bottle, drank what’s left and threw it to the floor when finished. By the time he arrived it was already 12:30 pm and it’s only a matter of time before SWAT ruined his fun. He jogged to the library for one last survey of his work. The girl under his coat remained blissfully ignorant of his looming form above her. He licked his lips slowly, admiring her delicate body he just defiled. She looked so fragile. If he really wanted to, he could strangle her or put a bullet in that pretty head right now. Although that wasn’t the plan.

Tate put 6 feet of distance between them, going onto his knees but facing her. He raised the gun to his left temple and pulled the trigger. Hoping to be confined at Westfield instead of that damn house.

The few in the library watched their shooter kill himself less than 10 feet from them. A few screamed out—from relief or shock it wasn't known—and immediately ran for the exit. Except Kevin, Aileen and Stephanie.

Aileen was the first to move toward y/n while Kevin grabbed the broken pendant he cradled in his palm. A part of him was relieved Tate had killed himself while the other wished he’d been the one to do it.

The two knelt beside y/n, each holding one hand. They didn’t need to look under the trenchcoat to imagine how she appeared since they were forced to watch. But for now she’s peaceful which is why they didn’t wake her. All they could do is wait until SWAT assisted everyone outside.

In the end. Tate knew what he did was for a war he hoped others took note of. Their school needed cleansing as does this filthy world they live in. His act of committing suicide wasn’t one of cowardliness but of self sacrifice. He saved his classmates from the truly harsh realities of life. They’re taken somewhere safe, somewhere clean. Perhaps some would understand his actions and regard him a hero. A soldier even. In times of tragedy people looked to God. Right? Wherever Tate ends up he’ll always find a way to make sure people saw him as such. Especially y/n.

[yuujispinkhair]

To the end (Chapter 3)

The end of the world as you knew it began with the virus spreading in your dorm. Six months later, you are once again on the run. By your side is Sukuna, the bad boy of your camp, the most unlikely companion you expected. But maybe this is exactly as it should be because sometimes hope comes in the form of a smug smirk and a tattooed pair of sword-yielding arms.

Masterpost ++ Chapter 1 ++ Chapter 2

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Zombie Apocalypse AU, horror, smut and some fluff Playlist: Zombie Apocalypse Word Count: 5k Warnings: 18+, violence, gore, homicide (Sukuna kills people who attack him and reader), angst, smut, cumshot, cum-eating, squirting, rough sex, oral, zombies, fighting, knives, blood, mentions of several side characters' deaths, alcohol, suicidal thoughts. This AU is based on The Walking Dead, so imagine a world like this. It's cruel and hopeless at times, but there is also a love story :) All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

The first week in the cabin passes without any bigger problems. Sukuna needs three days to build a fence around the small hut. You can't help but admire him for working so relentlessly on it. You offer to help him chop wood but end up crumbling to the floor with shaking arms and sweat running down your face after only a few minutes. You clearly underestimated how much strength it takes to swing an axe and actually manage to split those thick branches.

Sukuna, on the other hand, chops the wood with a determined expression on his face, making it look easy. And sexy. His tank top is abandoned in the grass at his feet. Sweat glistens on his exposed pecs and abs, which flex enticingly with every powerful axe swing.

You can't tear your gaze away from him, silently cursing yourself when you realize that the way his abs flex rhythmically reminds you of when he was kneeling between your legs and fucking you on the floor only a few days ago. You gulp hard and have to avert your gaze.

But even though Sukuna is a constant temptation that still makes you feel a bit uneasy and flustered, you are grateful for him. He knows how to survive out here and never seems to tire. His body is strong, packed with muscles he gained through years of being an athlete and regularly visiting the gym. Back when the world was still a normal place. Back when that body was just good for sports and attracting potential lovers.

Now in this new hell, Sukuna's strength and fighting skills are priceless assets.

The fence is a luxury. A safety puffer that brings some comfort in this dangerous world. It means the zombies won't be able to overrun you in your sleep.

Sukuna assembles the last fenceposts while you install a perimeter alarm made out of wire and some empty cans. The sound will alert you if a horde of zombies comes too close, giving you enough time to get ready for a fight.

Sukuna grins at you and gives you a high five when he finishes ramming the last wooden post into the ground.

"We did it! Good work, brat!"

There's a proud glint in his eyes, and you can't help but feel warmth flood your chest at his praise. Even though he is the one who did the most work. And so you smile at him and put a hand on his arm, patting it a bit awkwardly, trying to show your gratitude.

He laughs, but when you want to pull away again, you get stopped by a strong arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you against Sukuna's solid body.

He smirks that infuriatingly smug smirk at you while he cups your chin and tilts your face towards him. Before you know what's happening, Sukuna licks slowly over your lips while his maroon eyes watch you with an amused glint.

Your knees feel weak when he slips his tongue inside your mouth and captures you in a quick but deep kiss that makes you instinctively press against him.

The desire is always there when you are around Sukuna. Just waiting to get awakened by one of his touches or the things he says to you. Ever since that fuck on the floor a few days ago, you have caught yourself looking at him when you think he doesn't notice. Admiring his body and his pretty face. Remembering the feeling of him inside you. Remembering how good it felt to forget about the apocalypse while you had sex with him.

His strong hands slip down your back and cup your ass through your jeans, giving it a firm squeeze as Sukuna pulls away from the kiss with a naughty flick of his tongue and a teasing smirk on his handsome face.

"Do you wanna fuck, princess? I think we deserve it after all the hard work."

As much as his words make your pussy throb, you roll your eyes at him, trying to act unimpressed. But Sukuna just laughs, and his maroon eyes sparkle mischievously at you.

"At the very least, we should take a shower together. Look at us...all sweaty and dirty. Join me under the shower, brat. You know we have to save water."

You have barely finished undressing, then your back gets slammed against the wooden wall of the hut, and Sukuna's tall solid body presses against you, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

The makeshift shower he built here behind the hut is basically just a rope with a bucket to let water drizzle down on you. It's hard to collect water. Either you have to hope for lots of rain or drag buckets full of it over here all the way from the creek.

So yes, shower water is rare, and it only makes sense to save it by showering together. You can't even argue with Sukuna when it comes to that. And it's not like you don't want to be here with him, both naked, caught in a hungry kiss as the water comes raining down on you.

Your hands are roaming over Sukuna's broad chest, helping him wash off the sweat and dirt, and his large hands do the same for you, wandering over your body, massaging, caressing, driving you crazy with need, making you moan into his mouth as his tongue wraps around yours.

He has you on his cock only a moment later, lifting you up in his muscular arms, slamming your back against the hut, and telling you to wrap your legs around his hips.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair, and you bounce all too happily on his thick cock. Or rather, Sukuna bounces you on it. His biceps flex while he guides you up and down on his hard length. He rolls his hips, fucking into you with hard powerful thrusts, making you gasp with how deep he is inside you, with how perfectly he fills you up.

It's not as savage as the first time the two of you had sex, but it still qualifies as a hard fuck. Sukuna always seems to give his all, taking you with all his strength.

You aren't complaining, though. What he does to you feels too good. You find yourself clinging to him, moaning needily as his fat tip hits your sweet spot and his balls slap against your slick cunt with every firm snap of his hips.

His wet skin and firm muscles feel good against you. His kisses are intense. Deep and hungry, making your head spin. You aren't sure if it's from the lack of oxygen or because of the way Sukuna's tongue fucks deeply into your mouth, making your pussy clench around him with every flick of that slick tongue.

You cum embarrassingly fast. Crying out desperately, trembling in Sukuna's strong arms, head falling back against the hut as your orgasm gets ripped out of you in several intense waves.

Sukuna watches you with heavy-lidded eyes that burn with desire. He looks so sexy like this, mid-fuck, horny, and riled up. You can't look away from his pretty face.

He groans loudly and lifts you up further, making his cock slip out of you before he sets you down again.

Your legs are wobbly, and you let your back rest against the wall of the hut, watching Sukuna with big eyes, breathing heavily as you take in his aroused state.

He leans closer, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, as his other hand wraps around his thick cock. He strokes himself with fast moves of his hand while loud pants and groans fall from his mouth.

Your mouth opens in a moan as you let your gaze trail over him for a moment. Watching him jack off in front of you, pumping his fat cock in his fist, needy and fast, abs flexed so prettily, getting coated with pearls of his pre-cum.

Before you know it, you drop to your knees, your hands on Sukuna's muscular thighs, bracing yourself on the strong muscles, moaning when you see the black rings tattoed high on his thighs. Your nails dig into the inked lines as you lean closer and look up at him.

Glittering maroon eyes meet yours, and a groan falls from his lips.

"Fuck yeah, brat. Suck me off."

His hand is still wrapped tightly around his cock, but now it slips down to his thick base. A surprised but turned-on moan falls from your lips when Sukuna slaps his cock against your cheek, making you turn your head to look with dazed eyes at that gorgeous hard length that is right in front of your face now, letting you admire it up close.

Sukuna has a pretty cock. The kind that makes your mouth water. Long and thick, with a gorgeous swollen mushroom head and a prominent vein on the underside that pulses enticingly as if it is encouraging you to trace it with your tongue. And that's exactly what you do.

Your tongue darts out, slowly flicking against that pulsing vein and then following it all the way up to the dark pink tip. The swollen pink cockhead that's smeared with milky pre-cum and your pussy cream. You wrap your lips around it and suck.

Sukuna's broken moan is the best thing ever. Pride surges through you upon hearing his reaction. Your eyes fall shut as you hollow your cheeks, and you suck harder, suddenly wanting to hear him make more of those sexy noises. Blow him with as much devotion as you have, letting him know how good he was at building that fence for you. Showing him your thanks by spoiling his pretty cock with your mouth. Hoping to hear more of his needy moans, hoping to hear this arrogant guy lose control.

You can taste yourself on him, the taste of your orgasm when you creamed so much on his talented cock. 

Sukuna's hand tangles in your hair, grabbing it tightly and guiding you up and down his thick length. He is moaning again, low and sexy, with growing urgency. His hips snap, shoving his thick cock deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you choke on him.

It's a fast blowjob, hard, almost brutal. Sukuna's strong fingers tug on your hair as he fucks your mouth with needy hard thrusts now, making you splutter on his fat length. Spit is running messily down your chin, and tears gather in your eyes as you flutter your lashes and look up at him.

His maroon eyes gaze back at you, clouded over by lust. But his breathless low voice is surprisingly caring when he asks,

"Are you ok, princess? Can you take it?"

You moan around his cock and nod softly, pressing your flat tongue against the vein on the underside, showing him that you can take it. You want to. Want to let him use your mouth. You want to suck and lick him, make him moan, and forget about the apocalypse for a little while at least.

You keep your eyes on him as you bop your mouth on his cock, watching his lips falling open in low, sexy groans, pretty eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. You can see how bad he needs this, and it gives you a rush to see him like this.

Sukuna cums when you reach his fat swollen cock head, engulfing only the tip in the warm cavern of your mouth, suckling lovingly on it, your tongue lapping at his slit teasingly while you look up at him with big tear-stained eyes.

"Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck!!"

His taste begins to flood your mouth, the first spurt of thick milky cum. But Sukuna yanks on your hair, pulling you off his cock so he can shoot the rest of his load over your face in several thick warm strings.

He pulls you to your feet, leaning down to lick your face, licking his cum off you before he finds your lips and kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue against yours, sharing his cum with you in a sticky and hot kiss.

It's filthy and nasty. It makes you moan loudly. It makes you feel so alive here in this world that seems so dead.

Maybe becoming fuck buddies with Sukuna was the best thing that has happened to you since the start of this virus.

You are collecting hazelnuts not far from the hut when you hear it. The snapping of a twig, followed by light footsteps. Your head snaps to the direction of the sounds, and your heart skips a beat.

There's a man.

He is standing a few meters away from you. A tall, bulky guy in his forties. His gaze meets yours, and he grins.

"Well, well, well...what do we have here? Hey sweet thing, what is a sweet girl like you doing here all alone?"

He smiles brightly at you as he takes a step toward you.

Fear grips you. Even before the virus, you would have been scared of a random stranger suddenly chatting you up in the middle of the woods. But now, in this apocalyptic world, it's even worse.

"Don't come any closer."

You sound more confident than you feel. Your hand automatically flies to the knife that's strapped to your thigh. Your fingers wrap around the hilt as you glare at the man.

But it doesn't stop him from walking toward you. Panic flares up in you. What do you do if he doesn't stop? Run? You know you aren't very fast, and he will probably catch you. Fight him? You will stand no chance against him, and the thing is, you aren't even sure you can do it. You never had to fight a living person.

He has almost reached you when a familiar smooth voice speaks up behind you,

"Get away from her!"

You let out a breath. Nothing has ever sounded sweeter than the sound of Sukuna's voice right now.

You look over your shoulder to see him walking up behind you, crossing the few meters in large fast strides. He is glaring at the stranger, one of his knives already in his hand.

Sukuna's hand brushes against your arm when he passes you, a quick reassuring touch that makes you feel immensely grateful for him. He stops in front of you. Putting himself between you and the stranger. A tall, muscular shield.

The stranger takes a step back and lifts his hand in a soothing gesture, smiling good-naturedly at Sukuna.

"Aw, chill. I don't mean any harm, brother."

Sukuna's posture remains hostile, though. His head is held high, fingers wrapped tightly around his knife hilt. His voice is hard.

"I don't believe a single word coming out of your mouth."

The guy starts laughing.

"That's good, brother. It's wise to stay cautious, But I am just a wanderer. I'm on my own, and I move from one place to the next, trying to survive on the things I find in the woods."

The answering chuckle that's coming out of Sukuna's mouth isn't a humorous one.

"Oh, I see. Then I have a question. Are we some of those things you survive on?"

The guy laughs again, sounding heartfelt and friendly. But you feel your pulse flutter nervously, adrenaline surging through your veins. You can't tell whether he is genuine or if he is trying to fool you.

"You have nothing to fear from me. I'm just looking for deer to hunt and berries to eat. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Another loud crack is heard out of the underwood to his right, making you jump. And to your horror, a second stranger steps onto the path.

You feel sick. This isn't good.

Your gaze darts back to Sukuna. You can see how tense he is. Hard muscles flexed, ready to attack at any moment.

His voice sounds controlled, though, deadly calm and snide.

"Ah, so there is another one, hm? See, I knew you were a liar. Tsk tsk, that's not very nice. Kind of fucks up that whole little trust-building thing you tried, you know?"

He shoves his knife back into one of the pockets of his cargo pants and instead unsheathes his katana.

This makes the two guys both take a step back. The one who arrived later holds up both hands.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down."

His gaze travels over Sukuna and then lands on you. Blue eyes bore into yours as an overly sweet smile spreads over his face. When he speaks again, it is directly addressed to you. 

"Hey, sweet girl. Can you please tell your boyfriend to put down his sword? We don't mean any harm. You don't want anyone to get hurt, right, sweetie?"

"Don't. Talk. To. Her."

Sukuna's voice comes out in a deadly cold growl, emphasizing every word.

The guy who talked to you smiles, and his gaze slips back to Sukuna's tall figure.

"You seem a bit tense, brother. Just put the katana down and let us talk. We don't want things to escalate. That wouldn't be good, right? Just imagine your girl getting caught in the middle of a fight."

He scrunches his nose and shakes his head in mock regret while he continues,

"Nasty injuries can happen in moments like these. We don't want to risk that, right? So put that sword down and let us talk. We saw an abandoned camp on the way here. Are you from that camp, brother?"

You see Sukuna's grip on his katana tighten. His posture looks angry even when you can only see his back.

"That's none of your business."

The new guy shrugs and grins, continuing as if Sukuna didn't talk.

"That place looks really bad. The zombies overran it. Guess the survivors had to flee really fast. And yet there were no supplies to be found on the whole campsite. Someone must have raided it already. I wonder who that could be?"

You don't hear more of what he says because the rushing of your own blood in your ears gets too loud.

That's why they are here! They want the supplies from the camp. And they know you and Sukuna must have them. This will not end well.

With shaky, sweaty fingers, you slowly grab your knife handle. You feel dizzy. How are you supposed to fight those two big guys? You aren't even sure you can stab another human being, someone who still has a heartbeat, someone who didn't change into a soulless zombie yet.

You are still lost in your anxious thoughts when Sukuna lifts his katana above his head and, without any hesitation or prior warning, charges at the two guys with an angry growl.

You watch with wide eyes as he brings his sword down in a brutal, deadly swing, beheading the guy on the right before he can even lift a hand in defense.

A loud ear-ringing scream fills the clearing. It takes you a moment to realize that it is you who is screaming. You press your hand on your mouth, staring wide-eyed at the gruesome scene in front of you.

Everyhing seems to play in slow motion. The guy's head lolls to the side before tumbling to the ground. For a moment, the headless body is still standing upright before it finally topples over and lands on the grass with a sickening dull thud next to the severed head.

The ringing in your ears gets louder, black spots dance before your eyes. A small part of you screams at you to do something, to help Sukuna. But you can't seem to move at all.

In front of you, all hell breaks loose. The guy on the left yells and lungs at Sukuna. His hands connect with Sukuna's chest, pushing him hard and making Sukuna stumble backwards.

The guy is strong, maybe not as athletic as Sukuna, but just as tall and even heavier.

Your breath is coming out in panicky huffs. You hate being so useless, watching with wide eyes as your companion gets attacked while you are immobilized by fear.

The stranger has his weapon out too now, a long machete, which he swings at Sukuna. It barely misses Sukuna's cheek.

Sukuna blocks the next attack with his katana. You can see the strain it takes him, though, the muscles of his arms and back taut with exertion as he throws himself against the brutal attacks.

You look down at the knife in your hand. Would you even be able to stab the guy? Would you be strong enough to make it through his clothes? Do you even know where to stab? Or will you just cause more problems for Sukuna if you join the fight?

It's too much, too overwhelming.

But you have to do something! You can't just stand here and watch Sukuna fight for his and your life! 

You can see that they are equally matched opponents. The outcome of this fight will be determined by sheer luck. You can't just stand here and watch Sukuna get hurt...or worse.

The stranger is only focused on Sukuna, attacking him with his machete, hitting the blade of Sukuna's katana over and over again. Even when Sukuna kicks him, the guy is back on him in a mere second. 

Maybe this could be your chance. You are practically invisible to the attacker. You could catch him off guard. Perhaps you can provide a distraction that will give Sukuna an opening to land a deadly strike!

Your gaze lands on the bucket with the hazelnuts you were picking.

You feel lightheaded as you slowly walk past Sukuna. Everything seems to be much brighter than it usually is. Your heart is thundering in your chest, yet your hand isn't trembling anymore as you come up beside the stranger and hurl the bucket at him.

Of course, it doesn't do any damage to him, but it makes him stagger for a moment, and that's all it takes for Sukuna.

His knee connects forcefully with the guy's balls, making the stranger cry out in pain and then stumble backwards when Sukuna throws his tall, muscular body against him, using his opponent's current distraction to wrestle him to the ground.

The machete falls out of the guy's hand. He tries to reach for it again, but Sukuna kicks it away. Finally, the odds seem to be in Sukuna's favor.

The stranger is lying on his back, the blade of Sukuna's katana hovering over his throat, preventing him from getting up again.

Sukuna towers over him, tall and threatening, a deadly twinkle in those maroon eyes. His face is an emotionless mask, looking terrifying because of the lack of emotion and the black tattoos that always make him look like someone you shouldn't cross.

There's fear in the stranger's eyes as he stares up at him.

"Please stop! Please don't kill me! Have mercy, brother, please. I am just a hungry man who needs food to survive, just like you. Please, let me live. I am begging you!"

His pleas come out in desperate teary sobs. It is almost unbearable to listen to it. Tears are running down your cheeks as you tremble. You feel almost something like pity for him.

But there is no compassion on Sukuna's face as he lifts his left foot and places it on the guy's shoulder, pressing him down forcefully.

"Shut up. You wouldn't have let us live, either. You came here to take our things and kill us. Do you think I will let you live and risk you coming after us again?"

He presses the sole of his black army boot even deeper into the man's shoulder and adds, in a dangerously soft voice,

"And don't call me brother. It pisses me off. I already have a brother. I don't need scum like you."

And with that, Sukuna lifts his katana and rams it into the man's forehead.

You quickly hide your face in your hands, even though it is already too late.

The pitiful sobs have come to a sudden stop. The only sound you hear is the chipper of the birds filling the forest with their cheerful song, unaware and unaffected by the horrors that take place here.

You slowly take your hands off your eyes, staring at where Sukuna is standing over the crumbled body of the stranger.

You feel cold all of a sudden and wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself as you shiver.

Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are wide with distress when they meet yours. There's blood on his face. Human blood this time. Red and vibrant.

He took two lives. He killed two people right here in front of you.

But you aren't scared. You are grateful.

A horrible relief washes over you upon seeing both of those men dead.

One of the hardest lessons you have had to learn since the virus outbreak is that zombies aren't the worst thing to encounter. The most terrible enemies are other survivors.

Homo homini lupus est. Man is a wolf to man. It has never been so evident as in this apocalyptic world where rules don't exist anymore. The fight for resources brings out the worst in people. And then there are also the ones who don't even care about the resources but just use this sick world to live out their disgusting, violent fantasies.

It's tragic but the scariest things are humans, not the undead.

It makes it hard to stay a good person. Because how can you trust someone in this world? How can you keep a compassionate heart if being kind to someone can kill you? It's safer to shoot first and ask questions later.

And yet, you still struggle to cross that line. The thought of killing another person scares you. The idea of attacking someone before they can attack you makes you feel uneasy.

Sukuna isn't like that. Maybe he never was. Or maybe he learned the hard way that he has to be the first to strike to stay alive. He does what is necessary, no matter how dark it might be. And that's what saved your lives today.

Sukuna's low voice pulls you out of your thoughts, drifting to your ears through the fog clouding your mind.

"Are you ok, brat? Did he hurt you?"

His maroon eyes are filled with worry as they trail over your figure, searching for any signs of injuries.

You shake your head.

"No, he didn't hurt me. Are...are you hurt, Sukuna?"

He shakes his head too,

"Nah, I'm fine."

You watch him pull a cloth out of his pocket and wipe his katana clean with it before putting it back in its sheave and fixing it on his back. All the while, your gaze follows the movements of Sukuna's long graceful fingers, staring transfixed at them while you are still too shocked to move.

But Sukuna's gaze locks with yours again, looking cautiously at you as if he's unsure what to do. He doesn't come closer, just watches you and says softly,

"It's ok. They are gone. You don't have to be scared anymore."

You nod and try to smile, but your lips tremble too much, making it probably look more like a grimace than a smile. Your arms tighten around your body, seeking comfort.

Sukuna looks tense when his eyes wander over your face, and he asks in a carefully neutral voice,

"Or is it me you are scared off?"

Your gaze darts to his, blinking rapidly at him. Is that what he thinks? He is wrong, though! You could never judge him for what he did. He saved you. He did what you wouldn't have been able to do.

You shake your head vehemently this time, and your voice is firm, unwavering,

"No! Sukuna no, I am not scared of you! You protected us!"

You can see his defined chest move as he lets out a deep breath he had been holding.

And suddenly, he crosses the few meters between you in a few long strides, and then you get pulled into his strong arms.

You melt against him immediately. Your arms wrap gratefully around his muscular torso, clinging to him tightly, burying your face in his warm chest and breathing in his comforting scent of leather, sweat, and cherry blossoms.

You have no idea why he smells like springtime. It doesn't even make sense. Maybe that's just a trick your mind is playing on you because his stupid pink hair reminds you of cherry blossoms in the park during more carefree times. Maybe it's because he is your safe place now, the only one you still have.

Sukuna holds you tightly, swaying you surprisingly gently from side to side, obviously trying to do what he thinks must be soothing. And it really is. It is comforting to be held by him, to be in his strong embrace, even if those are the same arms that just took two lives.

You help Sukuna clean up later on when you are back in the hut. You make him sit on the bed while you straddle his lap and wash his face, cleaning the blood off him and tracing his black tattoos gently with a damp cloth.

"Are you ok, Sukuna?"

"Yeah, none of the blood is mine, don't worry."

"That's not what I mean. Those weren't zombies. It's...it's different."

You stop washing his face, your hand still cupping his cheek as you look intently at him, watching him closely for any sign of discomfort. He looks back at you, his eyes pretty and yet so hard.

"I'm ok, really. Those were vile people. It was either them or us. So I had to make a choice, and I chose us. I don't have any regrets about that. The world is a little bit safer without those two."

You nod,

"That's true."

Sukuna smiles grimly,

"And it's not the first time I had to do this. This makes me sound fucked up, I know. I am fucked up. But the only thing that matters to me is that we are still alive. And if the price I have to pay for that is killing two monsters in human form, then I can live pretty unbothered with that."

He keeps looking deeply into your eyes, fixing you with an intensity that makes it unable for you to look away. Like he asks you to take a close look. Like he wants to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. As if he is challenging you, and he half expects you to get up from his lap and run.

But you don't plan on doing that. Instead, your thumb brushes gently over the black lines on his face.

"You aren't fucked up, Sukuna. I'm glad you did it. I just wanted to make sure you are ok."

Surprise flashes in Sukuna's eyes, and then a grin spreads over his face. It makes him look so boyish and charming that you can't believe this is the same man who just took down two guys.

You can't help but smile back. Sukuna's grin grows bigger when you lean closer and cup his handsome face with both hands before you press your lips to his, kissing him, slow and sweet. Letting him know that you are grateful for him. Letting him know that he isn't someone you fear, but instead your only hope in this sick world. Your light in the dark.

I finally managed to post chapter 3!! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I would lose my mind too if I could watch a shirtless Sukuna chop wood. He has no business being this sexy in the middle of the apocalypse lol. But I love him for it :) And what I love even more is how protective he is!! I know he likes to act so tough, and he is tough, BUT there is also a really big heart underneath that hard shell. If you belong to the few people who he cares about.

Please let me know what you think about the chapter! I promise that I will post the next chapter faster than this one!!

Comments and reblogs make me happy!

Chapter 4

[thoughtsofdarc]

'Go powder my nose'

-Warnings: none

-Y/n, Ghost, Soap, and maybe Gaz? Friends

-i spend say too much time on Tiktok.

I now have a slight mask kink and I'm going feral for Ghost and König. Fuck my life, right? This is what came of it.

The group, 3 men and one woman, was sitting by a table in the back of the bar.

Far away to not draw too much attention, but able to scan the location and we who enters and leaves.

Side effect of the life they're living. Even on their days off they are still on guard.

Soldiers.

Though they weren't in uniform, it's evident in the way they hold themselves.

They needed the time off. The bar was regularly visited by the soldiers from the base. It was known to be the place to go.

Which also meant that people, mostly women, came to the bar to see if they could hook to with a handsome soldier for the night...

They usually could.

But tonight, the 3 men and the woman wasn't there to find a hookup. They just needed to rewind from a mission. Just needed to throw back a couple of beers, before they went back to sleep for a day or two.

"Im gonna go take a piss.."

The woman stood, from her seat, pulling down the fitted shirt, making sure she didn't show any unwanted skin, to the other men visiting the bar. She didn't care for unwanted attention tody.

"Fuck sake, y/n You're a lass, ya shouldn't talk like that"

Soaps grin told that he didn't really care, he was just talking friendly shit.

The two other men grunted out small laughs.

The man, with the skull mask pulled up to his nose, leaving room for him to drink, lips curled up in a lopsided smirk.

Though he wasn't the most vocal of the group, he enjoyed the friendly banter.

Y/n weighed the consequences of saying out loud, the first thought she had. Of the only thing about her being a 'lass' was the vibrator in her room on base.

But she bit it back, knowing that Soap would never let he live it down, it he knew about it.

Instead she shot out her hip, pretended she wore a dress and dipped her hips to take a bow. With a fake posh upper class accent she looked at Soap and said "Excuse me Gentlemen, I have to go powder my nose"

"oh piss off y/n!" Soap flipped her off, in all friendliness of course.

"That's what I fucking tried to do, but you complained about that too!" she shot back, causing everybody to laugh.

"Just go y/n, or he'll complain all night" the man with the skull mask, Ghost, ushered her to go take care of her business.

"Oi, you piss off too, mate" Soap scoffed, but there was a little smirk playing on his lips.

Y/n laughed and walked away.

Not many minutes went by, from y/n leaving the table, before a woman approached the 3 men left there.

She was a bit more than tipsy, dressed up to catch attention and the look she had in her eyes, was set on Ghost.

"Hello boys, what are you doing out on this fine evening" she purred, as she sat down on the empty chair that y/n left.

She made sure to shoot out her chest, making her boob's bigger.

The woman adressed the all, but her eyes were fixed on Ghost.

Y/n approached slowly, the woman trying to flirt with the skull masked man hadn't seen her. She stood back, watching the interaction silently.

"Sorry, not interested, darling" his British accent rolled of his lips, which held a small smirk. He shook his head, fixing his eyes on the beer instead of looking at the woman.

"Oh come on sweetheart... I dig the whole mask thing. You can keep it on..."

She purred, the silent promise of she wanted from Ghost, thick in the air.

"listen to the man, lass... He has a Girlfriend" Soap tried to get her off the masked man's back, when he noticed the irritation in Ghost's eyes.

Neither of the men around the table had a steady woman in their life.

But girl code, right? If the man was taken, the unwanted attention would back off... Right?

Wrong. The woman gave Soap the side eye and then turned her focus back in Ghost.

She let her fingers trail up his arm, her eyes fixed on his mask.

Ghost tensed, but kept calm as to not cause a scene. Though, very ready to catch har wrist, before the hand reached his mask.

"well, I don't see her..." The woman purred, as if it would make him want her advances more.

Y/n stepped closer to the table, right behind the woman's chair.

"Turn around...!" she barked, her voice full of authority and anger, causing the woman to jump in her seat, letting go of Ghost's arm.

The woman slowly turned and looked at y/n from her boots to her hair, taking in the woman standing begkre her and glared daggers.

"...Now you see her!" y/n's voice was laced with a poisonous anger, and the woman just silently slipped away.

The 3 men looked at y/n with wide eyes, smirks playing on all of their faces.

"Now, where were we?" y/n sat down, as if nothing had happened, and took a large gulp of her beer, as she looked around the table to her 3 friends.

Ghost gave her a subtle nod as a thank you.

"I don't know what the other two are doing, but lass, you just gave me something to dream about tonight... That was hot" Soap chuckled jokingly.

"Oh piss off, Soap!" y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't hold back a grin.

Soap smirked

"No no! I just learned it's called 'to go powder my nose'!"

[cleromancy]

while from the doylist perspective the stories are specifically propping tim up compared to jason by doing this... i am obviously still very interested in, and compelled by, jason canonically having a pretty high opinion of tim going all the way back to their first meeting.

(for the record, absolutely nothing in-universe justifies jason having this opinion of tim up until tim springs him from prison imo. he beat the snot out of tim in tt29 and it wasn't even hard and yet for some fucking reason he still walks away thinking tim is a Better Robin than he was? like... ok. sure. more thoughts on this later in the post tho)

so the new earth (post-crisis pre-reboot) continuity tim-jason interactions we have, in order, are batman 617-618 (from batman: hush, this ones a retcon and barely counts, its just jason holding tim hostage with a batarang to his throat; and you might also get a glimpse of jay doing this in batman annual 25 lol but its in the other room so im not checking), tt29 (published in the middle of uth coming out, lol), tt47 (countdown tie-in), robin 177 and 182-183 (post-countdown, immediately after jason dumps his red robin costume and one of tims rogues fishes it out of the dumpster to wear, correctly intuiting *for some reason* that this will get to tim), and......... sigh. stupid battle for the stupid cowl.

(and, since were talking about jasons perspective, theres also the picture wall in lost days. i dont know what issue it is because to me lost days is not "made up" of "issues", it is one book i simply open to devour whole whilst weeping.)

i think tt 29 is the interaction i find the most frustrating because... we have an idea what tt29 would have been like if it were good. bc we have ga01 69-72. and granted Tim is such a cocky little shit (affectionate) that jason simply. Would probably not have been able to scare him no matter what, lol... but imagine if this fucking issue had been good.

ok cutting 4 length

the problem with johns. .......the FIRST problem with johns. is that he regularly has interesting ideas and his execution of them completely falls flat. the second problem with johns is that he can't write dialogue. the third problem with johns is that it was really really important to him that you understood what a Talented And Special Boy tim is but instead of showing you that he just forced other characters to. tell you. over and over. jason is not johns' only victim in this quest. (and johns was also not the only perpetrator, as we will see when i get to fuckin fabnic.)

but like i said i *am* actually interested in the potential here, because i do think there is potential.

and i also think that--at least when you read into it as deeply as i do--jason is sympathetic in this issue. (don't give me "hes beating up a child" crap here btw. jason's only 2-3 years older, tims a peer to him, they could easily have gone to high school together if jason hadnt fuckin died.) johns deliberately shows us Jason hoping raven gets a reprieve from the nightmares, and he certainly was *trying* to show us how much it would fucking suck to be remembered as the Bad Robin, forgotten except to be a cautionary tale, what kind of things that would do to a person emotionally. AND he makes a point of highlighting Jason's loneliness and isolation as robin, and. tbh i dont think the issue itself rly blames Jason for that. (you most certainly do not gotta hand it to him though. under no circumstances do you gotta hand it to johns for anything.)

and while jason tearing off his clothes to reveal his party city knockoff robin costume--the better to beat you with, my dear--was, erm. falling mostly on the wrong side of the line btwn camp and cringe... i do think jason writing his own name in blood on the wall was right on the money, *especially* because it was obviously not tims blood. like, tim wasnt bleeding anywhere near enough for that. it was either fake blood or jason prepped his own beforehand for them to DNA test--but also if they saw it before they saw tim, to make them fear for tims life, as a reminder of the risks theyre dealing with here.

oh but i was planning on talking specifically about like. what Jason might actually have seen in tim that left him with a positive impression. as-written? kinda nothing. lmao. or well the one thing imo is this

just kidding i couldn't find the panelz somehow despite posting them literally like yesterday and i ran into this lol:

>:| got distracted again. by this.

anyway i give up ill add the pics later. but its the exchange where jason has *decisively* won the fight, tims crumpled on the floor concussed and winded, and jason demands if tim *really* thinks he was good enough to tail bruce unnoticed for weeks.

and tim says "yes." hes beat up enough he can barely talk but there's still no hesitation whatsoever. and jason is *really* down on himself in this issue--he calls himself a failure, he feels like no one cared about his death, he feels unremembered. and jasons stated intentions here were to get the measure of tim but i also stand by the interpretation that he wanted to warn tim off of the sidekick gig, to remind him you uh. you have to be dick fucking grayson to survive it. (i dont believe either of them mentions him by name, but hey, dicks shadow is big enough for the both of them.)

i think what jason finds worthy of respect here--and, on top of that, intriguing enough that in robin 177 he entreats tim to join him--is the confidence, and also? at absolutely no point does tim believe jason is there to kill him. not a fuckin high bar, i know, but like i said i do think jason had *planned* to try and scare tim off (just also mega derailed himself by accident bc he got too in his feelings about the statue room 🥺), and... its not a bar he would have expected Tim to clear, is all im saying. particularly because while it is *possible* this took place in the middle of uth (tt 29 was released in november 05, between batman 646 and 647, which is the part where slade shows up bc black mask hired him to take jason out, so tt29 couldnt have happened in the middle of those two specific issues, but there are several other points at which jason could have taken a break in menacing gotham to fly to san Francisco), with Jason talking so negatively about himself i have to assume this is after the end of uth.

(you might be able to place this in the in-universe chronology by if/when teen titans mentions chemo dropping on bludhaven, which happens immediately before the bruce-jason-joker final showdown. however i dont feel like poking around for that or any other details to anchor tt29 to the other events happening at the time rn.)

i just also think so much of what jasons doing in this issue is like--he doesn't know *what* hes there to do. he had a plan and hes kinda fumbling it, not because tim is being especially resourceful but because jasons still licking his emotional wounds from uth, and titans tower is bringing up ones i dont think he ever realized hadnt healed. hes feeling everything at once. hes angry and hurt and full of self loathing but i think by the time tim simply says "yes," jason hits the stage of just being... burnt out. done lashing out, fucking tired, just wants to go home, if he can ever find it.

but i do think that "yes" would stick in his craw for a long time afterwards.

tt47: tim kicks jason in the nuts and pretty much declares them even for tt29 lolol. you may have seen my post about how jason only *sometimes* wears armor in countdown--hes drawn in the armored turtleneck and tac pants in tt47, but there are times in countdown hes out there fighting aliens and metas and shit in his jacket, a *t-shirt,* and *jeans.* just a squishy regular degular baseline human doing this and no one ever brings it up. but anyway. do i think tim would have seen jason wearing the equivalent of civvies plus a domino mask, narrow in on that, and immediately decide to kick him in the balls? i sure do. do i also think that this would make him rise in jasons estimation?

yeah. yeah, i really do. lol

anyway after this! after this is jasons briefish world-hopping stint as red robin saving the universe being a big damn hero and getting paid dust by everyone around him, in countdown; i think i mentioned before in this post that at the end he abandons the red robin suit in a dumpster, where it gets picked up by one of tims rogues. this storyline sucks and fabnic is a hack unfortunately. the rogue did it bc he wants tims attention or whatever. not important except for how irritating it is that fabnic fumbled a concept this juicy (tim inheriting and eventually purposely adopting The Bad Robin Mantle) which is also further fumbled by stupid battle for the stupid cowl, and the people who it falls to to salvage it are. johns again, in adventure comics 3, and yost, who is a better writer than johns or fabnic but not by like a huge margin.

and while i do think tim having a bad opinion of jason at this point was inevitable i find it so frustrating the way it was executed... like so often with Bad Tim Writing and also fuckin DC Editorial's Jason Slander Agenda shit it wasn't because in-universe thats how the characters would feel, the writer was using tim as a mouthpiece, and jasons competence and things he cares about arent taken seriously... BUT WHATEVER the point is that when Tim goes to stop Jason from his villainous scheme to reduce crime or whatevr jason has such a high opinion of him that he asks tim to join him:

and jasons loneliness, his desperation to be heard, is such a theme for him in the new earth/post crisis era and i wish it had been. Handled better lol are you noticig a theme here its that Jason has been written badly. (tim too, tbh.) and when tim says no jasons dejected but unsurprised acceptance breaks my heart. but to me the most interesting part of jasons appearance at the end of tims robin series is in 182, when tim--for absolutely no good reason--gives jason the means to break out of prison.

he says something about how its what Bruce would have wanted, but for. reasons i wont get too deeply into rn, that absolutely does not hold water.

anyway i just think there's no way jason doesn't start crushing on tim at least a little at this point. shrug.

bftc sucks and i dont want to look at it rn. but its also got examples of jasons high opinion of tim. and also im mad at it bc both countdown AND his appearances in robin feel like they could have been taking jason to a like. more of an antihero type of role and then we get bftc and morrison and its kind of. fucking hard to get jason anywhere near back on track after that for those of us who still like playibg in the post-crisis pre-reboot sandbox. and i wouldnt be mad about that if bftc had been good bc Jason absolutely does make an incredibly interesting and effective and tragic antagonist when handled well but well. he wasnt. and i have no idea what bftc would.have even been like if it was good bc it was so off the wall and dumb and assassinated actually *everyones* characters. so.

anyway

im just going to roll back to robin 183 now

jasons referring to the damage tim got when he got a little bit exploded in 180, this pretty nasty burn on the back of his head, which was actually why he wore jasons RR cowl for the first time (he was still robin). but what you do see here--aside from Tims narration which puts him *firmly* on the side of obnoxiously arrogant and judgmental instead of charmingly cocky in this issue, to my estimation, thanks for nothing fabnic--is the two of them on firmly cordial terms. jason still thinks more highly than tim does of him, but theyre asking each other about their injuries... tim caring about the wellbeing of people he doesn't even like is par for the course with him, ofc, but once again Jason doesn't really get that a whole lot. constantly haunted by this panel from countdown btw:

does he though!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

here is another jaytim preboot canon interactions post from a few months ago with some more thoughts, some repeated lol.

anyway. incoherent rambling complete for now. however. jaytim time is all the time 👍 i will revisit this.

[venus-haze]

Creep (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You’d grown up in Ambrose, but seeing the mill town’s glory days coming to an end, your family packs up and moves the summer before your senior year of high school. You never expected to return to Louisiana, let alone see Bo Sinclair again, but when your distant husband’s new job brings both, your life goes to hell faster than you can blink.

Note: Yet another Bo Sinclair fic because that man lives in my head rent free. Reader is a cis woman (and a horrible judge of character), but no other descriptors are used. Title comes from the TLC song. This one isn’t as implicitly dark as my other Bo fics, but it’s still there…lurking through the rose-colored lens of nostalgia. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Death, murder, violence. Marital infidelity, emotional manipulation. Implications of kidnapping and prolonged captivity. Sexually explicit content that involves coercion (dubcon re: degradation, choking, bondage, and unprotected sex). Do not interact if you are under 18.

The Traveling Wilburys song that was playing in Taylor’s Drug Store only served to remind you of how old the place was. You stopped in to pick up a prescription for your husband and do some light shopping. The interior hadn’t been updated since at least the ‘80s, save for the digital cash registers and security cameras, a monitor above the glass doors where you walked in reminding you that you were being watched. You shuffled along the scuffed linoleum tile, shopping basket on your arm as you looked at the shelf of painkillers. 

Throwing a bottle into the basket, you continued along, trying to remember what you had put on your mental list and coming up blank. You went to the snack aisle, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to grab a bag of chips. While considering whether to go with barbecue or sour cream and onion, you noticed a man walk over just a few feet away from you, holding a basket filled with odds and ends. Normally, you minded your own business, but you turned your head to get a better look at him. He was tall, wearing a well-worn flannel shirt that made you wonder for a brief moment what it’d be like to have your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. Despite the trucker cap pulled snugly over his mess of brown hair, almost covering his eyes, his profile seemed hauntingly familiar until it dawned on you—Bo Sinclair.

You could remember Bo being a cocky troublemaker with no regard for his own personal safety, regularly getting into fights in and out of school. With a swoon-worthy smile and an attitude that made your mother emphasize to stay the hell away from him, you did have a bit of a crush on Bo, one that you kept locked in a box to wither and die when your family moved out of Ambrose. Years had passed, though. You’d changed so much since high school. Undoubtedly, he had to have changed too.

Fuck it. You’d been in town a little over a month and had yet to make any friends. It was nice to see a familiar face—a handsome one at that. 

“Bo Sinclair?” you exclaimed, as if you hadn’t spent the past ten seconds staring at him out of the corner of your eye.

As expected, his eyes didn’t light up in recognition when he saw you. In fact, he seemed startled and suspicious. Brows furrowed, he stood stiff as he straightened his posture as you approached him in the snack aisle. His hostility made you second guess your decision to approach him, but you’d already made a spectacle of yourself. Nothing else to do but follow through and hope for the best. 

“I’m not sure if you remember me. My family moved out of Ambrose at the end of our junior year, but—“

He relaxed a bit, giving you a grin that made you want to throw your wedding ring on the ground. “Now I know I must be dreamin’ if I see Y/N standin’ in front of me.”

You smiled. “Yeah, you look great—I mean, y’know, it’s great to see you.”

“It’s great to see you too, doll. Ain’t many familiar faces ‘round anymore.”

“Do you live in town, or—“

“Still in Ambrose, few of us left out there,” he said. “Most of the stores shut down, so I gotta drive out here for stuff.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around, then. I just moved here a few weeks ago, and I still don’t really know anyone.”

“You mean you and your husband just moved here,” he said, motioning to your wedding ring.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

You had just barely missed it, the gleam in his eye at your response. Somehow, you suppressed the chill that threatened to run down your spine. That much hadn’t changed about him, the darkness that reared its ugly head whenever you found yourself getting too comfortable around him.

Just as quickly, he claimed he had to get going but that you’d see him again. You gave him a half-hearted goodbye, taking his promise with a disappointing grain of salt. 

Looking at the bags of chips yet again, you grabbed several, intending to spend the rest of the day marinating in your loneliness with snacks and movies until your husband arrived home from work. Maybe you could talk him into getting takeout rather than you having to cook.

The half-empty house was eerily quiet when you arrived back, ignoring the unopened cardboard boxes that had been taunting you for weeks. Unpacking on your own was a monumental undertaking, since your husband worked so much during the week and spent the weekends doing home repairs that you weren’t able to take care of on your own. 

The red light on the answering machine was flashing, and as you set your shopping bags down, you would have bet a million bucks on who the message was from and what it said. 

You folded your arms as you listened to the message, huffing discontentedly under your breath. “Hey honey, I’m working late tonight. We hit some snags with that big project for the quarter. Don’t wait up for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be home. Love you.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed aloud, pressing the button to delete the message.

Just because it didn’t surprise you, it didn’t mean your feelings weren’t hurt. You’d suspected for a long time that your husband had been cheating on you, though you could never prove as much. Still, it didn’t take a genius to put together the consistent late nights, how he’d finally arrive home with the scent of another woman’s perfume lingering on his clothes as if to taunt you. The part of you that was still a little bit in love with him had hoped that the move would bring the two of you closer together, and for the first week, it did. Then, he started at his shiny new job and found someone to scratch his itch just as quickly.

Being in a new town meant you didn’t have your normal circle of friends to gossip and air grievances with, and doing so on the phone wasn’t the same. You wondered if they’d forget about you eventually, tuck you away in a corner of their minds that they didn’t explore often. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t done the same, running into Bo Sinclair earlier that day was the first time you’d even thought about him since high school. 

Your morbid curiosity getting the better of you, you wondered where your old high school yearbooks were. Looking at the intimidating stacks of cardboard boxes on the other side of the room, you wracked your brain for where you would have packed them.

The cardboard box labeled ‘photo albums’ proved your gut right, as you dug through it to find your high school yearbooks. The familiar blue and gold design that covered each of the books sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Fuck, did anyone actually enjoy high school? 

Even back then, Ambrose had been such a small town that to save money, the county had the middle school and high school in the same building. There were so few of you left that it hardly made a difference. Students often had to go to surrounding high schools to participate in extracurriculars and varsity sports. Families who saw college scholarships as their kids’ ticket to a better life would put thousands of miles on their cars to drive them to and from practice during the school year. Your graduating class–at least what was supposed to be your graduating class–couldn’t have been more than forty people. 

Such a small town with an even smaller school meant everyone knew each other’s business. It was suffocating. Still, you opened the yearbook from your junior year of high school and flipped toward the back of the thin book, skimming past the R’s and to the S’s. You studied his photo, strange yet familiar. Handsome with his messy brown hair and cocky grin, you wiped at the paper, assuming there was some kind of smudge on his cheekbone until you realized, no, it was a bruise.

Beauregard Sinclair. You’d forgotten that was his first name, not that anyone ever called him that anyway. You certainly never did. Vandalism, fighting, and hot-wiring cars were his hobbies of choice back then. He did well in shop, you knew as much because your home ec teacher bitched about how the shop instructor pulled some strings to let him stay in the class, even after he swung a wrench in another guy’s face and knocked out three of his teeth during class. You’d see him at house parties, lurking in the shadows with a dangerous and almost feral gleam in his eyes, a beer in his hand as he waited for the right time to pounce on a tipsy target. More reason to stay away from him, your high school best friend who you hadn’t spoken to in years would whisper to you. He was young, then, troubled and immature. The man you spoke with in the convenience store was so different–confident and flirty, a strong, blue collar man you should have pursued instead of being blinded by the false promises of white collar domesticity. Damn.

You looked at the photo directly to the right of Bo’s. A boy with long hair who seemed to shrink into himself, as if to be in as little of the picture as possible. You squinted to make out his odd expression–the mask, how could you forget the mask.

Vincent Sinclair. You remembered Vincent, odd and quiet, though by the end of freshman year no one said anything about it. Bo had beat that out of more than enough people that the gossip was only whispers. The two of you had several classes together. Perhaps because you were one of few students who actually gave Vincent the time of day, your US History teacher had assigned you as partners for the final project, an essay on a past president with a visual element to accompany it. Luck was on your side when you reached into the bowl at the front of the classroom to draw the name of the president you and Vincent would cover—John F. Kennedy. While most of the other duos made poster boards or had someone dress up for the visual element of their project, Vincent had crafted an incredibly detailed wax diorama of the Kennedy assassination that almost got the two of you sent to the principal’s office because the blood splatter looked a little too realistic for your teacher's taste. 

You set the yearbook down, wracking your brain for the name of the youngest Sinclair brother, a friendly boy who’d run around Ambrose barefoot and often covered in mud. He had just started middle school when your family moved, but you’d seen him briefly in the two times you had gone to the Sinclair house to work on the history project with Vincent. Linus? Leonard? Lester.

In all honesty, you didn’t remember Lester very well. All of the Sinclairs were odd, though. Their father was a doctor, but not the kind your parents ever wanted you to go to. Their mother’s wax sculptures lost their appeal after you turned about 10, the last year that you’d go to the wax museum as a school trip. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair had always been nice enough to you, but in the second grade, Bo had cut off one of Cindy Jacobs’ pigtails during craft time. He came into school the next day with a black eye, his already scarred wrists an angry red. You could never bring yourself to like the Sinclairs after that.

Slamming the yearbook shut, you closed your eyes, trying to keep memories of Ambrose at bay. Maybe it was for the best that your family moved. You took a deep breath before throwing the yearbook back into the box you found it in and retrieving a bag of chips.

Your husband had already put together the entertainment center, all of your VHS tapes and DVDs well-organized. They were one of the first things you unpacked. After briefly pondering your first movie choice of the evening, you grabbed The Postman Always Rings Twice and put it into the VHS player. 

As you settled onto the couch with your bowl of chips, the black and white screen was your security blanket, lulling you to forgetting your woes and instead on Lana Turner and John Garfield making the screen their home for the following two hours. You’d fallen asleep on the couch just before the movie ended, and your husband didn’t bother waking you up when he arrived home at some point that night, because you woke up with a crick in your neck and a note on the fridge that he’d be working late again. You threw the dirty plate he’d left in the sink at the wall. It didn’t make you feel much better.

The rest of the week dragged on as you went about unpacking on your own, your husband working his usual late nights. 

When you pulled into the parking lot of Taylor’s Drug Store the next Thursday afternoon, the same day and time you saw Bo the previous week, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit pathetic for deliberately planning your shopping trip around the possibility of running into him again.

Any negative feelings that festered within you on the short walk from your car into the drug store vanished as soon as you walked inside, seeing Bo standing in the shampoo aisle, brows furrowed as he stood in front of the dozens of bottles on the shelves. This time, however, he was dressed in a mechanic’s work shirt and jeans, his cap still pulled over his face, cigarette tucked behind his ear.

“Hi Bo,” you said as you approached him. 

He grunted in response. “Huh? Oh, hey, Y/N.”

“3-in-1 not cutting it?” 

“You always had a smart mouth?” he said, glaring at you. For a split second, you thought he was angry with you for your quip. “Vincent needs one with this Jujube shit in it. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m lookin’ at.”

“Jojoba oil? Here,” you said, grabbing a shampoo bottle and handing it to him. “He still got long hair?”

He nodded. “Yeah, he ain’t got it cut in a long time.”

“It suited him,” you said.

“I’ll let ‘im know you said so,” he grinned. “You always come in here on Thursday afternoons?”

“I do now.”

“Sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Do you wanna get coffee?” you asked, feeling foolishly bold.

He raised an eyebrow. “Your husband gonna be alright with that?”

“I don’t care,” you answered. So what if people thought it was a date, it’d be about time your husband got a taste of his own medicine.

“Well, we can at least pretend you care about your reputation and go somewhere a little bit outside of town.”

You smiled. “Sounds like you already got a place in mind.”

He wasted no time in throwing the rest of what he needed into his shopping basket while you picked up your husband’s prescription, not bothering to grab anything else that was on your list. It wasn’t like you had any other plans for the week.

You followed his truck to a small roadside diner, a greasy spoon type of place family would go to some weekends growing up as a treat. Even though you’d already eaten lunch before going shopping, the smell coming from the restaurant when you got out of your car was tempting enough for you to consider seeing what they had on the menu. 

The restaurant’s decor was simple, old yet charming, and as indicated by the handful of cars in the gravel parking lot outside, there weren’t many people there. A friendly-looking older woman sat you and Bo in a booth, the kind with worn out upholstery that cracked in some places to reveal the cushion underneath. You couldn’t help but smile when you sat down.

“Hi there, what can I get started for y’all?” the waitress asked.

“Just coffee for me,” you said.

Bo nodded, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it in his mouth as he muttered, “Same for me. Thank ya, ma’am.”

“You got it,” she said.

He lit a cigarette, leaning back in the booth seat a bit. Of course he managed to find one of the few places that still allowed smoking indoors. Looking at his hands, you didn’t notice any kind of wedding band on any of his fingers. The waitress returned to the table less than a minute later with two mugs of hot coffee, pointing out the creamer and sugar at the end of the table.

“So, are you working as a mechanic now?” you asked, fixing the coffee to your preference.

He smiled. “What gave it away?”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “You were always great in shop class. Didn’t you help one of the teachers fix their car once?”

“Vice principal, and he got me out of a suspension for it.”

“Do you work around here?”

“Got my own place in Ambrose. You’d be surprised how many people end up with car trouble in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m really happy for you,” you said, trying to suffocate the ‘what if’ scenario that began making itself comfortable in your mind. Visions of helping him run a small family business, a kid or two with your smile and his eyes hanging around left you with a lump in your throat. “How are your parents?”

“Folks kicked the can a while ago. Nothin’ really you could do,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, mine too,” you said. “How about your brothers?”

“They’re good,” he answered. “Just doin’ their thing.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Any weddings, or—“

“Nope. But how long ago d’you tie the knot?”

“‘Bout four years.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

You paused, considering how to phrase your answer as you played with the ring on your finger that suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. Growing up, you and Bo weren’t what you considered friends, but his familiarity made you feel comfortable. Still, you felt odd airing your marital woes to a man you were supposed to just be catching up with over coffee.

It was one thing bitching about it with your friends, most of whom had their own relationship issues, offering you the validation you were seeking. Your strained marriage had come to define your life, as embarrassing as it was to acknowledge.

“Things were good for the first year or so, but after that, I could tell he was getting bored. No matter what I did, it felt like I was an obligation,” you said. “Then the late nights at work started, and by the time I realized what he was pulling, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why not get divorced?”

“I haven’t worked in years. I’d be on my ass, and he knows it. Sometimes, I think he took the job out here so he could fuck around behind my back and not have my family or friends breathing down his neck about it.”

“Maybe he does it ‘cause he knows you’ll be a pushover about it.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t a pushover.”

“He’s only been pullin’ this shit for so long because he knows you’ll just take it,” he said, the cigarette pointed at your face punctuating his harsh words. “Sometimes when people do ya wrong, they don’t get the message ‘till you show ‘em.”

Clenching your jaw, you looked out the window, avoiding the knowing expression on his face. He was right. Your marriage had been on the rocks for far longer than things had ever been good, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to initiate the end. It was long overdue, and you knew with his history of infidelity that you could get a decent settlement from a divorce. 

Perhaps you couldn’t admit to yourself that your marriage was nothing more than a dead horse you just kept beating. Throwing in the towel on your relationship felt like failure and inadequacy, which left a sour taste in your mouth. Things couldn’t continue as they were, though. You had to do something. 

You frowned a bit, looking at the clock on the wall behind Bo. He startled you by snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, the rattling bringing your attention back to him.

“Got somewhere you need to be?” he asked.

“Nope, he won’t be home for another three or four hours. I got nothin’ but time.”

“Me too.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy and averting your attention to the empty coffee mug in front of you, tapping your nails against the ceramic. He put his hand over yours, the clinking noise ceasing as you mustered up the courage to look at him again. As soon as your eyes met his, you were a goner the moment he whispered something about a nearby motel that charged for rooms by the hour, his lips curling into a dangerous grin when you merely nodded in response.

It felt like you blinked and he had paid the check, pulled you outside with him, and led you to his truck, your heart hammering like it did when you were sixteen. The motel was just as sleazy as you’d expected, but when the clerk handed the room key to Bo after he’d gotten it for two hours, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As soon as the door opened, it just as quickly slammed shut, Bo grabbing your purse from you and throwing it aside as he trapped you between himself and the wall, feeling as though you were shrinking beneath his intense gaze. When you tried to avert your gaze, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, and you did. For the first time since you were in high school, you really looked at Bo Sinclair. He was just as handsome and terrifying as you remembered him being back then. You wanted him just as much as you did back then, too.  

He growled his one and only warning, “I ain’t gonna be gentle with ya, darlin’.”

“I—alright,” you said.

Your hesitance didn’t deter him at all. The kiss that followed was devoid of any romance, but you supposed you’d settle for passion. You kissed him back, trying to keep up with how much of you he wanted. Your open mouth, free for him to claim with his tongue, suddenly felt foreign to you, as if it were no longer your own. Oddly enough, it reminded you of your first kiss.

Despite being a memory you hadn’t revisited in at least a decade, as you replayed it in your mind, you could remember it a bit more clearly. Bo’s truck idling in the driveway, the radio playing soft as the two of you talked. He’d driven you home at his mother’s request as you’d stayed at the Sinclair house late to work on your project with Vincent. You had kept glancing at the front door, waiting for it to swing open and one of your incensed parents to drag you out by your hair for being alone in a car with a boy for so long. 

Then, taking you by surprise, he had kissed you, far rougher than you’d anticipated your first kiss being, especially when he tried pulling you onto his lap when you actually kissed him back. You remembered your heart hammering in your chest when he pawed at your thighs. Something else had happened which you couldn’t quite remember. You had felt shameful and uncomfortable when you walked into your parents’ house.

You gasped, brought back to reality when he stripped you of your shirt and bra, exposing your skin to the cool air in the motel room. He unbuckled his belt, and so quickly you could hardly process what he was doing, he grabbed your wrists, binding them tightly with the worn leather so that your skin chafed whenever you so much as tried to move your hands. 

If anything, it seemed your shocked and worried expression only served as motivation for him to rid you of the rest of your clothes, pushing you onto the dingy bed as he took off his own clothes, his wild eyes glued to your nude and vulnerable figure.

He stroked his hard cock in his hand as he approached you. “You’re gonna take all of it, ain’t ya?”

“Bo, I don’t know—“

“Don’t act stupid, doll,” he grinned, licking his lips. “It ain’t a good look on you.”

He slid two fingers in your pussy, kissing you as he pumped them in and out of you, and you moaned against his lips. Sure, you’d used vibrators and dildos to make up for your husband’s lack of attention, but you were almost overwhelmed at getting the real thing from a man who actually wanted you, even if it was on such dubious terms.

When he pulled his hand away, your whine at the emptiness became a strangled moan when he slid his cock inside you. His thrusts were harsh and unforgiving, as if he were punishing you for something. Maybe you deserved it for being unfaithful to your husband. You’d initiated everything with Bo until the moment you stepped into the motel room. 

You felt helpless beneath him, your bound wrists emphasizing what little control you now had over your body. The way his thrusts became more erratic, sweat beading on his forehead, you knew he was close. You could only imagine the state you were in.

“Gonna fill you up real good,” he groaned.

“Not inside, Bo. Don’t—“

He covered your mouth with his hand that he’d used to finger you. “What? Lil’ slut don’t want my cock all of a sudden? ‘S all you were thinkin’ about when we were sittin’ in that booth earlier.”

You shook your head frantically, unsure of whether you were doing so in protest of his cumming inside you or his taunts. A pathetic whimper came muffled from your lips, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting harder.

“Your pathetic fuckin’ husband don’t make you feel this good huh?”

Again, you shook your head. Sex with your husband was painfully boring. This was more painful than pleasurable, and you considered if you were the pathetic one for being so desperate for attention you’d let your old high school crush treat you with such brutality. You hated how the smug grin on his handsome face made you feel, wishing for a moment you could smack it off of him. 

His calloused fingers were ruthless on your sensitive clit, and your stomach tightened as you felt yourself nearing orgasm, struggling to catch your breath with his hand over your mouth. You were dizzy and could feel a tear roll down your cheek from the overstimulation. Digging your nails into the leather of his belt that was still secure around your wrists, you writhed as you came, your pussy clenching around his cock. His own orgasm followed soon after, and you felt him bottom out inside you, cursing under his breath as his cum filled you. 

When he pulled out, he pulled his hand away from your mouth, leaving you humiliated at the string of saliva that went along with it. He, on the other hand, didn’t mind as he licked it up, almost to your disbelief. 

Freeing your wrists from the restraints of his belt, he threw it aside and settled next to you on the bed. You rubbed your sore wrists, but found the additional friction only made them sting more. For a split second, you wondered how you were going to explain your soreness and the raw skin to your husband. You let out a frustrated exhale. He probably wouldn’t even notice, or maybe he would, but not mention anything, the same way you never called him on the proverbial lipstick on his collar.

A pit of shame and discomfort formed in your stomach as you lay next to Bo, but chalked it up to cheating on your husband for the first time. He deserved it, after all he put you through. You’d thought about cheating on him before, wanting desperately to for so long, but in your mind, it was more on your own terms, as an active participant rather than how Bo threw you around. 

Turning over to face him, he was sitting against the headboard, a smoldering cigarette between his fingers. You scooted over, throwing an arm over his bare torso as you rested your head against his chest. He stiffened, but before you could move away, he pulled you a little closer. 

The two of you spoke softly for the next hour or so, before finally getting up from the bed. Neither of you said much when you got dressed, you waiting by his truck while he turned in the room key. He drove you back to your car, which you’d left at the restaurant.

“See you next week?” you asked quietly, the slightest bit of hesitation in your voice.

He grinned. “You can bet on it, darlin’.”

This rendezvous continued for the next few weeks, the two of you eventually stopping the pretense of getting coffee altogether and meeting at the motel once or twice a week. Whenever you’d see him, he’d have a new bruise or scratch somewhere, claiming it was just a byproduct of his work. That didn’t explain the scratches that looked like someone had clawed the hell out of his arm. He never mentioned having a cat, and while you knew better to assume the two of you were exclusive, you wished he wouldn’t lie about it.

Though generally you knew what to expect from him, it was as if each time you had sex he was testing your limits, pushing you further than you were comfortable at times. Still, you were worried that if you protested too much, he wouldn’t want to see you anymore, and you’d be on your own again.

“He’s gonna be out of town this weekend for a work trip, at least that’s what he says. You wanna stay over?” you asked as you got dressed, taking care to keep the fabric away from the fresh bruises on your hips.

“You askin’ me to defile your literal marriage bed?”

“Yeah, and I’ll cook dinner too.”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

In the days leading up to Bo staying for the weekend, you could hardly contain your excitement. You didn’t know anyone to have a housewarming party, so you never got the chance to show off the house to anyone. It was neat enough, but you wanted the place to be spotless, each room cleaned and unpacked so you could indulge in your increasingly frequent fantasies of Bo coming through the front door at the end of the day.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you were excited for the gossip. You had a cordial enough relationship with your neighbors, but you wanted them to see the truck that certainly wasn’t your husband’s in the driveway, the handsome man leaving your house Sunday afternoon looking far too disheveled and satisfied for an innocent weekend visit. What’s more, you wanted them to hear you, no doubt what you were up to while your husband was away, word eventually getting to him that his wife was stepping out on him. Finally he’d get a taste of his own bitter medicine.

Your husband hadn’t bothered returning home after work on Friday, bringing his suitcase to work with him in the morning so he could head straight to the airport from the office. You honestly didn’t remember where he was going, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when a little after six, you heard the knock that made you rush to the front door.

A change from his usual work shirt, worn out jeans, and cap, Bo stood on your front porch in a dress shirt and nicer jeans. You smiled, giving him a kiss on the lips for the neighborhood to see. Moving from the doorway, you felt a bit nervous for him to see where you lived.

“Some place ya got here,” he said, looking around.

“It’s his. My name’s nowhere to be found on the mortgage,” you said.

“The guy buys a house like this and is barely in it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t get it either. I’ll give you the grand tour later, though. For dinner I was thinking chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and I forgot to get a vegetable so that’s just gonna be frozen green beans,” you said as you walked into the kitchen.

“As great as that sounds, I was thinkin’ of startin’ with dessert first,” he responded, his gaze hungry as he took in the sight of you standing in what had become your natural element.

“The bedroom’s right up those stairs,” you whispered, glancing toward the staircase.

He grinned. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Taking his hand, you led him upstairs and down the hallway, past the closed doors of the empty spare bedroom and hardly stocked guest bathroom. Your bedroom door, however, was wide open. You’d never admit the amount of time you spent cleaning it before he came over, at least wanting a nicer experience than the dingy motel rooms that the two of you had been accustomed to having sex in.

He hardly took a look around before pushing you back onto your own bed, kissing you as he slid one of his knees between your legs, pressing it against your clothed pussy.

“You know what I wanna see you do tonight?” he asked, his voice low.

“What’s that?”

He practically spat his answer back. “Ride my leg like a bitch in heat.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, wasting no time in moving over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. When you reached for the hem of your shirt to start undressing, he clicked his tongue.

“Clothes on, darlin’,” he said, patting his thigh. 

You could feel your face heat up as you settled on his lap. Doing this fully clothed left you with a sense of humiliation you weren’t sure whether or not you liked. Slowly, you grinded your hips against his leg, holding onto his shoulders for support. 

His hand slipped between you, his fingers rubbing your clit through your panties while the other squeezed your hips. You could feel your orgasm building up when he pulled his hand away from your clit suddenly, giving you a cruel grin in response to your look of betrayal.

He smacked your ass. “C’mon now, you gotta work for it.”

It didn’t take you long to get a rhythm going from there, squeezing his shoulders and letting out high-pitched whines of frustration as you chased the pleasure that seemed just out of reach. Something in your core tightened, and you desperately tried to get more friction from the rough material of his jeans to your aching, clothed pussy.

Biting your lip, your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as you considered the situation you were in, humping the leg of a man who wasn’t your husband in your shared bed while he was none the wiser. It was wrong and debauched, but it made you wetter than your husband ever had.

“Jesus Christ, ya really are a lil’ bitch in heat, gettin’ my nice pants fuckin’ soaked,” he taunted, flexing his thigh as you rutted your hips against it.

You moaned, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Bo, fuck, I’m close.”

“What the fuck?”

You felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on you upon hearing your husband’s voice. Turning around to look at him, he was furious—and marching right toward you. 

He pulled you off of Bo, and you landed painfully on the ground. Just when you thought he’d start in on you, he punched Bo square in the jaw. Pushing yourself off the floor, you narrowly avoided the two men beating the shit out of each other in your bedroom. Your husband managed to get a solid kick to Bo’s leg, and his knees buckled as your husband readied himself to land another blow.

“Fuck you! Get off of him! Get off—“ without thinking, you grabbed the lamp off of the nightstand and swung directly at your husband’s head.

The ceramic base shattered upon impact. He collapsed to the ground, blood slowly pooling from his head, though his limbs continued to twitch. You dropped the broken lamp, eyes wide in shock at what you’d just done.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—what am I gonna—“

You looked to Bo, who despite his split lip, was shockingly unbothered by the situation as he stood up. From the floor, your husband emitted a groan, choking on his own blood.

“He’s still alive. Oh fuck, call an ambulance or-or—“

Bo rolled his eyes, grabbing the cord from the lamp and strangling your husband with it until he stopped making noise. You turned away to vomit on the carpet.

“Are you finished? ‘Cause the way you were carryin’ on, there ain’t no way one ‘a your neighbors haven’t called the cops by now.”

“What do I do? I mean, can we say it was self defense?”

He kicked over your husband’s limp body, showing you the damage in all its bloody glory. “That look like self defense to you?”

“Fuck. Bo, I can’t go to jail. I can’t—“

“Darlin’, no one’s goin’ to jail. You just gotta do exactly what I say. Got it?” he grabbed your face, pulling your attention from your dead husband to him. “Got it?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

He instructed you to break the lock on the front door, and then gather any valuables you could. Your stomach lurched when you realized he wanted to stage a break in, your husband an unfortunate casualty and you abducted in the fray. It was genius, but worrisome how quickly he came up with the idea. 

As you set the scene of your now ex-husband’s untimely demise, you tried not to think about how Bo didn’t hesitate to kill him, cold and calculated. No time to consider the implications. You’d made your bed, and there was nothing to do but lie in it—except you couldn’t even do that, because your husband’s blood was splattered all over it.

You took one last look at the house, knowing whatever Bo had in mind involved you leaving and never coming back. The thought evoked no emotions in you. The place was never a home, somewhere you felt particularly attached to. Instead it served as a facade, an ornate casket that was fit for your marriage to formally be laid to rest in. 

Upon returning to your bedroom, you grabbed your duffel bag, the one you’d kept packed and hidden in your closet for when you’d meet Bo at the motel. Shoving what you could into the bag and your purse, you attempted to appear casual as you walked outside, putting your things in his truck and waiting for him to join you. You wished you had time to clean yourself up before leaving, feeling self-conscious of getting your husband’s blood and your own wetness on the passenger seat.

Your heart skipped a beat when he opened the driver’s side door a few minutes later, but you calmed down a bit when you saw it was him. Wordlessly, he started up the truck, leaving the headlights off as he slowly drove up your street. When he turned them on a few blocks away from your house, you let yourself breathe a little easier, but you weren’t off the hook yet, not until you got the hell outta town. 

“You passed the turn for the motel,” you observed.

“We’re not goin’ there.”

“Then where—“

“Ambrose. Ain’t no one gonna look for ya there.”

“It’ll be all over the news. Anyone could see me and turn me in,” you said.

“They won’t. Trust me,” he said, his firm tone giving you the assurance you were seeking.

He continued driving, the old country backroads becoming more and more familiar to you. So many times when you’d thought back to your youth, you wondered what was a dream or a memory, but these narrow, pothole-littered roads confirmed it was all real.

As soon as you saw the sign welcoming you to Ambrose, you felt like you could finally breathe. The sign had definitely seen better days, but it didn’t matter. You were home.

“God, it’s like nothing’s changed,” you whispered, mostly to yourself as Bo drove up Main Street, passing the places your teen spirit would haunt when life seemed so complicated but was still so simple. 

“A few things have,” he said, “but yeah, ya know how people are ‘round here.”

You nodded, about to respond when you noticed the gas station coming up. “Wait, can we stop here? I wanna see your shop.”

He hesitated for a moment but obliged, wordlessly pulling into the station and turning off his truck. You got out, leaning into him when he wrapped his arm around you. Being in your hometown again filled you with conflicting emotions, but the safety you felt on Main Street slowly began to fade as soon as you stepped foot in the gas station.

“So you run this place on your own?”

“Yeah, just me. Not enough people comin’ by to warrant extra help, but—“

He was interrupted by the sound of metal clanking and what you could have sworn was a woman’s muffled screams.

“Bo, what was that?” you asked, anxiety lacing your words as you stepped closer to the source of the noise.

He sucked on his teeth, the sound making your skin crawl. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

You stopped in your tracks, feeling yourself become dizzy as the distressed yelling didn’t stop. It sounded far too clear to be your imagination. “What the hell did you do?”

“See, if I was you, I wouldn’t be showin’ so much hostility to the man who saved your ass from the electric chair,” he snapped. “‘Less you want me to drag your ass to the cops that’re crawlin’ all over your house by now?”

“Bo, c’mon,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“Just get back in the damn truck,” he said, his voice low. 

You nodded, dazed as you made the short walk back to his truck. Sitting in the passenger seat, you put your head in your hands, trying to figure out how your life got fucked up so quickly. You’d never know what brought your husband home from his work trip early—if that was even the case, maybe he had his own plans to cheat over the weekend that didn’t work out, his usual squeeze standing him up. 

There were so many what if’s that raced through your mind, like if you hadn’t impulsively grabbed the lamp and made the situation go from bad to worse. The way Bo had escalated things to absolute worst by dealing the death blow to your husband, cold and calculated, suddenly made sense. Even if your husband had approached the situation calmly, you knew Bo wouldn’t do the same. It would have come to fruition at some point, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

When Bo returned to the truck, you noticed the fresh blood on his knuckles as he grabbed the steering wheel, but didn’t mention it. What was there to say? It wasn’t like you could do anything to help whoever he had trapped somewhere in that gas station. It did explain the scratches and bruises he’d show up to the motel with.

“So, how about that dinner you were gonna make? I’m starvin’,” he said nonchalantly, the key in the ignition making the engine roar to life.

Staring blankly ahead, you whispered something about mashed potatoes. He gave you an unreadable glance from the driver’s seat before throwing his arm over your shoulder and driving up the street to his place, the Sinclair family’s house atop a hill. When he drove past your childhood home, the lights were on inside. You wondered who lived there now.  

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 4: Deja Vu

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1, ...(Masterlist)... Part 5

A/N: Back at it again with another chapter! I hope you are all ready for some tension! Kind of sad I have to go back to work soon, I won't have time to post as regularly as I have the past week. I hope you guys like it! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag-list!

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings: Swearing

As August approached its final week, the reality of returning to school truly set in. Your mom gave you money for school supplies and even gave you extra to buy a new outfit. While she was asleep, you slipped the money back into her purse. You never liked spending your mom’s money. It was what had driven you to first start babysitting. She already did so much for you and worked so hard. It didn't feel right. 

You hadn’t worked since you had gotten out of the hospital but you had a bit stashed away, just in case. If you needed school supplies or clothes you would be using your own money. 

Unfortunately, there were some things that were not open to negotiation with your mom. One of them being your transportation to school. You lived off the school bus route and your mother insisted that the 10 miles was too far for you to bike every day. You didn't bring up the fact that it was never a problem before. You knew that it had more to do with the fact she was terrified something would happen to you again. So instead, you relented. She wanted you to take her car but you insisted that she might need it at home if something happened during the day. The two of you eventually came to the agreement that you would either get a ride from Hopper or Steve. 

Around this same time, you would have one of your last conversations with Billy that summer. 

You were walking in the neighbourhoods on the west end of Hawkins. You didn't come to this area often. The homes were small and slightly run down, not much better than your own. You were heading to the West Point Lookout, it was outside the quarry and was one of the few places in this area that offered the type of solitude you were looking for. The view was an added bonus. 

As you walk, your attention is drawn by the sound of raised voices. 

“Fucking piece of shit!” You slow your pace, finding the source of commotion. A little ways ahead of you and across the street you can see Billy and his father. You watch as his father angrily tosses a hammer to the ground. “I need to pick up more studs. I want this porch painted by the time I get back,” You hear him yell, climbing into the camaro and slamming the door. “Or it’s your ass!” he adds, jabbing a finger in Billy's direction before pulling out of the driveway. 

You come to a complete stop as you watch the car disappear around the corner. You turn your attention back to Billy as he stands on the patchy grass of the front lawn. He looks so tense you are surprised he doesn't snap in half. In a burst of movement that causes you to jump, Bully lunges forward, swiftly kicking a metal paint can across the yard, letting out a frustrated scream.

You avert your eyes, planning on continuing on your way, hoping to avoid any heated interaction with Billy. But something stops you. Looking back to Billy you watch as he rakes his fingers roughly through his hair, taking a seat on the porch steps. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a long drag. He inhales the smoke deeply, like he needs it more than oxygen. You aren't sure, from how far away you are, but you think you see his hands shaking. He looks very alone… and scared.

You take a moment to curse yourself for feeling so empathetic towards a practical stranger. But, the whole situation feels vaguely familiar to you, you can't seem to put your finger on it, like the worst kind of deja vu. 

“This is so stupid…” You grumble to yourself before taking a deep breath and begin walking towards Billy. As you approach, his head is down, one hand rubbing the back of his neck the other rolling the lit cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. 

“The place looks pretty good.” You comment as you draw closer, approaching the steps from the driveway. Billy’s head snaps up, clearly surprised to no longer be alone. Seeing you at the bottom of the steps his expression quickly shifts into a hard scowl.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, taking another pull of his cigarette. Trying to remain civil, despite his hostile tone, you reply evenly. 

“I was on my way to the quarry, I happened to see you and decided I would stop by. Say hi.” You shrug your shoulders, idly putting your hands in your pockets as you stand at the base of the steps. He chuckles without humour, a malicious smile pulling at his lips as he stands. The flash of his teeth as he advances on you reminds you of something dangerous. 

“Well that’s just great! The village crazy showing some neighbourly hospitality.” There is a pause as he stands in front of you. He takes another pull off his cigarette exhaling the smoke directly into your face. The smoke stings your eyes making them water but you force yourself not to cough as he leers down at you. His tongue darts out over his teeth, like a wolf baring its fangs. “Now get the fuck off my driveway.” he spits venemously, dropping the cigarette butt inches from your sneakers before stepping between your legs snuffing out the embers with the toe of his boot. 

You can barely breathe with how close he is to you. Thankfully, he turns sharply and walks over to a workbench grabbing a new can of paint. You watch his back as he uses a flathead screwdriver to pop the lid off the can, pouring the white paint into a roller basin. 

Every rational part of your brain is telling you to walk away, to listen to him and turn around, to go back to your walk, back to your solitude. But, the stupid, kind, and stubborn part of you makes you stay. Walking forward you grab one of the paint rollers off the ground and move to stand next to Billy. 

“I want to help.” you say simply. Billy turns to you, anger burning in his eyes. 

“I don’t need your damn help, loca! I said get the hell out of here! You have a death wish or something?!” He growls, threateningly taking a step towards you. You try to keep your expression neutral as you meet his eyes. Internally you can feel your heart racing and grip the paint roller with both hands to keep them from shaking. 

“According to you? That’s exactly what I have.” you respond coolly. Billy’s eyes scan your face, the tension between the two of you sparking like electricity. After what feels like an eternity Billy finally relents.

“Fine.” he barks, turning to grab the other paint roller. “I don't have time to argue with some crazy bitch.” He grumbles, dipping his roller into the paint. “But if you fuck something up, it’s your ass.” he says, moving to one side of the porch. You quickly follow after him. You can't help but feel a small sense of victory as he explains exactly what needs to be done and how to do it. 

Then, the two of you begin. You work in silence for roughly 10 minutes before Billy disappears inside. He emerges with a boombox. Inserting a tape he presses play. You aren’t sure who the artist is, but it's the kind of rock music Hopper claimed was rotting kids' brains. You didn’t mind it. 

The two of you work diligently and in an hour you finish the first coat. Deciding to take a short break before starting the second, Billy retrieves two water bottles from the porch, handing one to you as he takes a seat on the steps. You both sit for a moment, drinking your water as you allow the breeze to cool the sweat that covered your skin. It is strangely peaceful. 

“Can I ask you something and you give me a serious answer?”  Billy’s voice breaks the silence. His question catches you off guard, surprising you. You take a moment to think before responding.

“Only if I can do the same.” You reply. You watch as Billy thinks this over, taking another swig of water before shrugging his shoulders.

“Fair enough, I guess.” he reasons.

“Then shoot.” You say casually. There is a pause before Billy asks his question. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how to word it.

“I see you walking almost everyday. All over the place. Always someplace different. Sometimes even late at night.” he begins. “Why are you always outside? Are you like… homeless or something?” Your eyes turn to him, expecting it to be a joke but there is no teasing in his tone. Normally you would brush him off, but he had specifically asked for a serious answer. So, you give him one. 

“I was in the hospital for 6 months, earlier this year.” you begin to explain. “A lot of that time was spent in a single room.” you can feel his eyes on you as you study the plastic bottle in your hands. “Ever since I came home I can’t stand being inside. The walls feel like they are smothering me. It makes me feel like I can't breath, like I'm… trapped.” You answer honestly, swallowing past the lump that formed in your throat speaking the truth. “So I spend a lot of time outside, walking. It makes me feel calmer somehow.” you pause, waiting for his response.

“I can understand that.” You hear him mumble. You glance at him, his eyes meeting yours. You see the softness in them that you thought you saw the first time you met him. Billy looks away first, clearing his throat. 

“Alright, what's your question?” he asks gruffly. You realise you hadn’t really thought of one to ask him in return. So, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“What do you miss most about California?” Billy chuckles lightly, the corners of his lips twisting upwards. It’s the closest thing to a genuine smile you had ever seen on him. It contrasted starkly with his normal wolfish grin.

“The sunsets on the ocean.” He answers almost reflexively. His eyes settle on some far away place in the distance as he elaborates. “Being here is like being in a box. Always surrounded by trees, you can never really see the sun go down. But on the ocean…” He pauses, his mind going to a specific memory. “It’s impossible to tell where the water ends and the sky begins. Sometimes it's so bright it looks like the world is on fire.” There is silence between you as you take in his words. You never expected an answer like that from him. You want to ask him more but his expression darkens again as he comes back to reality. Back to Hawkins. 

“Doesn't matter now though.” He states, draining the rest of his water and standing up. “I’m stuck here.” He finishes, tossing the empty bottle aside and picking up his roller again.

You don't press him. You simply pick up your own roller and get back to work. The two of you finish the porch before Neil, Billy’s father, gets back. Neither of you say anything when you finish, you just pick up your bag, sling it over your shoulders and offer Billy a kind smile before turning to walk back down the driveway. 

“I’ll see you around, loca.” Billy calls after you. 

“See ya!” you respond, turning slightly to send him a wave as you walk away. 

You wouldn't see Billy again that summer. He and his father had returned to California to begin moving the rest of their things, now that the house was ready. Or, at least, that’s what you heard around town. 

You didn't have much time to dwell on his absence because the next week, classes began. 

Part 1, ...(Masterlist)... Part 5

A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Let me know what you think, leave a like or a comment! I hope to have the next part posted soon!

Tag-list: @official-starcourt-mall @lem0ns77 @bethii1 @wysteria-arts @fanficfanatic204

[hanmasghost]

hello it's me again I'm kinda scared but can I get some hanma x older brother reader?

“Hanma’s Brother”

400 Special

Authors Note:

Aaaaaa! My boy Hanma! Thank you for participating^^ it makes me very happy! Anyways- please don’t feel scared to ask me for something^^; I love getting requests and just interacting with people in general so feel free to interact with my blog anytime yeah?

Pronouns: He/Him

Warning(s): mentions of cigarettes, short

HCs

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

❥ He absolutely loves you

- Like you pretty much raised this mf how can he not?

- Probably why most people hate you

❥ He’s the reckless one while you’re the loud one

- Sure he’s loud but you’re louder

❥ Why work? We can just have fun kicking peoples ass

- Annoys you throughout work regularly

- Actually confused as to why you work

- Like “what do we need money for?” And it’s just a whole thing

❥ Had you meet Kisaki

- You have a mutual hate for each other

- He joins Hanma in annoying you at work, in turn you annoy him in the middle of his gang stuff

- In both situations, Hanma just joins whoever is annoying the other and makes the person even more annoyed

❥ This man literally pulls sneak attacks on you all the time

- Normally it’s just him, but one time he jumped you in an empty city street at night with a group of guys

- It’s literally just so he can enjoy the adrenaline rush

- Than why doesn’t he just ask to fight a 1v1?

- Because then he knows he doesn’t have a chance to win the fight at all, so it has to be random

❥ Has and will bring a pocket knife to any and all your romantic partners

- Cause if your partner wants to truly be in your life they “can’t be afraid of some lil’ pocket knife”

- They also have to accept that they would not only be apart of your life but his, and if they couldn’t handle his insane ‘boldness’ than they don’t deserve you or your love

- His own words btw

⌦ .｡.:*♡

“{Readerrrrrrrr}!” Hanma drew out as he flopped his back against the see through desk, hands grabbing out towards you.

“What?” You snapped back, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the locked up shelf behind the desk and putting some money into the cash register.

“How long till your shift is doneee?… also can I have one?” Hanma pointed to the pack of cigarettes in your hand.

“No, now get up.” You swatted his hands away.

Sitting up Hanma whined. “But I want oneee!” Hanma snatched the pack of cancer sticks away.

“How about… no!” You snatched them back. “Keep your grubby hands off my babies you lil’ prick!”

“Ani why? :(” Hanma pouted.

“Cause they’re mine, now back off ya lil’ shit♡” you smiled threateningly at the younger teen.

Groaning Hanma complied. Leaving the store slowly.

“I guess my big brother just doesn’t love me anymore… now he’s making me walk home alone at two in the morning… how sad… and I thought he loved me… sigh.” Hanma said mournfully, dramatic pout resting on his face.

Growling slightly, you slam a hand on the counter. “My shift ends in a few hours, either sit and shut the fuck up or continue walking out that door.”

“Yay!♡~"

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do big bro, sure you do.. hehe♡~"

“Better get those hearts out yo words or I’ll slap you into next week young man.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever old man, it’s all in good fun ya know!~”

You pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh, “shut it!”

“Hehe♡"

God.. sometimes you wonder why you love this annoying brat.

[maybebecomingms]

a dangerous existence

January 3rd, 2024

"I saw her and I said to myself, 'she's a loaded gun.' Tempting, but can destroy your whole life in a second."

He wasn't talking about a seductive woman approaching him at the bar (though they tell stories like that, too). He was talking about a young college student running near campus. They didn't interact. He was driving.

He also wasn't someone I knew well to be talking so openly about his urges and threats to his marriage. He and his wife were the small group leaders, and it was my first or second visit to their home to check it out.

I was 23 at the time - not too far removed from college myself - and had somehow just lost 40 pounds. If there was ever a time in my life when I was "hot," it was then.

Is this directed at me? Am I the loaded gun? Does this mean I should stop coming here?

I didn't flirt with him. I didn't have bad intentions. I just wanted to get to know some new people. I don't think I kept going to the group for long, but I did hit it off really well with his wife - in fact, I still do. I would still go to their house regularly for our "book club" of two and hope I didn't see him. I always felt dirty and guilty after that.

But this type of thing didn't throw me off enough to walk away, because I'd heard it so many times before. Men were always telling stories like this from the pulpit - having to avert their gaze and avoid attractive women to protect their wives and families. Sometimes, their stories were about loose and wild women throwing themselves at them, seemingly not caring that they were married. Other times, the story was about refusing to acknowledge an attractive woman even when she was being completely respectful, because you never knew when she'd turn on you and lie to your wife about you behaving badly.

It definitely always struck me as odd, though. I've encountered attractive men while in a committed relationship plenty of times and... it was not life changing? I've never felt powerless against an overwhelming urge to blow up my entire life because a good-looking man exists and I saw him. I wouldn't even say I felt that way after talking to one.

But we were told that women and men were fundamentally different, and I never thought much about it til now, really. That kind of messaging really fucks with you as you're entering adulthood within a feminine form. If I go for a run and you see me out in the world running, I'm an imminent threat to your wife and family? And I don't even KNOW you? That's a huge and impossible responsibility, not to mention a massive threat to my safety.

Several years ago, I befriended a colleague I worked with frequently. We're still friends, though we don't interact through work anymore. One year, he invited me to his beautiful, sprawling home in the country around Christmastime. He and his husband go all out, with multiple decorated trees and carefully arranged lights inside and out. They wanted to show off their efforts. We had the best time drinking wine and laughing. We hugged and said "I love you" when it was time for me to go home.

For many years, I could not figure this out. Why would gay men want to spend time with me? They're obviously not sexually attracted to me, so what could I possibly have to offer? Because of the messaging I got from the church about how simultaneously vulnerable and out of control men are, I really thought that I had no value whatsoever beyond being sexualized. Isn't that sad?

For how much churches claim to promote sexual purity, they sure do know how to make you feel dirty and disgusting for merely existing.

[ohraicodoll]

Snippet Prompt: Settling an argument/Taste tester Dream x Reader/OFC

Hob handed me the cooking spoon, a dash of the sauce he was currently tending to ladled onto it, that look on his face telling me he already knew what I was going to say. We had a difference in tastes but he was determined to drag me through the routine nonetheless. I sighed and took it, briefly meeting the dreamlord at my side’s eyes, before tasting the sauce. Salty. So fucking salty it may have been the ocean. “Robert Gadling, you may not die but you are determined to kill me with the amount of salt you cook with,” I huffed from my spot on the kitchen countertop, legs kicking off the edge.

 “Oh come on, this isn’t that bad! I toned it down from last time!” Hob threw his hands in the air. We had agreed that of the two of us I wasn’t the best cook and yes, he was better than me, now I was beginning to backtrack that statement. He over seasoned everything, “People from my time would worship the ground I walked on to get food that tasted like this.” “You mean during the plague days?” I retorted dryly. Maybe the over season made sense when everything back then tasted like shoe leather. He rolled his eyes and turned to Morpheus who was casually drinking wine silently beside me, watching the interaction, “You try it and tell her it’s not that bad.” Dream got that look in his eye when he knew he was being dragged in to settle an argument between us, half exasperated but half affectionate also. He regularly told us he might regret having us meet if only because sometimes we were too similar. Which meant we were both stubborn and butt heads. It didn’t help that he was a poor referee, “Mortal foods is not something I have an opinion on.” I held up the spoon still in my hands and the little bit of sauce leftover on it, “You can try it at least, your highness. It can’t be that different from the food in the Dreaming.” I waggled my brow and grinned, tongue between my teeth. I was urging him to take the bait and maybe take my side, but I’d been determined to get him to try more and more human foods. It wasn’t necessary for him and like most things not necessary, he saw it as a luxury he rarely allowed himself to afford. I’d got him to partake in fruit but that had required a lot more…tempting, of a different nature. Those ice blue eyes met mine beneath his brow, the stars hidden there swirling in amusement and something darker, and he stepped forward between my legs. Slowly, painstakingly, he leaned forward to the offered spoon and wrapped his lips around it all the while keeping eye contact. My breath hitched a bit and I knew he saw, took in the way my chest rose and fell, watched as I held my breath. He pulled away, the barest tilt of his lips in a smirk as he licked them while I waited with baited breath. If Hob hadn’t been in the goddamn room… For a few seconds, Dream said nothing but kept his eyes on me.  And then. “It tastes of tomato,” he commented dryly, offering nothing more, and we both deflated. “I don’t know what we expected,” Hob shrugged with a sigh, “Matthew would probably have given us a better opinion.” I rolled my eyes at both of them, “Then you’d kill him with the salt.” “There is not too much salt in it!” Dream stayed where he was between my knees, picking up his wine glass once more, a small smile hidden by the glass.

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

any headcanons / favorite things / silly ideas you have about dimivain? 👀👀 either romantic or platonic or everything in between, it's just always a delight to find a fellow connoisseur who loves these two trucks

[I'm gonna cite some cute little dialogues between them from Three Hopes, so tread gently if you're trying to go into the game absolutely blind.]

Okay these two make me deranged. Like as individuals they fucking rot my brain. Self-destruction in different genres; unwavering loyalty that's bone-deep; a view of themselves that's so damaged that there's no choice but to follow through on behaviours they think suit the worst they have to offer--and then they get SLAPPED TOGETHER and HOO BOY do they hurt!! Oh god the lads!! The dudes!! Agony!

I very much like to read romances that are devoted in nature. They're smitten, they're gone on each other, wrapped around each other like a braid of distinct colours; still their own entities, but woven together in a way that lets them both shine. These two? Oh boy. It's them. It's the dudes.

Because like. Hear me out here. Sylvain flat-out loves Dimitri. I take no criticism on this because there has always been evidence to that effect. And what's great about them is that it's just. Sort of always there? It's quiet but it's always there, showing in little ways the great way they care for each other. So allow me to compile a list of all my favourite dimivain moments.

Spoiler. It's all of them.

Dimitri before the Lions fuck off to tell Miklan to get good: "House Gautier is Sylvain's home. It would be nice of you to check on him as well."

Sylvain while everyone is trying to parse out Dimitri's breakdown: "I knew he'd been carrying the burden of that tragedy. I understand his thirst for revenge. His family and closest friends...all massacred right in front of him."

Dimitri feeling safe comfortable enough to say, "Will you never let that rest?! It was many years ago! Perhaps a good knock on the head will help you to finally forget about it..." and not have it be an outright threat/ruin the mood with Sylvain.

Sylvain being the one of Dimitri's only friends to use his name regularly (interchanged with "Your Highness")

And it's so goofy but like the fact that their dynamic shows in part in their support when Sylvain is all "Relax, Your Highness. Relax. I'll sort this whole thing out, real easy. [...] You just wait right there, and I'll fix everything."

and the VINDICATION i feel whenever I think about their Three Hopes interactions. Oh god. Spoilers are in tiny text

Sylvain, post-chores: "See, even I can be useful sometimes! I probably could've gotten away with doing less, actually ;)." Dimitri, post-chores: "I've never once doubted your utility, Sylvain :( Do not be so quick to belittle yourself."

Sylvain, in-battle: "That's our king! ;) Wherever you go, we'll be right there with you." (THIS ONE . . . HOO BOY IT FUCKED ME UP. I had to pause the battle and set down my damn controller.)

Also the sheer difference of Dimitri's Sylvain introductions between Hopes and Houses gljdflkgj like "He's a good person, even if he's a bit of a whore" and "he's a slut, and he's smarter than all of us combined. i would know" is just such a wild range for talking about someone for the first time that I'm forced to confront how well Dimitri really does know Sylvain.

Sylvain reminding Dimitri to stay calm when they march on Enbarr <//3

The AGONY of "Striking down the Empire is my offering to His Highness."

Everything about the Tailtean Plains to be honest. Like getting to Dimitri inherently means going through Sylvain first. Sylvain is a Gautier, at the end of the day, and he does it well; the crown doesn't walk into hell without a Gautier watching their back, picking off the threats that aren't close enough to be an immediate danger.

And, of course, my favourite: "I don't feel like I can just forget all the awful stuff he's done...But if His Highness is owning up to his past, and trying to move forward...I figure I can give him that chance. We've been friends since we were kids. I'm gonna be there for him all the way to the end." (i teared up reading through this on the datamine. they're fucking insane. i love them.)

I mentioned this in the tags of my recent post, but the dynamic between House Gautier and House Blaiddyd is an untapped gold mine, at LEAST as far back as Lambert (though that may be expanded upon with Three Hopes, if word on the street is to be believed). Gautier's responsibility is to protect and defend; Blaiddyd's duty is to bear a crown worth protecting. They're so tightly woven that it makes me dizzy. Sylvain, for all intents and purposes, is a defender. He's cited to have come in in clutch and saved his friends over and over again, and that combined with his complex relationship with his destiny as margrave/his destiny that's only as awful as he lets it be lends itself to a man that fights for one thing and one thing only: what he loves.

What's also wild is that like. Plonk them into any AU and it simply works. Tortured souls in the form of overly empathetic gentleman and self-deprecating clever manwhore is just so universal. Organized crime is a personal favourite of mine; I'm also partial to a sugar daddy AU. Absolute TRAVESTY that there seems to be only one fic per each of those AUs for these two. I will be rectifying this personally. Like they're so elegant in their own ways but they're so STUPID that I want to see them love the worst and best in each other.

These two have such intimate understandings of each other that jealousy is just. not a factor at all. Sylvain will make some dumb flirtatious comment and Dimitri will just wait patiently for a tender cheek kiss he knows is coming. An apology, an I love you, a thank you for not turning away at the hard-to-break habits. Sylvain reads books whenever Dimitri wakes them both with a particularly bad nightmare. Sometimes he'll read them aloud; others he'll be utterly silent so Dimitri can focus on things like their breathing and the wind.

It's less that they're little and big spoon and more . . . interwoven forks. There's never a night where they don't want to both hold and be held, so limbs are all over the place and faces are buried into whatever warmth they're closes to, but it's so good. It's so them.

Dimitri calls Sylvain beautiful--thanks him for trusting such careless hands with a heart so tender. Sings his praises and kisses him softly and fumbles the cheesy romantic stuff, but it's so much sweeter for it. Sylvain cries sometimes, but it's a good cry.

Sylvain does not leave Dimitri's side, even when his psychosis eats up the better part of his week, or the stress of trying to negotiate peace wears him down. Dimitri will try to bury himself into Sylvain's very soul, because that's always where he'll feel safest. Sometimes that manifests in sexual intimacy; sometimes it's just Dimitri pressing them together, head to toe. Their similar heights and builds are good for it.

Dimitri wears an eyepatch whose stitching is Gautier-teal. Sylvain accepts a gift from the blacksmiths specially employed by House Blaiddyd to craft weapons to withstand their strength; a promise that everything in Dimitri's power will be used to protect Sylvain as Sylvain's protected him. It's peacetime now, but a child of Faerghus knows a weapon better than most know the pen. It's a lovely gift regardless, and a little better than a dagger with the rising sun.

Byleth marries them, and the ceremony is limited to the Lions and whichever of the Academy's students/staff are free. Sylvain cracks jokes the whole way through, even when they both start crying, and Dimitri is so annoyed and so in love and when they tie together little ribbons of their regions' colours, cutting the newly woven rope in two to tie around their wrists, he whispers a quiet vow only for Sylvain's lips, his heart.

Once it becomes public knowledge that the Saviour King and his margrave are more than allies and friends, they decide to adopt a pair of siblings who were orphaned by the war. Neither really thinks themself incapable of being a good father, but they both have a fair deal of hangups over it. Sylvain knows he has to usher in peace, but teach their children when it's right to refuse to budge. Dimitri imparts to them the knowledge of both bodily and mental strength, all without forfeiting their heart.

Anyway. It's 4AM. I've been thinking about them for three hours. I'll probably wake up with more thoughts of them but this is all the dimivain word vomit I can manage in one go. Thank you so much for the ask though! I love thinking about them in any capacity.

[narastories]

I promise I’ll get to the other ones but @blaufeder asked Nicodemus Archleone for the Character Ask Game and I can’t resist because that’s easy.

one aspect about them i love

He’s hilarious. I know, I have bad taste. I know, it doesn’t say anything good about me that a sense of humor is more attractive to me than a working moral compass. I know all of that but the morbid and twisted things that come out of his mouth (accompanied by a straight face) have me in stitches regularly. (”I offer an excellent dental plan.“)

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

I don’t think he’s very misunderstood in the fandom. Most people just understandably don’t care much because a) he’s evil b) he only shows up every five books lol

I would say maybe that he’s the epitome of “fake it ‘till you make it”. He bluffs so much, always acts like he’s one step away from reaching his goals for wold domination (or destruction) even while he gets fucked over by his wife. He’s patient, always plays the long game and has an excellent poker face.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

The people who read moral compass for hire probably know this, but for some reason I headcanon him as a plant guy *shrugs* I don’t know why, okay? Maybe it does make sense on some level because it’s only relatively recently in human history that you can get away without knowing anything about agriculture. It’s weird and random but I think he knows how to plant a fucking tree. Don’t come at me.

one character i love seeing them interact with

Ooh, I can’t choose between Harry and Deirdre. Harry, obviously, because I love their antagonistic little chats, how quick witted they are together and how scarily well they understand what the other is thinking.

Deirdre... well, I’m looking forward to Skin Game even if I know generally where the book is heading... But even based on the books I’ve read so far, I think they’re weirdly cute. And he kisses her in front of people bc he just does not give a fuck. Why should he?

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

Lea!! I’ve said it before, I will say it again, the two of them would get on like a house on fire and I neeeed that interaction. If I don’t get it, I’ll write it. (Eventually.)

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character  

Good thing it’s the last question bc it will potentially go into gross territory. You know what, let’s put it under a cut.

My headcanon is that he had definitely let Deirdre cut him in bed before. Think about it: Deirdre is pretty bloodthirsty. She has the nifty sheet metal hair. Nic heals super fast because of the noose. He’s actually almost invincible, but he does bleed and feel pain. Which dare I say is perfect in this scenario, if both parties are into it. And I think they would be. Nic would also 100% indulge his little monster, wouldn’t he?

I also headcanon that some poor goon had walked in on the aftermath of that and fainted lmao

I said it would be gross, don’t look at me like that!

[j-runes-stele]

Expect the Unexpected Part 1 (Fred Weasley)

TW: cussing, cheating, and a slap. Sorry if I missed any!!

Word Count: 685

You had known Fred since he first pranked you on your second day when you both were first years. He humiliated you in front of people you were talking to. Since then, those people have seen you as the laughingstock, and you were always the butt of the joke. Fred didn’t see this and just thought you couldn’t take a joke. This made him prank you regularly, and now you were skittish around him since you could be slimed and embarrassed in front of your classmates at any moment. The bullying and teasing from your classmates was relentless.

Everyone was in the Great Hall during dinner; Fred was sitting by George and Lee, discussing their next prank against you. You were sitting far enough away where you could not hear what they were discussing but close enough to briefly make eye contact with the pranksters. They were busy finalizing the prank when they heard a commotion coming from your area. They turn their heads to see you raising your voice at your boyfriend.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me? I have defended so many times when I should not have. I have carried you through so many classes; it should be hilarious. And you are sitting here to tell me that you have been cheating on me for the past week?" You say as you grow angrier. The pranksters looked at each other wide-eyed, then turned their attention back to you.

"Yeah, you have been ignoring me. I needed someone, and Samantha was there." He tried to explain.

"Wow, just wow, I am so very sorry that I have been studying for the OWLs." You spat at him; you stand up.

"I forgive you." He replies in complete seriousness.

"You are so unbelievable. Fuck you. I can't believe I wasted my time on you. Merlin's beard! If you couldn't tell, we are through, asshole." You yell, flip him off, slap him across the face (hard, it was so loud that the Great Hall grew silent when the slap was heard. Well, silence besides your yelling.), walking away out of the Great Hall.

The pranksters return to their conversation when Fred pips up.

"So, looks like Y/N is not in the mood to get pranked; instead, let's prank that asshole." Fred offers. Lee nods his head in agreement.

"Wait, why the sudden change? I thought you hated Y/N?" George ponders.

"We may be enemies; however, I am beyond livid with cheaters," Fred explains, and George finally agrees with the group. That night, your cheating ex was slimed with green slime and then feathered, ya know, because he was a chicken for cheating on you. ;)

You just so happened to turn the corner when this prank went down, so you saw him get slimed and feathered. You were still in a foul mood, so when you saw this, you couldn't help but bust out in laughter at the karma. You walk up to your slimed ex-boyfriend.

"Wow, you now are actually a chicken and not just acting like one." You say, shaking your head, laughing, and walking away. The pranksters saw this interaction and saw you walking away.

"Thank you, you guys." You say in the direction of the guys, and Fred blushed. He did not understand why, but he suddenly got butterflies when you laughed. At that moment, he would have embarrassed himself in front of everyone just to hear that laugh again. However, he quickly shook those feelings out of his mind when he heard Lee say his name.

"Fred, Earth to Fred," Lee says, waving his hand in front of Fred's face.

"Yes?" Fred asks, a bit flustered.

"Do you like Y/N?" George asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Nope, just lost in thought about a prank we could pull on the first years." Fred gives an answer hoping the guys will believe him.

"Oh, okay. Let's go back to the common room to sketch out the plan." George says, and they all walk to the common room. Fred still couldn't shake you from his mind, and it was really getting to him.

[yuujispinkhair]

They kiss on the ring. I carry the crown. (Chapter 1)

When your job requires you to meet Yakuza boss Sukuna, you hope that the house viewing will be over quickly and you will never see him again. But no one prepared you for how enticing the King of Tokyo's underworld is. And suddenly, you are in way over your head.

Masterpost

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Mafia AU, smut, a bit fluffy too though because I love fluff Playlist: Mafia AU Word Count: 4k Warnings: 18+, smut, some dark crime-related themes (Yakuza, implied violence, implied murder in later chapters, gambling, alcohol), use of the name Daddy in later chapters, oral, fingering, creampie, cum eating, light spanking, exhibitionism in later chapters (that part could be initially seen as dubcon, but he gets consent from her). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

I wrote this story for my friend's The Killers lyrics collab. Thank you so much for this amazing collab @adelheidvonschicksal . My lyrics prompt is: They kiss on the ring. I carry the crown. Nothing can break, nothing can break me down. The Killers - The man.

Sometimes you think it would have been better if you had never met him. You blame your job on it. It was something you had wanted to achieve for years. Being high enough in the ranks that you were the one getting sent to meet the high-end customers and show them around in the most luxurious living spaces Tokyo had to offer.

He was your second high-end customer. You read the name and your eyes widened. Your boss laughed.

"Pretty impressive, huh? Don't fuck it up. We want him as a regular customer. Heard he isn't so happy with his current real-estate agent, so this is our big chance."

You met him a week later in a penthouse that was exactly as he had wanted. And he was as impressive as you had expected. The intensity with which he looked at you with those glinting maroon-colored eyes took your breath away. He was tall, handsome, exuding authority and wealth.

And danger. He was a dangerous man, only in his late twenties but already the head of one of the most influential Yakuza clans.

Itadori Sukuna. Also known as Ryomen Sukuna. That was the alias he was famous for. The man with the two faces. Rich, popular playboy, and businessman on the one hand. Ruthless killer and sadist, on the other.

You addressed him by his real name first. But he just laughed and shook his head.

"No need to be so formal. Call me Sukuna. I think we'll see each other regularly now. I got a big payment that needs to be invested into real estate, and one apartment won't do."

He was charming. Polite and smart, ready to make a joking comment all the time, grinning in a handsome boyish way, moving so gracefully and looking effortlessly sexy. He had a way of making everyone fascinated with him. You had been scared when he first walked towards you in his custom-tailored black suit and the slicked-back pink hair, black tattoos visible on his wrists and neck, and of course on his face. Only someone as powerful as him could have the nerve to walk around with Yakuza tattoos so provocatively visible at all times. He looked intimidating. But his charm worked in his favor, and the more time you spent showing him around, the more comfortable you felt. You didn't realize the web he was weaving until it was too late, and you were caught in it. He had been subtly luring you in, seducing you, the whole afternoon.

And then you bumped into his muscular body when you were trying to take a step back from the wine fridge you had been presenting to him, and suddenly his large hands were on your hips, steadying you.

"Easy there, you should be careful, don't want you to fall, do we?"

His deep voice was warm like honey, so seductive, just like the feeling of his warm breath on your neck.

He knew it just as much as you did. You were already falling. He had laid out a trap, and you had stepped into it.

Thinking back to that day, you can't say what it was exactly that made you give yourself to him. Was it his natural dominance and power? His good looks and the confidence? Or the danger lurking beneath his charming attitude? Maybe it was a combination of all of this that led to a temptation you couldn't resist.

What you know for certain is that you didn't pull away when his lips brushed over your neck.

Instead, you let out a shuddering sigh and leaned back against his solid body, craning your neck, offering more of your sensitive skin to him.

And he laughed that rude laugh before his hand pulled the collar of your blouse to the side, exposing more of your skin. His soft tongue licked a wet stripe all the way from your left shoulder up to your neck until his lips closed around your skin right under your jaw, where your pulse was fluttering nervously, and sucked on it.

You melted under his warm lips and tongue, his big hands on your hips, trailing up your sides before they unbuttoned your blouse, cupping your tits through your bra, making you gasp when his thumbs slipped inside and teased your nipples.

You were lost when you felt his firm, strong body press against you, lean, solid muscles, and a deliciously big hard bulge rubbing against your ass.

You knew he could do anything he wanted to you. He was so strong, so tall. He was so powerful. He could literally make sure you'd never get found again, and there was nothing anyone could ever do about it.

Because he was Sukuna. He was above the law. He was the King of Tokyo's underworld.

Maybe there was something wrong with you. Because it wasn't fear that you felt when this dangerous man undressed you. When he ran his warm, calloused hands over your body, twirling your nipples between his fingers. When he was caressing tight circles around your embarrassingly wet clit. When he slapped your ass before pulling down your panties. When he got on his knees behind you to fuck you with his tongue until you sobbed.

All you felt was desire. A craving so intense that you thought you'd die if you didn't get more of him.

You didn't tell him it wasn't appropriate for a customer to yank off your panties, lift you up, and slam you against the fridge. You didn't ask him to let you go when he rubbed his wonderful thick cockhead over your wet clit, laughing at the needy sounds you made.

He almost caressed you to orgasm with his cockhead, and you didn't tell him to stop. Instead, all you said to him was:

"Please... oh please..."

"What, please? Huh, princess, what is it that you need? Tell me. Say it."

"You!"

He chuckled, sounding amused and almost cruel,

"Me? You're a cute one. Do you really think you can have Sukuna?"

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him, at the smug smirk on his handsome face, the challenging glint in his eyes.

He leaned closer, lips brushing over yours before he licked your cheek, groaning softly when his tongue swiped up a tear that was running down your face.

His voice was low, a growl, so seductive that it made your body tremble in his strong arms.

"Let's make a deal. You can have my cock today. We'll see about the rest."

You didn't complain when he pushed his thick cock into your tight heat. Your legs tightened around his hips desperately, pussy sucking him in needily, making obscene squelching noises when he fucked into you. You had never been so wet for anyone.

He fucked you with rough deep thrusts, snapping his hips almost brutally, knocking the air out of you anytime his strong body pushed you hard against the fridge behind you.

But you didn't ask him to be more gentle. You didn't tell him to be careful so the expensive fridge wouldn't get any scratches. Instead, you twisted your fingers in his soft pink hair and moaned in sweet abandon, riding his gorgeous cock eagerly, meeting each of his hard thrusts with a needy roll of your hips.

"Yeah, baby. You like that, don't you? Getting fucked against the fridge like that. I knew you had it in you from the first moment I laid my eyes on you. Not as innocent as you look. Pussy so hungry for some bad boy dick."

You moaned at his words, hips jerking hard. And he laughed. Slapped your ass and laughed and rammed his cock into your soaking wet pussy, fucking you with hard deep strokes.

"That turns you on, huh? So fucking cute. And you're good at it too. Taking me so well. Can you take my bad boy cum too? Gonna fuck you so full of it. I'll give you my lawyer's card in case ya want to claim child support later on."

"Ah! It..it's ok...I'm on birth control... ah...!"

"Nice, but I wouldn't have cared either way. A cute pussy like yours needs to be filled up no matter what."

You should probably have been appalled by this, but you weren't. If anything, it made you even wetter.

You cried his name when you clenched desperately on his cock, your juices making a mess all over his cock as he fucked you through your orgasm and kept on ramming into you until he groaned into your neck and fucked spurt after spurt of his hot cum into you.

Afterwards, he helped you get dressed again. He was a gentleman, well mannered when he wanted to, polite.

And yet he picked up your panties from the kitchen floor and smiled at the creamy mess on them, pressed them against his face, and inhaled your scent deeply, swiping his tongue over them to scoop up your wetness. It was obscene. It was humiliating. Your face felt so hot, but Sukuna just laughed when his gaze met yours.

"No need to be ashamed. You were just really horny for me, princess. It's ok, I understand that. And I took good care of your needy little pussy for you, didn't I?"

He got on his knees in front of you, lifted your leg, and helped you into the panties, pulling them up slowly, his mouth following the way of his hands up your thighs, leaving soft kisses and little bites all over your skin. Until he reached your core and pressed a firm kiss on your now panty-clad clit.

He straightened up a moment later, tucking himself back into his pants and running a hand through his hair to smooth it down again, looking so unaffected as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if he hadn't fucked your brains out just a few minutes ago.

He turned to look at you with that cheeky smirk again.

"I'll take the apartment. I quite like the kitchen. The fridge is nice. Do you have the papers with you?"

You managed a weak smile and fumbled with your bag, fishing out the sale contract and placing it on the kitchen counter.

Sukuna didn't even bother reading it. He just held out a hand to you, demanding a pen.

"It would be my pleasure to do more business with your company in the future. Only if they send you as my personal real-estate agent, though. Arrange that for me, will you please, darling?"

His smirk was so insolent, and his maroon eyes bored into yours with a devilish glint in them, daring you to defy him, which of course, you didn't. Instead, you mustered up a smile and nodded, handing him the pen with a shaky hand, and watched as he signed his name under the contract.

He handed you the pen back, thumb caressing over your hand, sending shivers down your spine.

You returned to your office feeling like a whore as you placed the signed contract on your boss' desk, sure that everyone could see what you had been up to. Your panties were soaking wet, messed up from a mixture of your own creamy arousal and Sukuna's cum.

But no one said anything. Your boss was ecstatic, congratulating you and making you have a drink with him to celebrate this lucrative deal.

And that's how you met one of the most powerful mafia bosses of the world and became his little plaything.

He called you at work the next day. Your heart leaped to your throat when you heard his low sexy voice drawl your name making it sound like something lewd.

You looked around nervously, glad that you didn't have to share your office with anyone else, but still feeling as if the walls had eyes and were judging you for the throbbing between your thighs and the heat spreading through your belly upon hearing the Yakuza King's voice.

Sukuna talked business, asking for detailed information about the cleaning services available for the new penthouse you sold to him yesterday. It was something you could have easily told his personal assistant.

And yet Sukuna's voice was in your ear, caressing you through the phone, making you close your eyes and take a deep breath as you tried to fight the craving the soft, deep timbre of his velvety voice stirred in you.

"The standard cleaning contract includes anything you can find under number 4. It's rather basic, though. Sufficient if you want to let the apartment stay unoccupied. But if you decide to move in, I would suggest booking the comfort or deluxe options."

"How long did my cum leak out of you, princess? Did you shower right when you came home? Or did you want to keep it in you a bit longer? Did you maybe even finger yourself and fuck it back into you?"

You sat there, pressing your legs together desperately under your desk as he whispered those dirty things into the phone. You didn't know how to respond. But Sukuna wasn't waiting for an answer anyways. Before you could say anything, he already added:

"I want to see you again."

You couldn't help but moan softly at his words. It was pathetic how much you craved him. How much it affected you to hear that he wanted to get more of you.

Your voice sounded hoarse when you answered:

"I just got a new object in Shibuya in. Maybe you are interested in that? I could show you around..."

Your heart was beating so fast that you were scared you'd faint right there at your desk. The effect Sukuna had on you was embarrassing. And the worst thing was that he seemed to be so in control, so unaffected, when he laughed softly into the phone. His low voice was making your pussy throb when he said:

"It would be a pleasure. Tell me, Miss, what is the most impressive thing about that object?"

"The description says it has a beautiful, spacious sauna room."

"Sounds like a good place for you to ride my dick. I'm free at 5. Send me the location, sweetheart."

This little game continued for several weeks. Sukuna called you every other day. Never one of his assistants, always Sukuna personally. Asked you about possible new objects he could invest his money in. Made you read the descriptions to him. It always started as a regular business call. But after a while, he would say other things, taking the call in another direction.

"I want to bend you over my desk and watch you take my cock like a good little pet while you drool all over my bookkeeping files."

He always managed to make you cream your panties, being so out of it that you couldn't function properly.

And always his soft:

"I want to see you."

You agreed to meet him every time. You showed him new objects all the time. Only for Sukuna to fuck you in all of them. In luxurious beds with a view over Tokyo's skyline. On shiny kitchen counters and expensive designer couches. On beautiful marble floors because Sukuna couldn't wait and just ripped your panties down and took you right there on the floor.

It was your secret.

It felt forbidden. Meeting the Yakuza boss to let him kiss you and put his body on you. Giving in to the craving you felt anytime you thought about him.

Sukuna definitely wasn't the type of guy you should hook up with regularly. But he was the only one you wanted.

You chatted with some guys on the dating app you had installed, even met one of them for coffee. But they were nothing compared to the King of Tokyo's underworld. How could they? They were mere boys, while Sukuna was a powerful man.

He was exciting. He was sexy. He made you feel alive.

Meeting him always felt dangerous. It made your blood rush, made your nerve ends tingle with anticipation, breath coming out in excited little gasps. One look in his eyes, and you were lost. His lips made you drunk. His touch sent your head spinning. His cock made you feel like you were in heaven.

He became your drug. And you couldn't stop consuming him, always seeking that rush again, that feeling only he could give you.

It was after several weeks of clandestine meetings that things took a turn in an unexpected direction.

You were on the phone with Sukuna once again, and the conversation once again reached the point where he said:

"I want to see you."

You already showed him a floor in a spacious office building this week, and you hadn't been able to sit comfortably for two days after he dicked you down on one of the desks, bending you over it and fucking you so rough that all the files on top of it had tumbled down.

You had run out of objects to show him, especially since it was the end of the week. There was only one thing left.

"I could show you the weekend getaway you are interested in if you like."

You could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice as he purred into the phone:

"That would be splendid. But I want to get the whole experience before I invest my money in that. It costs a little fortune, after all. My driver will pick you up Friday at 8. Make sure we have the lodge all weekend."

He hung up on you before you could reply. Your heart was beating up to your throat. A whole weekend with Sukuna?

It was the worst idea ever.

It was the most tempting offer ever.

It was something you craved to a scary extent.

You decided to let fate decide. Surely your boss would turn the inquiry down and tell you it wasn't possible to let a potential buyer stay in an object for a whole weekend.

It turned out that the current proprietor was fine with it. He just wanted to sell the house for a reasonable price. And your boss was very adamant that you should sacrifice your weekend for this because, after all, Sukuna was your best customer! Anything to make him happy!

And so you spent the weekend getting fucked so full of Sukuna's bad boy cum that you were sure you would leak his seed for days afterwards.

He had you in his limousine on the drive to the lodge. Bounced you up and down on his thick cock while his face was buried between your tits and his tongue lapped hungrily at your nipples.

Once you reached your destination, he fucked you in the wonderfully soft bed next to the large window with a beautiful view of the beach. Made you sob his name and beg him for his dick while you were tangled in silk sheets and had the taste of expensive wine and chocolate on your tongue.

Later on he poured some of that chocolate over your naked body and licked it all up with his soft tongue, kissed and slurped it out of your jerking pussy until your cream joined the chocolate on his tongue, and he laughed against your sensitive bud.

He let you ride him in the jacuzzi on the porch while sipping champagne out of the most delicate crystal glasses. Told you how beautiful you looked when you fucked him here under the stars. He moaned your name into the night while his strong fingers tightened on your ass, and he pressed you down onto his cock fucking you full of his seed once again.

He was the best lover you ever had. He was rough at times but also could make slow sweet love to you. You got everything you ever dreamed of from him. He was unashamed and exuded confidence at all times. He knew how to drive you crazy, knew how to make you cum harder than you ever had before.

But he didn't just fuck you on that weekend. What the two of you had wasn't just sex anymore. It was more. And that was actually nice.

Sukuna was a charming man, even sweet when he wanted to. He could make you laugh, and when he smiled, he looked so pretty that it made your stomach do somersaults.

Here in the lodge at the beach, he wasn't the Yakuza boss. He was just a man enjoying his time away from work. He had replaced his usual suits with a plain black shirt and some dark red chinos or grey cashmere sweatpants, which hung so low on his hips that it was hard to focus on anything else but his v-line.

He took you on a night walk down at the beach, holding your hand the whole time and pulling you into his strong arms when you were getting cold. He lay with you in the sand to point up at the starry sky above you and explain the constellations and the myths behind them.

He didn't have sex with you during that walk. Just talked to you, and kissed you slowly, made you drunk on his lips and his sweet tongue. He made you feel special with the way he looked at you, as if you were more fascinating than all the stars above.

He made love to you later on when you were back in the weekend house, moving slowly on top of you, kissing you, and whispering sweet praise to you.

"God, you cum so prettily on my cock every single time."

It was on the second day that he came up to you while you were gazing out the window that overlooked the beach. He wrapped his strong arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder, and pressed a kiss to the side of your neck.

"I like being with you."

"Do you tell that to everyone you take on a weekend trip?"

He snorted in amusement and made you turn around. A strong hand cupped your chin and tilted your face up. His maroon eyes were burning with an unnamed emotion as he told you:

"I don't take anyone else on weekend trips. You're the only one. And I would like to keep it that way."

"You just met me a few weeks ago, Sukuna."

"So what? I know what I want. Or do you want to question my ability to make decisions?"

But his tone was amused, almost affectionate. And his thumb caressed your bottom lip tenderly. He smiled when you flicked the tip of your tongue over his fingertip before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on it.

He fucked you against the window, pressing your ass against the cold glass and looking so gorgeous in the soft colors of the sun setting over the ocean, his eyes closing in pleasure when he shot his cum into your spasming pussy.

You knew you had a big problem.

You were too lost in everything he did since that very first day you met. Too lost in him. He had yanked you into this new exciting world of sex and money and danger. And you didn't want to leave again.

You felt regret when Sunday evening arrived and with it the black S-class to take the two of you back to the city. The weekend with Sukuna had been lovely.

You were sitting in the back of the limousine, sipping champagne, and next to you, Sukuna was catching up on his business e-mails while he had one large hand placed firmly on top of your thigh.

And you caught yourself thinking that it felt like the two of you were a couple. You liked it. You liked the thought of being the woman by his side.

He kissed you so sweetly good night before you slipped out of his car. The last seductive flick of his tongue made your legs shake even when you already stood on the pavement and watched the impressive vehicle with the black tinted windows drive down the street and finally vanish in the heavy Tokyo traffic.

Your bed felt too empty that night. You shivered without Sukuna's body heat to keep you warm. And in your dreams, all you saw was the beach and the glittering stars and Sukuna smiling at you.

Looking back, you know that the weekend trip was what made you fall for him. It wasn't just physical attraction anymore after that little getaway. Your heart yearned for him too.

Thank you so much for reading! When I read the lyrics, I immediately imagined a Mafia AU, and of course, it had to be about Sukuna! Tbh I was unsure first how the writing would go because it was something I had never written before. But it was so much fun, and Sukuna just took over the story like the King that he is lmaoo. I fell more and more in love with Yakuza boss Sukuna with every new paragraph I wrote. He's really charming, I guess! I hope you are a bit in love with him too and that you enjoyed this story! There will be two more chapters. Please let me know what you think! I would be very happy about comments and reblogs!

Here is chapter 2

[yaemona]

modern ! childe headcanons

contents both sfw and nsfw, childe x f ! reader, mentions of semi-public sex/car sex, mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus, this is very stream of consciousness

a.n just a little something whilst i figure out what fic i wanna work on next. i have a ton of these for him specifically, it’s kinda crack and jokes but like also. . . i’m right. anyway ppl seem to like my modern takes so i thought i would share this. i hope it gives u a good laugh at the very least

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

sfw

i’ll get this out of the way: he plays league of legends. you know he does. you can’t tell me i’m wrong.

we are off to a rocky start

he’s sporadic in nature, the way he takes care of himself follows that pattern

he works out pretty regularly, often going out on jogs at the asscrack of dawn before going to his classes. he manages a 3.5 ish range gpa but like

he puts a bunch of things off til very last minute and then suddenly he has 5 assignments due, two of which are papers and he is surviving off the raw adrenaline of having a deadline to meet

during finals there is not a single light on behind those eyes and u fear for his sanity

does he sleep? you genuinely do not know.

his thirst for the thrill of battle is translated directly as a thirst to play league for 15hrs straight and not leave his room

ah speaking of classes, his major is drumroll please

🥁🥁🥁

oceanography !

hear me out, this is more than just a clever incorporation of his fucking narwhal summons kind of

he visited an aquarium once as a young lad and his eyes lit up so bright and he had the biggest smile on his face

he just about lost his shit at the moon jelly tank

and in the tube you walk through where the fish and creatures are swimming above and all around you, god he felt like he was in some sort of fairytale

he takes his younger siblings to the aquarium nowadays either when he goes home for holidays or when they come to visit

i just realized the ocean is kinda like. . . a deep dark abyss. well. there you have it folks at least he didn’t fall into it ig

anywayyy he also very much does love fishing. he has tried to drag scara out on multiple occasions. scara refuses. thoma was keen though !

yes, modern ! thoma and childe are fishing buddies

there’s no good place to slot this in but he’s allergic to peanuts. idk he just is. i have nothing more to say on this matter. shrimp is on thin fucking ice but it doesn’t send him into anaphylactic shock so he is swallowing a bucket of bubba gump’s popcorn shrimp as we speak

percy jackson phase as a kid. has a lot of compartmentalized information about greek mythology now. he still finds it interesting and if it fits into a conversation he’s willing to go on about it for quite awhile

it is currently 10pm. your phone rings. it is childe. he’s 5 minutes away from your house, are you agreeing to going out to get slushees?

yes, of course you are!

cherry slushee with nerds is his go to

the friend who is always down for literally anything, and always invites you along to do whatever it is

no money? no problem, he’s paying for you. don’t try to fight him on it you’re not going to win he’s persistent

love language is gift giving

that really specific thing you mentioned wanting? he remembers. staring at an item in a store that you really do want, contemplating extra hard before ultimately setting it down? he’s buying it for you. he sees something while he’s out and about or perusing online that reminds him of you? he doesn’t even hesitate.

one item in particular he got you for one of your birthdays is a necklace

it’s a dainty little thing, you mutter something about being afraid to break it. he laughs.

“trust me, you won’t. they’re good quality. here, let me put it on you.”

childe can be quite clumsy at times, but his movements then were so careful and gentle as he clasped the necklace

it’s a lightweight chain adorned with a sand dollar pendant, it even came with a cheesy little message card

“you are bright, beautiful and one of a kind. the odds of knowing someone like you are one in a million. . . lucky me! wear your necklace as a reminder that i love you.”

and you do wear it, very often. the memory and the gift itself always put a smile on your face.

and he still gets giddy every time he sees it around your neck

anyway now i’ll remind you he plays league of legends and we’ll get back to that

he also plays valorant, that one is more so for fun and he’s constantly fucking around

he facetimes you often and sometimes he just has his phone propped up against something on his desk facing him while he’s queuing in valorant with friends

“who does he play val with?” im so glad you asked.

venti, itto, and hu tao.

respective agents they main: jett, brimstone/raze, and reyna

childe mains omen. just feel like he would.

venti is a mutual friend childe actually met through you

but the other two are online friends childe met in solo queues, and they exchanged discords after they just kinda hit it off

after a few times childe had you on facetime they complained enough to the point where childe just gave you the disc invite and added you to the call

and honestly. . . listening to the four of them is the funniest shit you’ve ever heard.

pity the poor soul who is solo queuing and ends up with them

childe has been known on multiple occasions to jokingly flirt with whoever it is

it’s even funnier when they flirt back or instigate it in the first place. you can’t hear the person obviously, but boy oh boy are the screams of the other three in both amusement and horror utterly hilarious

childe and venti are screaming at each other about how the other needs to stop sucking so back

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME THAT WAS ONE FUCKING ROUND IM LITERALLY TOP FRAGGING FUCK YOU!”

venti does it because of the amount of joy it brings him to piss childe off ( there’s a reason they don’t play league together anymore )

hu tao is giggling up a storm and itto’s trying to hold a conversation with you about your day as you’re crying from laughter

if i don’t move on from gamer ! childe now, i don’t think i ever will

childe is. . . a reckless menace. you think whoever granted him his driver’s license should probably be fired yet he’s never gotten a ticket

he’s safer when you’re in the car but he’s still playing speed racer. if you’re really frightened then he will drive the actual speed limit and be more cautious.

surprise! he can be a good driver

that’s nice hon but what about your safety

early morning trips to breakfast diners in your pajamas, most often after all nighters pulled or particularly sleepless nights

sleepovers that involve you two in the kitchen baking brownies at 3am and you two dance around while they’re in the oven

he’d try to jump on your back and have you give him piggy back rides, and damn near knocks you over with the sheer force he runs at you with alone

his spotify playlists are a mess he listens to literally everything

toxic by britney spears or kiss me thru the phone comes on through the aux in the car and he is giving a full performance

oh yeah speaking of which, i think he’d genuinely enjoy karaoke

he doesn’t take it too seriously, he’s there for the laughs and the food/drinks

extroverts will be extroverts

pleads at you with puppy dog eyes to sing breaking free from hsm

just give in, the smile on his face would be so worth it

nsfw

horny. like. always.

it does not take much to get him worked up and when he does he makes it ur problem too

he just skips past subtle cues, god forbid when you’re out in public

face buried in the crook of your neck, leaving hickies while you two are sitting in a corner; hand resting very high up on your thigh under the table, fingers dangerously close to brushing up against you

y’all have left some gatherings and gone home early

he has gotten quite . . .impatient a handful of times which has led to him fucking you in a few bathrooms and once in the car but like here’s the thing

childe is tall he’s got spindly limbs and the backseat of a car isn’t very spacious

so it was very clumsy and the two of you were doing a lot of giggling the entire time he still fucked ur brains out though

before you were in a relationship, y’all started out as fwb

he invited a few friends ( you included ) over for a small get together. drinking, games, what have you

childe, when drunk, is very touchy. and he already found you quite attractive while sober. put two and two together and welllll

you end up in a very heated makeout session after he’s dragged you to his room

friends passed out in the living room so you try not to make too much noise

you get very dirty looks from them the next morning

childe brought up the proposition of fwb and to be frank it was the best sex you’d ever had so you were keen

that went on for a couple of months

then, one morning, you woke up in his bed alone to the smell of pancakes?? waffles?? dunno but it smelled so fucking good

you get up, pull his shirt he’d been wearing the previous night over your head and walk out to see what’s up

god looking back on it now it seems like a scene out of a very cheesy romcom

the kitchen counter is a bit of a mess, but an organized one

and childe’s standing at the stove with the sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing rolled up and in his boxers flipping a pancake over

sunlight is creeping in through the window and lights up the room in such a delicate way. . . and you feel a flutter in your chest

he notices you staring and flashes you a bashful smile it’s . . .different from how you’re used to seeing him, but it still feels like him

“ah, good morning! i wasn’t sure what you liked but . . .there’s some eggs and bacon, and a few pancakes already done, so go ahead and help yourself girlie.”

his freckled cheeks are flushed with the brightest pink, ginger hair unkempt from sleep and last night’s escapades

you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, planting a kiss against his shoulder blade

“morning,” you yawn.

he could get used to this.

you perch yourself on one of the empty countertops and watch as he finishes up, talking while he rinses the dishes in the sink, and come to the decision that the two of you want to try something more than your current relationship

and that’s that

yes he did eat you out on the kitchen counter afterwards what do you expect seeing you in just his shirt drove him crazy

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